The Narrows
I pass the channel buoy marking the racing waters between Sipson’s and Little Sipson’s Island and haul in. I notice a blitz of blues churning the water ten yards off to my port in a feeding frenzy, the piranhas of the sea having found their way into the bay. They were a favorite of my father’s, especially batter-fried. Not that he was much of a fish eater, he wasn’t, my father saying to me once, “Living with ’em a month or more at sea, the last thing you want is to be snackin’ on ’em when ya’ get back!” I’m a lot like him in that regard. I’ll take a charbroiled hamburger over a lobster roll any day of the week, but if it’s freshly dug clams you’re talking about, stand back and watch me eat!
Many a summer day did Jimmy, Chumley, and I walk the flats digging up clams with our f
