Channel. We saw four more schools in the fifty- to one-hundred-ton range and one big school of about three hundred tons.
At intervals during the day, the two test boats came on the air with details of their sets. The fish they caught were sampled and then released, or more accurately, samples of fish were taken from the sets, tested for roe content and then dumped overboard. Unfortunately for them, they were not at that point, active swimmers. All the tests showed roe percentages from eight to ten and an even split between males and females. No spawned-out females, and no slinks or spawned-out males. The females were a little on the small side, ranging from sixteen to eighteen centimeters.
Through no design of mine, we ended the day at the southern end of the channel, near Yeo Cove. I suggested we drop anchor and spend the night there, and no one objected.
When Pete and I held our pre-conference conference, we both agreed that it was early yet, that there were no indications of mass spawn, but that it was time to send the plane up looking for early spot spawns. If the plane saw short stretches of shallow water turned white by milt, it would start to give us an indication of where the major spawn might occur. And if it reported miles and miles of white water, we would know that our estimations were wrong and we damn well better get the fleet ready to go.
That night we updated the fleet, fielded a few questions, refereed a couple of arguments and noted that the fleet stress level was just starting to build. No frothing at the mouth yet, but stomach acid was starting to rise.
Later, as I lay in my bunk, I started going over Crowleyâs journals in greater detail. I was still only skimming them, but getting a good idea of the type of information they contained. The daily entries were mostly about prawns. He was, after all, a prawn fisherman. But if he saw a fish jump, he reported it. He was very specific about species and abundances of marine mammals, as well as birds. And all species information was correlated with information about weather and sea state, tide, temperature, and salinity. As well, he made occasional comments on unusual events that might affect the marine environment; things such as heavy boat traffic, unusual amounts of garbage, and oil slicks.
I went over the last journal even more carefully, looking for indications of changes in his mental state or specific events that might have caused a suicidal depression. There was nothing that even hinted at depression, or any change in mood or personality. There was nothing unusual at all until the last four days of the journal.
April 8: After several references to seeing large herring balls, he ends the dayâs entry with the cryptic comment Kelp is late.
April 9: At low tide, he collects several sunfish, which he will dry and use for prawn bait. Comments on Mergansers feeding in shallows. He finishes the entry with, Still no Kelp.
April 10: He works on gear, comments on abnormally warm water temperature, and writes, I wonder whatâs the problem with the Kelp?
April 11: The final entry. I couldnât help but pore over every word. These were the last observations of a dedicated scientist who was recording information about a unique area with a thoroughness that would never be repeated. His final words: I can see the Kelp.
These references puzzled me because in April you would not expect to see very much kelp anywhere on the coast. It was not the growing season. At best, you would find straggling remnants of the previous summerâs crop.
On April 12, Mark had dropped by and asked to borrow the journals. The next day, Crowley had shot himself. I tried to arrange the bits of information into a coherent pattern but nothing made sense. I couldnât accept that Crowleyâs mind, orderly and rational and disciplined, could have unraveled so quickly into the nihilistic scream of suicide. On the other hand, his inexplicable concerns with kelp might
At intervals during the day, the two test boats came on the air with details of their sets. The fish they caught were sampled and then released, or more accurately, samples of fish were taken from the sets, tested for roe content and then dumped overboard. Unfortunately for them, they were not at that point, active swimmers. All the tests showed roe percentages from eight to ten and an even split between males and females. No spawned-out females, and no slinks or spawned-out males. The females were a little on the small side, ranging from sixteen to eighteen centimeters.
Through no design of mine, we ended the day at the southern end of the channel, near Yeo Cove. I suggested we drop anchor and spend the night there, and no one objected.
When Pete and I held our pre-conference conference, we both agreed that it was early yet, that there were no indications of mass spawn, but that it was time to send the plane up looking for early spot spawns. If the plane saw short stretches of shallow water turned white by milt, it would start to give us an indication of where the major spawn might occur. And if it reported miles and miles of white water, we would know that our estimations were wrong and we damn well better get the fleet ready to go.
That night we updated the fleet, fielded a few questions, refereed a couple of arguments and noted that the fleet stress level was just starting to build. No frothing at the mouth yet, but stomach acid was starting to rise.
Later, as I lay in my bunk, I started going over Crowleyâs journals in greater detail. I was still only skimming them, but getting a good idea of the type of information they contained. The daily entries were mostly about prawns. He was, after all, a prawn fisherman. But if he saw a fish jump, he reported it. He was very specific about species and abundances of marine mammals, as well as birds. And all species information was correlated with information about weather and sea state, tide, temperature, and salinity. As well, he made occasional comments on unusual events that might affect the marine environment; things such as heavy boat traffic, unusual amounts of garbage, and oil slicks.
I went over the last journal even more carefully, looking for indications of changes in his mental state or specific events that might have caused a suicidal depression. There was nothing that even hinted at depression, or any change in mood or personality. There was nothing unusual at all until the last four days of the journal.
April 8: After several references to seeing large herring balls, he ends the dayâs entry with the cryptic comment Kelp is late.
April 9: At low tide, he collects several sunfish, which he will dry and use for prawn bait. Comments on Mergansers feeding in shallows. He finishes the entry with, Still no Kelp.
April 10: He works on gear, comments on abnormally warm water temperature, and writes, I wonder whatâs the problem with the Kelp?
April 11: The final entry. I couldnât help but pore over every word. These were the last observations of a dedicated scientist who was recording information about a unique area with a thoroughness that would never be repeated. His final words: I can see the Kelp.
These references puzzled me because in April you would not expect to see very much kelp anywhere on the coast. It was not the growing season. At best, you would find straggling remnants of the previous summerâs crop.
On April 12, Mark had dropped by and asked to borrow the journals. The next day, Crowley had shot himself. I tried to arrange the bits of information into a coherent pattern but nothing made sense. I couldnât accept that Crowleyâs mind, orderly and rational and disciplined, could have unraveled so quickly into the nihilistic scream of suicide. On the other hand, his inexplicable concerns with kelp might
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