The Captain's Chair

An image from my experience lobster fishing out of Tracadie Harbour has stayed with me and inspired this recitation. I wanted to create something personal yet epic. There is greatness in some of the smallest moments and gestures, especially on the sea, where we are so small and the ocean is great. There is an intensity of movement, meaning and symbolism that is hard to match on land.

On a side note, the chair I refer to below was just recently retired.

The Captain’s Chair

I arrived at the wharf at quarter to five

The sun tucked tight in the bib of the sky

From a battered truck stepped a figure dark

Then towards the wharf walked he and I

The crew awaited with faces stone

Assembled, we were soon to part

The captain’s hand upon the wheel

This master of the mariner’s art

Not a word he spoke but we fairly flew

Stem to stern in a flurry of steps

Ropes and buoys, knots and gloves

Us in a blur while the whole world slept

From the harbour we churned through the channel’s mouth

Markers of green and red to guide

The sea, the sky, and the dunes as one

And us just a speck on Neptune’s side

The sea was rough that blustery day

The tangled waters roiled and pitched

No sooner did we see the shore

Then back we went in a watery ditch

Our work began with the first eight traps

Pulled by winch from the ocean floor

He knew the bottom sight unseen

From a life devoted to this chore

Traps on the washboard, filled with bait

Flew from the boat at his silent nod

A rush of rope, a splash a spray

And the roar of the wind like a salty god

We fought the sea, these three and I

Lobsters held from human hands

Again and against the Leviathan’s reach

Hands in gloves, claws in bands

Mackerel to cut tubs to carry

Much was done and little was said

Work for the grace of work alone

All at a nod of the captain’s head

I yoked my neck to chores that were mine

Time was neither set nor clear

Hardly a chance to feel fatigue

My fate in the hands of the man who steered

Then under a grizzled, grey tone sky

The engine slowed we rode the swells

A crewmate said “we’ll take our break”

And break we did as I shall tell

He searched and found in a dark abode

Down below where I hadn’t been

A chair, hand fashioned, now revealed

A chair he placed beside the wheel

A rough contraption truth be told

With an awkward list it tried to stand

Begging the aid of knotted twine

Patchwork tape and the captain’s hand

Four bad legs of splintered wood

A cushion of canvas torn and frayed

Galvanized nails to hold in place

This pedestal form, chaos had made

It seemed more a wreck, a remnant, an ode

To an earlier time a distant age

There was barely a hint of comfort found

In the curve of the back that formed a cage

Life on the sea had taken a toll

The roll of the waves had the chair inclined

But hard as well on our captain too

For the lines on his face were by nature designed

The captain sat with twist and fidget

He and the chair became as one

They rocked on the sea with nods to agree

That the work of the day was not yet done

A growl, a scowl, and the image broken

A blink a swallow, our break was done

The chair disappeared with the deepest of bows

And our day recommenced as it had once begun

Then I heard as we lifted the wind in our traps

The chair I had seen had been here on the boat

Since the very first morning the captain had fished

With a gear of his own and a pride in his throat

The damage of years and them still standing

Patriots sharing their ups and their downs

Seen worser days, hoping for better

Occasional triumphs, oft time frowns

And I saw clear as salt that somehow the two

Had weathered the worst and were grumbling still

With a lean, a bend, a hint of the end

And a stubborn pride that bore no ill

So the morning continued then back to the shore

The catch of the day was lifted and weighed

The rise and the fall of the sea in my knees

My fingers unfolding the cash that I’d made

Then I saw the same captain in my retreat

Framed as he was by the boat and the sea

He resembled two hundred years plus in reverse

Under a mast cut from a tree

He worked some repairs on his weathered old seat

Knowing tomorrow was soon to appear

And his crew, and they would rely on the sight

Of the captain’s chair and his vision clear

No cause for alarm, all is well

He takes his seat so we can rest

The hand of the captain has guided us here

Upon the waves as cautious guests

From his vantage point, we are put at ease

He is high enough to see the shore 

While rising on unending swells

He guides us close to the evermore