| ommercial crabbing in the Chesapeake Bay reveals itself very slowly to the outsider. Many who cruise the Chesapeake for plea- sure are unaware that right under their bows, so to speak, a major national fishery quietly goes about its business. I cannot say exactly why this is so. In the autumn we both notice and celebrate the return of America s only commercial sailing vessels, or the elegant skipjacks that start to dredge for oysters during the first week of Novembcr. Similarly, we marvel at the labor of the tongers, who spend long cold hours in smaller boats in search of the same prize. But, come late spring and summer, we tend to ignore the crabber. Perhaps it is because his early hours are not our hours. Or the waters he works are for the most part marshy, buggy, and far removed from our choice cruising grounds. We do not much really think of him, in fact, unless by chance we have to steer through a forest of bobbing pot buoys. We curse gently, pray that we will not pick up a warp in our propellers, and continue on our way. It comes as a surprise, therefore, to learn in time that the Chesa- |
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