As he and his son sailed past the Cathlond docks, Cutch called out a greeting to the ferryman and asked where they might find mullet schooling. The fellow pointed out the end of the beach running south, just beyond the docks, where a bridged stream flowed down from the Cape’s piney heights.
Cutch offered his thanks and promised the ferryman some of their day’s catch. It was mid-morning when father and son pulled the boat well up onto the beach and unpacked the fishing gear; a casting net, stringers, a covered bucket, a folded cutting table, a large bag of salt, two thin bladed filet knives, and two long poles each with a generous spool of strong line. Ardanion frowned with curiosity at the pouch of tiny bread dough pebbles. Cutch winked at him saying, “Let’s show you the net first.” Taking only the net, the bucket, the dough, and the stringers, he led his son onto the beach.
After a few practices on the beach with a colorful seashell as a target, Ardanion became skilled enough to cast the net. Cutch talked him repeatedly through the steps; with the favored hand, loop the casting line and gather the net near the horn; clear any tangles; drape a third of the net over the favored elbow and grasp another third in the other hand, hooking its pinky over the weighted edge. With one foot forward towards the target, swivel at the hips and toss with both hands, letting go last with the hooked finger to splay out the net. Once the boy could do this without his father’s promptings, Cutch had him ready his net and come to the water’s edge, where he opened the pouch and took out a handful of the dough pebbles.
Mullet like to swarm, and tell-tale ripples from their dance disturb the water’s surface. Once they’d spotted a swirl of mullet, Cutch told Ardanion to prepare to cast. When the boy and net were ready, Cutch tossed a handful of the bread pebbles across the water over the fish, and their dance became a tight frenzy. “Cast your net!”
With bright-eyed anticipation, his son tossed out over the feeding fish and quickly the wide circle of the net’s weighted rim sank around them. “You’ll know the net has hit bottom when the line slackens”, Cutch instructed. “Then pull it in!”
Ardanion nodded and, when he felt the right moment, yanked the line to close the net around his catch. Surprise crossed his face at the sudden drag resisting his pull, but he set his feet and continued to draw the net in and drag it up to dry sand. A dozen mullet flopped around inside it, confused by their sudden predicament.
“Nicely done!” Cutch proclaimed, kneeling next to the drawn net. “There are at least a half dozen good sized ones for the ferryman, and plenty of smaller ones for cut bait. If our luck holds, we might need only this one net cast.” He looked up at his son playfully. “How’d you do that?”
Ardanion laughed, then assumed a wide-stanced pose with fists on hips and a lifted, out-thrust chin. “Elf blood, Ada!”.
Through his own laughter, Cutch said, “Beginners luck, more likely! Go fill the bucket … Elf-lord!” Ardanion splashed happily into the waves up to his knees with the bucket and filled it. Cutch watched his son, now a young man, and felt blessed. Thinking how proud Ardanion’s mother would be of Her son, he turned his attention to stringing the larger mullets. By the time he’d finished, his son was striding up carefully, trying not to spill and anxious for whatever would be next.
Cutch lay the strung fish across the horned end of the net. He then grasped one of the smaller fish, still trapped and flopping in the other end of the net, and dropped in into the bucket. Without being prompted, Ardanion followed suit and soon all the remaining fish were in the bucket. “Take this back to the boat and put the cover on it.” The boy obeyed, his father following with the folded net and strung fish. Once everything else was stowed, Cutch lifted the strung mullets proudly up. “Let’s take the ferryman his fish, then … flounder beware!”, he announced to his enthusiastic son.
Together they strolled down to beach to the Cathlond docks, Ardanion finding interesting shells for his pockets, and Cutch observing him under a brilliant noontime sun warming the sand beneath their bare feet. Another memory dropped into the father’s precious family collection, and he wished his Wife and daughter were with them. Along the way, father and son greeted others on the beach, some fishing for wealthy local landowners, others the wives and children of the wealthy and spending a day frolicking on the beach. The conversations were brief but cheerfully polite, mostly simple exchanges of greetings and vague well-wishes for a “nice day”, and the occasional compliment on the fine string of mullet.
The ferryman was quite pleased with Cutch’s gift, and they exchanged friendly comments on the success of the catch. As Ardanion interjected his own details, the two men smiled, allowing the boy to take over the conversation with an excited recitation of his part in the catch. Others on the dock gathered around to enjoy the boy’s enthusiasm about tasks that most of them knew well; they were glad to remember the joys they’d had when first learning them. After a while, Cutch excused himself and his son, bidding them all farewell so that they may return to their next quest of the day, flounder. As they started their stroll back to the boat, they overheard those on the docks haggling over the ferryman’s gifted fish. Cutch wondered whose frying pans or chowder pots would tonight find Ardanion’s first catch of mullet.
Back at the boat, they unfolded the small cutting table, its legs barely long enough for them to sit before it cross-legged. Here, father taught son the simple task of cutting bait from the small mullets in the bucket. Soon, they had a good amount, each chunk one to two inches long, and it was time to try their luck with the long poles.
Standing at the very edge of the water, Cutch showed Ardanion how to make the long cast out into the surf. He warned the boy, who had baited his line with the largest of the mullet chunks, that the biggest fish would likely hit the biggest bait and he was bound to catch something more challenging than he’d ever landed from the waters around the Falathlorn. Being a young teenager, Ardanion was more excited than forewarned by his father’s advice, and with tense anticipation, he gripped the pole white-knuckled and determined to prevail. After a few minutes, he became lulled by the seaside serenity, and unprepared for a flounder’s subtle taking of the hooked bait. His father, however, noted the tip of his son’s pole twitch, and warned, “Better set that hook before you’re robbed.”
Ardanion’s eyes snapped to the end of his pole, and he quickly jerked back. Instantly, the fish began its fight. The boy was shocked by the intensity of the struggle. “It’s a big one, Ada!”
“Aye!”, Cutch exclaimed, watching boy and pole fight against their prey, a fish large and desperate to escape. “Probably a female! You know how to play a fish, son. Keep the line taut and let her fight till she’s tired, then bring her in!”. Cutch resisted the temptation to let his pole down to go hover over his son. He knew the boy could do this, even though this might very well be the largest fish he’d ever hooked. As Ardanion’s struggle played out, Cutch’s own line trembled and he set the hook. Father and son now both worked to bring in their catch, and when noticing this, the boy joyfully hooted. “Pay attention to yours, Danny, or you’ll lose her!”
As Cutch suspected, when they both landed their fish, Ardanion’s was considerably larger; a female mullet fully three feet long and around twenty pounds, whereas his was a male about two feet long and a little more than a dozen pounds. “Beginners luck again, Ada?” the boy chided playfully. They laughed together as they returned to the low table to cut, salt, and wrap the fish.
“We still have plenty of bait… and that was fun!” the boy commented as they worked.
Cutch looked at his son with a sly grin, and said, “Perhaps we could sell some flounder back at the docks?” Ardanion answered with a happy nod.
A couple more fleeting hours of fishing brought in another half dozen flounder, all keepers but none as large as Ardanion’s first. As the last of the flounder was salted and wrapped, the two looked at each other with satisfied, work-wearied faces, both knowing they were done for the day. Like-minded in their tasks, they wordlessly packed their gear and salted treasures and set sail again for the Cathlond docks. The ferryman invited them to stand up their cutting table before his boat to display and sell their fish; as dusk approached of it was all gone, save some they would take back to the island for Cutch to prepare as the main course of an ample evening meal.
They took turns at the tiller as they sailed back to the island, recalling to each other highlights of a terrific father-and-son day, now ending under a dimming sky, soon to be sprinkled with the brightest of the stars winking awake. However, when the Tol Falthui dock was close enough to see in detail, Cutch stiffened, grew quiet, then squinted and leaned forward to stare. Lashed to the dock was another sailboat, several times larger than theirs. Although lateen rigged like their own, this one was lean and long, its yard and mast a bit over sized for the hull, which was painted black. The sail, though furled, was also black.
“Corsair river raider…” Cutch muttered grimly, recognizing the predatory markings from larger pirate ships he’d seen many years ago.
