The Florida bay scalloping season runs from July 1 to September 10, coinciding perfectly with the acquisition of our boat, as well as some of the hottest, muggiest, stormiest weather Florida has to offer. Perfect.
When Stuart was a kid, he used to go scalloping with his family up at his Aunt Mary’s in Crystal River. When we got the boat, that was the first thing he wanted to do. I’d never been scalloping before, and actually wasn’t even quite sure how scallops looked in the wild. Just think of the Shell gas station sign.
I was a little uncertain at first, because although I love the ocean, I am not as crazy about touching stuff found in the ocean. Except for dolphins. But definitely not raw fish, which is why I had to give up my childhood dream of becoming a dolphin trainer.
When I was a kid out on my dad’s boat, I wore water shoes at all times to prevent seaweed from touching my feet. Not touching things had its advantages, for instance, when my sister surfaced one day with some angry stings from fire coral, and I did not.
Nevertheless, I was game to try it. It’s a good thing Stuart did not tell me beforehand how much seaweed we’d have to swim through. How much? Enough that while running the boat, we’d have to stop every minute and a half to throw it into reverse, in order to clear all the seaweed off the prop. And yet, I still got in the water. And, I managed not to have a panic attack every time I surfaced looking like the swamp thing, seaweed draped over my head and shoulders. Just the first few times. My dad still doesn’t believe me when I tell him this.
Our first trip was to Crystal River. It was the first weekend we had the boat, and we hadn’t gotten a Bimini top for it yet. Big mistake. That, coupled with the fact that I didn’t take into consideration that my back would be exposed to the elements for hours on end, the water just reflecting the sun as I floated about, meant that I sustained the worst sunburn of my life. The fact that I also didn’t think about the effects of the sun, beer, and my only food source being chips and a peanut butter sandwich, means I didn’t realize just how bad the sunburn was until the next day, because I was blind drunk. And belligerent, according to the wait staff at the Chili’s by the marina.
The trip started off well though. We launched the boat into Crystal River about 11 and made our way out to the ocean. We had coordinates from Stuart’s uncle, but we really didn’t need them; we just had to follow the regatta. I’d never seen so many boats crowded around one area before. Stuart used fishing line to lash a dive flag onto a push-pole he uses for duck hunting, we donned our snorkeling gear, and jumped in.
I was immediately covered in seaweed. The water wasn’t very deep, probably only about three to five feet at the most. Basically, you just snorkel around until you see this looking out at you from the sand or seaweed:
Those blue things are eyes. And yes, I touched that. When they sense something approaching they snap shut, and some shoot away using the water to propel themselves. That day was one of the days I was having contact problems, so I only had a contact in one of my eyes. That resulted in me misjudging the location of many a scallop – I’d reach out and grab a handful of seaweed, while the scallop squirted by me. It’s also another reason I referred to myself as being “blind drunk” a few paragraphs above.
Stuart caught the first one, and eventually I caught one too. I admit, that first one was kind of exhilarating! We moved spots a few times, and all in all we got about 60 between the two of us that day. There is a two-gallon limit per person, or one pint shucked. We didn’t come close to our limit that day. After awhile my snorkel started hurting my mouth so I was content to just sit in the sun and down some beer to get the saltwater taste out of my mouth. The sun felt so good…at least until my skin started coming off in sheets.
We packed it in around 5, went to Chili’s, and headed back home. I don’t remember the drive home at all, except that when we arrived home I somehow managed to upend the dry bucket that contained all our valuables and dump its entire contents (cell phones, GPS, iPod) onto the front lawn. We didn’t discover that until the next morning. That could have ended really badly. My husband is a saint for not feeding me to the sharks. I collapsed into bed, and was awakened at 5 am when my back burst into flames. I had to go to work that morning, and could barely walk. I was wearing an almost backless sundress, because I needed to have the least amount of clothing possible touch my skin while still being considered decent. Let me tell you, having to climb into a car with black leather seats in July in Florida, with a sunburned bare back, should be considered torture and outlawed under the Geneva Convention. I just kept repeating over and over to myself, “So stupid. So stupid. So stupid.” And then I peeled for three weeks.
But, in spite of it all, I was still looking forward to going again. Next time though, I vowed to bring more sunscreen and less beer.
