fishing.
I was soaking up the afternoon sun on my local beach in Salvador when I witnessed the most curious thing.
Picture this: Sunday afternoon, local beach, but not my normal local beach. I’m reading a book that’s not quite grabbing my attention, when suddenly, a line of men surround me. Curious to what this phenomena was, I sat patiently, transfixed.
Mind racing, am I the prey, or simply privy to the hunt of invisible prey?
I paid closer attention, and noticed the line and manner in which they stood was intentional.. Some, lazily whipping their lines in the air. Silvery lines catching the sunlight. Muscles rippling under brown skin, some tattooed, some clad in long sleeves, protected against the weakening rays of the Equatorial sun. I broadened my gaze, and also see men precariously perched on the rocky coastline, casting lines from fishing rods as the tide greedily roars in. All of these men possess a combination of skill, wisdom and knowledge of the coastline.
The knotted fishing line of the men on my beach is wrapped around a cardboard cylinder, stunning simplicity coupled with deadly accurate functionality.
Buried deep under the layers of competitiveness permeating the salty air I sensed a loving air of brotherhood and community.
“Oi cara!”
Rings out as they began to intently scan the line of the cove, searching for something I have yet to decipher.
In a flash, they collectively dart to a new spot, rushing to cast lines at a school of fish jumping out of the water. With the utmost concentration, the larger prey stalks the sand above, unseen, and unknown to the fish - until they’re caught.
A jubilant whoop streaks across the beach, the first catch of the evening is coming in, a very impressive grey fish, size of a small shark. This is sure to fetch an incredible price from a nearby restaurant.
New to this euphoric feeling, I celebrate too, and cheer him on silently. What a wonderful way to start the week, with the blessing of Yemaya.
All you had to do is show up, cast your line and give thanks.
Another school of fish darts above water, and the men quickly react, slinging lines into the unforgiving ocean as the tide continues to race toward the shore.
This time, a set of lines gets tangled, two lines crisscrossed, eyes pointed in the same direction. Reluctantly drawing them back to land, removing tangled seaweed as they grumble. They are loosing time with this minor inconvenience.
Arguably, I should be watching the sun setting over the ocean. A beautiful background of palm trees and Brazilian bodies gyrating to MPB blasting out of speakers. The thunk of a machete cracking a coconut open, the drip of açai. Sand lightly dusting everything.
Yet, I’m riveted to a far more entertaining show. The story of brotherhood and hustle, laced with triumph and friendly competition. The casual ability to make something out of nothing.
A hook, a line and a lil bit of luck on your side is all you need to make a little extra, a lil no way out of no way.
As the tide comes in, I realise I’m in the way of their slinging lines, so I scooch back, still watching. It seems they enjoy the extra eyes, the jokes louder and slight glances my way.
There’s another catch, one of the old heads is patiently bringing in a big one. Sure enough, gently keeping the predator turned prey on the line as he eases it in with the tide.
A younger man walks into the waves and dips under the water. It seems its a ritual for him, acknowledging and perhaps thanking the waters as he seeks to gain from their abundance
I notice 3 more catches, the excitement palpable in the air as hopes rise and fall with each one.
Porra! The young boy shouts as he shakes his head in disbelief. 1 fish for a nice dinner and 1 to sell? He’s already on his second catch, while others are still hoping to net their first. Another young man shouts, drawing in HIS second catch of the night too. The other men mumble their congratulations, eyes slit small with a touch of envy.
The bounty is present, the water spirits are frolicking and lady luck is coyly present tonight.
I barely notice the sun has already set, so engrossed with the drama of the evening fishing. Knowing what to look for now, the swirls of the fish display a clear pattern above water. Each man guessing where the prey might go next so he can sink his bait into it and pull it to shore. The drama continues to play out in front of me, a sweet combination of skill and luck, camaraderie and jest.
A total of 7 large fish are caught, dragged to shore and covered with seaweed, no decoy needed, as this fish are too large for the squawking seagulls.
The older man walks over to me. He humbly explains, I’m not greedy. The ocean has provided me with one fine catch tonight, what a great start to the week. I agree, emphatically. Issooo! AXE!
The absence of the sun invites darkness in. The men begin to gather their catches, fofochinas.
The show is over.
Until sunrise, when it starts all over again.