Wandering around the back of Joe Patties seafood market located right on the Gulf in Pensacola, Florida, I was in awe of being so close to the very boats and water the fish stacked inside the adjacent market came from. Snapping pictures of this boat and that, I was ecstatic. Ouu, a boat! Ouu, a net! Oh my, look at the pier! I stood at the end of the main pier in the back of the market, and stared off over the bay. A calm smile coming over my face, I drifted off into a day dream of never leaving, as a couple from Missouri stood next to me. Being the talkative soul I am, conversation started, and I raved on and on about Joe Patties, and all the culinary marine goodness the Gulf waters had to offer. The woman, standing in a wild tourist hat, and crinkling her nose with the sun's glare kept saying "wow…" or "yeahhhh…" as her husband continued to snap pictures of the pelicans.
"That's a something-something tailed something, dear" he rattled off, pointing to the opposite pier. They informed me that they were expert bird watchers. I would repeat what kind of bird it was but I honestly did not speak their bird lingo, so all I heard was words being said. I then realized my rant about fish and crab may not have touched them like those things do me, as we were functioning with two very different natural spheres, water creatures versus air creatures. A man then started moving beside me and the bird watching couple, hauling a large crate of blue shell crab onto a moving dolly to take them inside to sell. I snapped pictures like celebrity obsessed parerrartie. The couple bent over the crate, peering inside as their fanny packs pulled them forward, while the woman kept saying "wow…" By this point, I was back in day dream mode staring out over the waters, this time thinking only of the fabulous crab dishes I could produce all the time if I lived here. Crab soups, and bisques…Crab cakes made rich with crab and no bread crumbs…crab crostinis, and…

"You wanna' go for a ride"

Shaken from my day dream, I turned around. Staring down at the man in the boat, who was squinting up at me with his dirty white shirt, baggy pants, and tan colored rubber boats, I had no idea what to do. My mind raced, "Claire! Take the opportunity! Once in a life time. You're going to wish you went!" I stood awkwardly still, my feet pointing out a bit in my green flip flops and my hand making a visor over the edge of my glasses.

"Can I pull the crabs in?" I cautiously said, still unsure this was for real, as my heart quickened, and I realized I was about to seize the moment for all it was worth. This was my big chance to get a first hand crab experience. Carpe dien!
"Sure! Just let me get the…" He trailed off as he readied himself and the boat for departure.I haphazardly stepped on the wooden step down unto the little dock and hoisted my legs over the edge of the boat, and hopped right in. Holding my designer leather purse high in the air, as I had not planed for water activities that morning, I quickly inquired if I could wrap it in his water proof fishing jacket, and the man, Donnie, was more than happy to oblige.
Perching myself on the edge of the bottom half on the one seat in the tiny boat, I rested my hands on my knees and watched Donnie as he explained the finer points of starting a boat by hand. A Joe Pattie's employee was taking a break outside and witnessed my decent into the water craft. Staring, he asked, "You're going out?"
"I'm going to help!" I screamed back, pushing my white sweatshirt's sleeves up, and flashing a huge smile in his direction. I was still uncertain of what this crabbing trip was going to entail, yet bolstering an excited confidence. Giggling and turning his head, I could tell what he was thinking: "there goes a silly silly girl." Little did he know, this was the adventure crab enthusiasts like myself wait for day in and day out. This might be the divine reason I was able to drive through a northeastern blizzard for over nine hours, and make it to my beloved Florida coast in one piece.
Finally, a great hum was singing from the little motor and we were off; slowly at first out of the inner bay, as Donnie kept asking if I wanted to go faster. I wanted crabs, Donnie, sweet little crabs. The water speckled my glasses as the boat sped through the waters out to the bobbers Donnie had placed earlier when he dropped his crab cages. This was his second run of the day, and thus these were the last few containers.
"You see, they used to be orange, but the dang gum' seagulls ate ‘em!"

"Wait, what do you mean?" I asked as I stood up and tried to peer over into the water.
"You see, the boppers used to be orange, and the seagulls ate it all off, and made ‘em white now. Ok, here's one. Let's check this one out." Donnie continued to chat about the life span of a crab trap, and how he had been fishing his entire life. Making sure I indulged this experience for all it was worth, I maintained a constant conversation from with the gentle Donnie, whose dirty sun and sea worn hands made quick work of pulling up the traps.
"Well, it looks like we got a mama one here, and we'll have to throw her back. See the orange on her bottom. Yeah…but lookie, we're got a few, and a stone crab. You know you can only get the claws on those, but they'll get ‘cha good money. Gotta take the shells off the blue crabs, too."
Donnie flipped trap one out into the boat, as I snapped pictures and helped corral the crabs into a bucket. Their bright blue claws were brilliant. Hello Mr. Crab, I thought as I peered into the white bucket. Donnie then emptied out an earlier bucket of stone crab claws onto the dirty boat bottom and explained to me how the really big ones could get up to $5 a claw. Handling them with him, I was surprised at how large they were! Never had I seen these in stores in Jackson, Mississippi, and certainly not in New York. Squatting down, I continued to observe these huge claws, thick and bulky, a dark orange and brown with a white interior, with the darkest brown being on the pinchers points. Donnie, still half squatting down, pushed all the claws back into the bucket, the whole time chattering away about how much money this one was worth, or how this could be a very lucrative business when the time is right. Pelicans continued to fly and squack around us, and the sun beat down through my sweat top. Getting everything set again, Donnie moved back to the wheel, and we moved to another few traps.
At one point, bouncing along the waves, Donnie, with his back turned to me looking out at the waters, said, "This," and he turned around, "is a dirty, stinky job." Looking at me and pausing, he continued, "but, ya know, I've been doing this my whole life. I'm used to the smell of it. You get used to it, and you can make a good living. I mean, I did this crabbing all myself. I got this boat, and when I got it, there was nothing, but, a, you know, shell of a boat…this part right here. I put it all together again, and got me a motor, and my traps…" Donnie continued to talk about his life on the water, and I envied him in some way. The way I envy farmers, the family with the glorious berry patches, and the man who raises his own goats to hand make cheese. I want to be as close to my food source as possible, yet there is a humbling to knowing you can't do it all.
"You wanna' go fast now?" Donnie asked excitedly as we started to head back inland. Smiling, and taking my seat, I assured him any speed was fine with me, and I wished I could do this everyday.
"Any time! Any time for you!" Donnie smiled his goofy little smile as she stood at the small boat's worn wheel as he steered us right back up to the dock. My adventure came to an end, as Donnie make work of tying the boat back up and readying the crabs for the sale inside. We continued to talk, and I made plans to come crabbing again. It was bitter sweet getting of the boat, yet I was excited to get inside. The market was just as I knew it would be, smelling of fish and little else. I talked about soup and location with a woman from New Jersey who was sampling out roasted garlic on baguette slices with a teenage boy co worker, both in green aprons and baseball caps. The market was surprisingly busy, and this was not even any special time. I was proud to see the market I loved so much doing well, that I forgot to take a number, and thus extended my stay longer than planned. I was in no way complaining as I watched people shop, and which fish were "hot" today. I wanted snapper, yellow tail, and grouper. Shrimp, jumbo and pink, the sweet version of the gulf. And crab. I could not forget the crab. My beloved creature from the deep. I bought three versions and was overwhelming pleased with my selection. Packing it on ice, the young workers at the checkout asked, "How'd you like it out there?" Apparently, word of my crabbing had made it inside and spread around the entire store. I can hear it now, "Hey guys, Donnie's got some chick in his boat!"
Taking my Styrofoam box full of ice and seafood, I laughed and said, "Yes! And I'll be back to do it again this summer!"