Story Four: Crash

Sam was in a hurry. He had recently begun to realize that more than half of his life was over, and lately, he was always in a rush to get things done. He was frustrated with himself because he had overslept again this morning. Day after day, it was becoming harder for him to get out of bed. His joints always ached and he never felt as if he had slept enough. The salty smell of the ocean air was all it took to wake him up and get him moving, but it was difficult to make it down to the docks before sunrise as he used to.

It was late in November, and Sam had spent the day out on the water, trawling for prawns. By the time his crew had pulled in the third net of the day, the sun was already beginning to sink in the sky. Sam was watching the sun’s reflection on the water. His hair was mostly gray, but strands of copper still shone in the afternoon sunlight. His face was weathered, almost permanently red from being out in the sun and wind continually. These days, his face was usually contorted into a scowl or frown, adding to the wrinkles that had formed over the years. With his hands on his hips, his feet steady on the rocking Humble Pine, he gazed out over the water.

“Captain?” Al asked. “Are we going to set out the last net?” Al was the newest member of the trawling crew, and he was always hoping to catch as many prawns as possible in a day. He was ambitious and a good worker, but often found it difficult to work with Sam. He had been waiting at the dock for an hour this morning before Sam ambled down.

Sam broke out of his daze. “Yeah. Let’s get over to another bay.” Sam started the motor on the small trawler and began to increase speed as the boat bumped over the waves. It was the end of the tiger prawn trawling season, just as it was the end of the day, and Sam, like Al, wanted the largest catch possible.

The tide had gone out while Sam was slowly moving about his day, and the Humble Pine was now closer to the shore than he had realized. He increased the speed of the boat once more. He had no idea that he was taking his boat across the waters off the shore of a green sea turtle nesting site. He didn’t notice their heads poking out of the water as they took their breath and looked towards the beach; he was focused only on the setting sun on the horizon.

The boat jumped and the motor sputtered as the propeller smacked into something.
“Shit,” Al said, looking over the back of the boat. The water was churning in the wake of the boat, but Al could see a large green sea turtle gasp for air and go under, her shell broken by the collision. “It was a turtle. Should we go back and see if it’s okay?”

Sam wasn’t concerned. He stared straight ahead and never looked behind him or slowed the boat down. He didn’t answer Al.

“You know those blokes are endangered, right?” Al asked, hoping Sam would turn around.

“No way they’re endangered,” Sam said. “There are hundreds of them out here every day.” Sam had caught hundreds of turtles in his trawling nets over the years, mostly flatbacks and olive ridleys, but often loggerheads or green turtles. Some survived, others drowned. He let them go when he could. He wasn’t hurt when he couldn’t. What was one dead turtle when there were so many more in the ocean? The ocean was limitless. Sam suspected that the turtle populations were limitless as well.

Al shrugged. The turtle was completely out of sight by now, and the Humble Pine was fast on its way to the next trawling ground. Sam stared straight ahead. The day was almost over, and he had more fishing to do before the sun went down.