That’s Nantucket in the foreground, with Marthas Vineyard in the middle, from about 15,000 feet.
Looking west from just-offshore Chatham. The Elizabeth Islands pointing into the sunset.
Truro and Provincetown in foreground, with Plymouth across Cape Cod Bay, and the lights of Boston far right.
This was taken by former Woods Hole scientist, and current astronaut, Loral O'Hara, from the space station. She looked out the window and exclaimed, “Hey, there’s Woods Hole!”
Nobska sunrise. Photo by Tom Duncan.
Calm morning on Vineyard Sound.
Yesterday I was heading out to go fishing when I saw something, um, unusual on the surface, about half a mile off Lackey’s Bay, so I turned the boat to take a closer look. It was a waterlogged osprey.
It was rowing, slowly, with its wings, and it looked exhausted. It was shivering. As I circled it with the boat, it kept turning towards me. Clearly it was interested in getting on board.
Occasionally it would go flat, as if it couldn’t go on. I didn’t know what to do. I called a friend who said maybe there’s a raptor rescue line. I googled. The second org I tried - a wildlife rescue org - actually had a real live person answering the phone. She told me that if I could get the bird onto the boat, that it would eventually recover, dry out and fly away. Really? OK … I had no problem getting right alongside the bird. It showed no sign of fleeing or fear. It wanted to be on the boat. But I was worried about its talons and its beak, so eventually I threw my quilted jacket over the bird and lifted it under its wings onto the boat.
The bird just lay there with its neck at a funny angle. I thought it would die. It tried to move and it fell on its back, and it didn’t even try to get upright, so I covered it with my jacket and turned it over.
After about 20 minutes, it stood up and spread its wings.
Over time it slowly became more alert.
I caught a small bluefish and offered it to the bird, but it wasn’t interested. It wrapped its talons around the anchor stock and stayed like that for the next two hours. I kicked the fish closer to the bird, but it didn’t even sniff it. I hoped, at minimum, it would take my offer as a sign of non-aggression.
For the next two hours it just stood there looking at me. Then, suddenly, it tried to flap its wings, but the bow of the boat was too enclosed for it to fly. I waved my jacket to encourage it to go to the more open stern, and I oriented the boat stern to the wind. Then, with one flap, it was airborne! It climbed in a big arc and headed back along Naushon towards Lackeys Bay.
QUESTION: How might the osprey have gotten itself in such trouble in the first place??? (Apparently it’s not uncommon, since the wildlife rescue woman I spoke to on the phone seemed to know exactly what to do.)
ONE POSSIBLE ANSWER: As this amazing, dramatic, must-watch video suggests, a fish too big for an osprey to lift from the water can overwhelm, and possibly even drown an osprey. In this video, the bird wins, but just barely!
by Jon Brodkin - 12/20/2022, 6:15 PM
[A personal note: I got frustrated trying to get people to understand Comcast’s misbehavior around the federal Affordable Connectivity Program and Comcast’s “voluntary” Internet Essentials Plus program. Finally, at the suggestion of journalism professor Dan Gillmor, I contacted Jon Brodkin, of Ars Technica, who wrote an excellent article. The first few paragraphs of his article are below. The original Brodkin article is here. - David I]
People with low incomes can get free Internet service through Comcast and a government program, but signing up is sometimes harder than it should be because of confusion within Comcast’s customer service department.
Massachusetts resident Tonia Williams qualified for the US government’s Affordable Connectivity Program (ACP), which provides $30 monthly discounts, and for Comcast’s Internet Essentials Plus, a $30 monthly service for low-income people that is essentially free when combined with the ACP discount. But when she tried to use the ACP discount with Comcast’s low-income service, Comcast incorrectly told her she wasn’t eligible because she was already a Comcast customer.
Williams, a certified nursing assistant who was not working when she spoke to Ars, was eventually able to get free home Internet service for her family. But she faced several hassles and said she would have given up if it hadn’t been for David Isenberg, a Falmouth resident who’s been helping low-income people in his town navigate the process. Isenberg knew Williams because she was previously a home health aide taking care of Isenberg’s wife’s uncle.
“I would have given up if it wasn’t for David pushing me,” Williams told Ars in a phone interview in November. “It’s such a run-around, and you have to sit and wait on hold. A lot of people don’t have time to sit on the phone for that long and then be told, ‘Well, you don’t qualify.’ If you don’t really know what the service is or how to get it, I would have just believed them, that I didn’t qualify.”
Isenberg contacted Ars in late October after helping Williams and two other people get the discount. All three were incorrectly told they didn’t qualify when they first tried to enroll, Isenberg said.
Last week I visited the van Gogh immersive experience in New Orleans. The publicity says, “Have you ever dreamt of stepping into a painting?”
Preface: Alan Steinbach and I have had a remarkable summer of fishing. The striped bass have not been this plentiful for decades, and we’ve had some adventures. But this one takes the cake.
[The prose below is by Alan, and several of the photos too.]
—–
ALTLast week, David and I met at the seawall behind MBL, where his boat, Freedom, is one of a row of boats less than 20 feet that are fastened to lines that loop through a pulley attached to a small mooring ball. It was 3 PM, the tide was rising, and we wanted to get out under the drawbridge without having to ask for the bridge to be raised. We made it, by about a foot.
I was looking forward to being out on the water, after a week following hurricane Ian’s weather-wake of wind and rain. The high cirrus clouds, and wind predicted to be ‘light and variable’, and the resulting bright sunshine and minimal wave action made it even more attractive. I also like accompanying David because he generally runs the boat by himself, leaving me to feel, look, and fish.
I should say David did not name Freedom; the name came with the boat, and he considers it improper to rename boats. However, the name fits. At about 18 feet, and shallow, with a very dependable Honda outboard, Freedom is not expensive to operate, nimble enough to cruise at 15 mph, large enough to handle forceful waves, small enough to come close to rocks where fish hang out without risking damage. Assuming you know what you are doing. David does.
“What are you thinking of?”, I ask as we move into the harbor, emerging from the channel between the ever larger Marthas Vineyard ferry operations, and the Woods Hole Oceanographic dock. Today WHOI is hosting a brutalist floating platform appropriately named Kraken. It’s a big catamaran used to manage ROV’s ( Remote Operational Vehicles, part of the REMUS program ).
“ The tide won’t start down at Staircase for an hour or more, so lets take a few drifts casting through the Hole first, and then go down the islands on the Vineyard Sound side looking for birds”, replies David.
“Sounds good”, I reply, forgetting the ambient motor noise.
“Can’t hear you!”
“ I said ‘Great Idea’” I shout after turning towards him from my seat in front of the boat. Both of us have presbycusis..age related loss of hearing.
Yes, since you asked, we are two old guys in a small boat. We don’t have to fish for a living. We are privileged in that way. Elder fishing is another reason to stay healthy.
We do a drift through the Hole, casting lures that we hope will attract a large fish. Nothing doing.
“Nobody hungry here, I guess” remarks David, easily heard over the gurgles and Glunks of moving water. “Lets get going towards Stairway”
Stairway is not on any map of the Elizabeth Islands. It’s a place on the South shore of Naushon Island, which is the second in the linear archipelago that stretches from Woods Hole on the extreme Southeast of the Cape as a perforated wall of glacial drift between Marthas Vineyard and Rhode Island. The perforations are known as ‘Holes’. Since the tide, the big slow wave of water pulled by the moon, sweeps up the Eastern USA from the Southwest, currents through the ‘Holes’ can be as strong as a river, waxing and waning every 6 hours, and timed by the lunar cycle. The currents enfold collections of small fish, known as schools. The bigger fish, like Striped Bass and Bluefish, are there to eat the small fish.
About Stairway. It’s David’s private name for a stretch of water on the Vineyard Sound side of Naushon where the currents flow close to a shore with lots of erratics..the geologists name for boulders carried by a glacier and deposited as the glacier melts. When flowing water encounters a rock, it creates eddies and gyres, swirling and sloshing. This disorients the little fish, and the predators, including seals, know this. So do we. And so do the seabirds like terns and gulls.
So, we are looking for birds because they are able to find places where big fish are attacking little fish, driving them to the surface or the shore. Their mutual communication system draws more birds, and the resulting commotion, soaring, diving, screaming, fluttering can seem like a cloud when seen from a distance.
Currents and winter storms wash up all sorts of flotsam. David noticed a set of 3 wooden stairs on the shore, and uses it as a place mark to return to. Stairway. Nearby is Witches Glen. And so on.
Fishing with other friends off Point Reyes in California, the spot is called ‘Trees’. Naming is an outdoors person thing. The most amusing one is ‘The Rose’, off Marthas Vineyard. The old charts printed a graphic of a compass in an otherwise empty space. There’s nothing there at all, but all the fishermen know that spot in the water as The Rose.
Fast forward through a long 65 F, calm afternoon looking for clouds of birds (we saw only searching singles) and occasionally stopping a few yards off the shore to cast in lures intended to attract big striped bass. We try East of Tarpaulin Cove and the old lighthouse, then motor past French Watering Place to Stairway.
Beautiful day; blue skies and wispy clouds. We cast and retrieve, cast and retrieve. Almost no wind, good flood current developing. But no fish. More on.
“Well, it’s called fishing, not catching” I remark.
“Can’t hear you” says David. We are floating in a mild current at the eastern edge of Robinsons Hole.“So, what do you want to do?”, he goes on, “ I think maybe in about half an hour rig up eels and go back to Stairway”.
“Sounds good” I shout back.
David rigs one of our two small eels, by passing a large curved hook through its brain. We have one other eel, and so I rig that. Freedom is drifting slowly Southeast along the end of Naushon, carried on a rising current coming from Robinsons. Several boats in the Hole. No sign of major catching. It’s about 5:30. Sunset is at 6:16.
I cast my eel towards the rocks on the shore. The idea is to put the bait right next to the shore, and then slowly retrieve it. If the fish are there, and hungry, one may try to eat the eel. There is a whole technique to this particular fishing. And a special regulation. A single circular hook. Wait for the striped bass to whack the eel, and then swallow it. Then set the hook.
The waiting is essential. Otherwise, you snatch the eel out of the striped bass mouth.
Of course, other predators have other habits. Bluefish, with small razor sharp teeth set in a powerful snapping jaw, just plow right into the bait. Snap the eel in half. Snap the line if they happen to get hooked. Snap your dogs nose. So I am not hoping for Bluefish.
“Hah, look now the seal is right over there” remarks David. I look a big to the left. Yup, a larger swirl in the water. Grey seals haul out further West near Penikese Island. The seal is fishing too.
I cast further to the right, away from the seal. Start the slow retrieve. You do remember it’s called fishing, not catching. I have time to glance at the green tangle of vines and bushes above the rocks of the shore. Soon the deer should be browsing for dinner.
There it is!! The smallest of jerks, almost a slap, I feel on the line. I drop the rod tip, anticipating a few seconds of wait to see if a striped bass has taken the bait. But as I mentally count ‘2’, I can feel a solid pull on the line. Then two quick jerks (maybe a big fish shaking its head) and then a really solid pull.
“I’m on!” I shout.
“Good” says David. He continues to reel in, clearing his line and bait out of the way to let me try to manage the fish.
Whoa. The fish is moving fast, heading away from the boat, towards open water. It goes by us, and I reel has to catch up. Suddenly, there is a disturbance, and I get a fleeting glimpse of a big striped bass. It disappears immediately with another swirl, and the pull continues. Really strong. That was a weird sort of thing..not really like a big fish to come to the surface like that. Now the line is being pulled out against the drag set on the reel. That’s a big fish!
“Hey David, can you move us out to sea. I think it may get into the rocks and break off!”
“OK, OK” David has recovered his bait, now he starts backing away from the shore.
The way modern spinning reels has a rachet mechanism that stops the bail from going around backwards. Still, you want a big fish take take line, otherwise the line will break when the pull is too strong. I have line that is tested at 30 pounds. So there is a set of friction plates controlling slippage of the spool of the reel. It’s called the drag. Mine is set to deal with 20 pounds of terrified fish.
“Hey David, its still taking line”
“Yeah, yeah. Keep the tension on. It will be OK, should stop soon. I’ll turn the boat towards it”
My rod is bent way over. I’ve shifted my grip to improve my leverage. I can feel episodic jerks…must be the fish shaking it’s head. But mostly, it’s just a steady very strong pull. I can’t reel the fish in. All I can do is hold on. The line continues to pull off the reel. I could turn up the drag a bit, but then maybe the fish will break off.
The fishing line I am using is expensive. So I have 150 yards of the expensive line, and then its connected to what is intended as ‘backing’…less expensive line that probably hasn’t seen the light of day since I filled the reel several years ago. The expensive ‘working’ line is green. The backing is blue.
“Hey David, it’s got all the working line, I’m into the backing. Can we chase it?”
“Really? Oh yeah, I see. OK, start reeling and point the rod right in the direction of the fish” He moves the throttle lever, and we pick up speed following the fish.
“This is the biggest bass I ever hooked” I shout
“ I can’t hear you” David shouts back.
“It is maybe a shark?”
“Probably not in close like that. Just a very big fish. Keep the tension on”
As Freedom speeds up to about 5 mph, my rod remains bent with tension, but now the line isn’t going out. To gain line, the best technique is to pull the rod tip up, without trying to reel, and then reel as you bring the tip down. Hey, it’s working. The last of the blue line is getting covered by the green.
“Looks like we may be gaining ground”, I shout.
“Just keep the tension on”
“Hey, do you think it might be a seal?”
“Maybe, but then we should cut the line. Lets see what it is”
Now where were we?…Oh yeah, I had just hooked up with a very large fish…or something…with David in Freedom, his fishing boat, close to the south east end of Robinsons Hole (the water gap separating Naushon and Pasque in the Elizabeth Islands off Cape Cod)
After about 3 minutes, about 10 yards ahead, something breaks through the surface. For a moment, I can’t make sense of what I see, and then, the nature of our problem is clear. Yes, my line leads to a big striped bass. And that’s a Grey seal who seems to have the bass head in its jaws!
Then the seal, still holding the bass as a wolf or a lion might hold its prey, slides smoothly beneath the smooth silver and green surface of the water, and the line starts going out again.
ALT“Wow, OMG”. I still have a fish, but the seal has it too. Do we cut it off?
“No shit, a seal!”, David shouts back. “ I think it’s just holding on to your fish, now hooked. Its your fish, maybe too big to keep but maybe if you fight for it, the seal will let it go and we can save the fish. Keep the tension on”
The line suddenly goes slack.
“Oh, I think it’s off”.
“Just keep reeling”
I reel, the line tightens as the seal turns abruptly and heads in to shore
“No, no, it’s still on. Do you think maybe the seal is just tangled up and trying to escape?
Up ahead, now about 70 yards ahead , the seal, comes up, probably for a breath, and then sounds as smoothly as a porpoise. With my fish.
Now Davids skill at maneuvering Freedom really counts. The seal does not let go. It heads for the rocks, it doubles back to the deeper water. David becomes more pro-active, speeding up while I reel fast, so that when the seal surfaces, we are within 10 yards.
All this time, maybe 20 minutes, I’ve kept the line tight, the rod bent all the way over. I’m getting tired. However, the seal doesn’t seem to be taking as much line.
“I really think maybe the seal is somehow tangled up”, I whine. “Can’t drop the fish. It wouldn’t hold on for this long. Good job of boat handling”
“If you want to cut the line, we can do that”, David shouts back. “But that seal has our fish. We’re not harassing it, it’s harassing us!! Keep the tension on”
After about 30 minutes, our little hookup of boat-me-rod-line-bass- seal is about a mile along the shore east from Robinsons Hole.
“You would think the seal would get tired. Maybe if we shout at it, it will drop the fish”, says David, as he makes another course correction. “Keep the rod pointed in the direction we need to go”
“I’m getting tired”, I kvetch. “I’m going to tighten up on the drag. Either the seal will break the line, or maybe we can get closer”
Now, the seal isn’t taking as much line. And we coming closer. It comes up within 15 feet, and both of us yell and hoot. Keeps its grip. Once it seems to pause and shift its bite for a moment. Damm, did it roll its eyes at me? Really, doesn’t all this mean it is somehow tangled or hooked? Aren’t seals supposed to avoid humans? Rod still bent over with the tension.
The seal surfaces just ahead, and again I have a fleeting impression that it is taking a good look at me, and isn’t afraid of what it sees. Again, it seems to shifts its grip on the fish, my fish, a bit, and sounds for the bottom. Straight down this time. I’m beginning to think of it as female.
“Hey David, she’s going down. I thought you said it was only 10 feet deep?”
“Yeah, but now it’s 30.”
Now the seal is right below us. Not budging. Surely the line will break any time now. But no.
“Gotta get away from this lobster pot buoy” says David. Oh, yeah! If the seal can snag the line on a lobster pot, or the rope going to it, this contest is over. The seal is moving again, still taking line. Feels as strong as ever. I have a sudden flashing thought; she probably thinks I am getting tired.
More jerking. Big tugs on the line. That must be the seal. Now she’s definitely coming up. Where the hell is that lobster pot buoy?
Now the tension the line suddenly decreases. Still some weight, but nothing like the implacable pull. I reel, the line is coming in.
And then, only a few yards away, the seal surfaces. But this time, no longer holding the head of my fish. And at the same time, I look down at my line, and there, with the tail of the eel protruding from its mouth, is the head of the fish with about the first third of the body ending in a shredded bloody bite.
“I got the fish!”, I shout.
“Look; so does the seal” replies David. And sure enough, as I look back at the seal, she rears her head up a bit, clearly showing us 2/3 of the fish in her jaws, and then, almost casually, tosses her head, aligns what’s left of my fish, and starts scarfing down her hard won dinner.
Now it’s 6:30. During the last maybe 45 minutes, the sun has sunk below the high points of Naushon island, and is starting to light up the sky. The seal. having chowed down most of my fish, gulps the very large tail fin, and with a very satisfied look on her face, slides under the water. I ‘ve pulled the head and mangled 1/3 body into the boat. My hands feel cramped from keeping on the tension. And I am smiling too.
“We did it!”, I say to David. He grins back at me. We bump fists.
“So, she was never stuck or hooked or tangled”, I remark, as David puts the boat in gear.
‘No, just hungry and stubborn”, replies David.
“And she won, she got her dinner”, I say, pleased at the ending.
A few minutes later, we have motored back towards Woods Hole across the swirling silver sea in the last daylight. We have one more chance. Casting his eel into the shadow near the shore at Stairway, David gets a hit, and a few minutes later I use the lip grabber to bring a 32 inch bass into the boat. The slot limit for keeping is 28 to 35.
“ I think we can go home now”, says David. He has a bottle of rum for occasions like this.
So we head home, the seascape lit up by an almost full moon rising over Marthas Vineyard. The various colored lights associated with Falmouth and the Cape beyond twinkle cheerfully. The tide is so high we can’t get under the bridge, and the last opening was at 7. So we tie up Freedom, and go across to Water Street Kitchen for a drink and some people food of our own.
The end (but only for now; stay tuned)
A set of photos from June 22 by photographer Steve Zottoli. By permission of Steve Z.
Behind Eddie Swift’s barn in Woods Hole.
March 10, spring is trying … and it’ll keep trying until about July …
Sunrise, January 9, from chez Zeeb. Photo by Peter Zeeb, used by permission.
This photo of the Woods Hole ferry slip (foreground) and railroad station, posted on twitter by @vineyardrobin, is from about 1960. The 1960-era cement-block steamship terminal is on the left. The train station is behind the passenger car in the middle. The photo was almost certainly taken from the deck of an arriving or departing ferry.
This photo of old Woods Hole was posted by @vineyardrobin on Twitter. It dates from well before 1960, before the cement-block terminal building was built. It was taken from the deck of one of the New Bedford, Vineyard or Nantucket ferries. The fish-unloading building (with the Texaco star) is on the left, and behind that is the “Fish, Lobster” sign of Sam Cahoon’s fish market.
Not sure whether this one’s perfect …
Woods Hole Current -- Ebb and flow of life in Woods Hole