FISHING FOR COD, THE WAY IT USED TO BE by Hayward J. Prince "Time to get up boys! Got to get the trap hauled before the wind comes up!" That was the wake-up call heard by my brother Leaman and me on many a summer morning just before dawn in the 1950s. Dad was an experienced fisherman. He knew that the wind would usually rise with the sun and it was difficult to haul a cod trap when it was stormy, so he was anxious to get us moving. Of course, the bed felt pretty cosy to us that early in the morning, but already we could hear the putting motors of fishing boats already leaving the harbour, so we could well understand the urgency in Dad's voice. The trip out the bay to our trap was beautiful. The moon still rode high in the sky, reflecting on the calm, glassy water, and every now and then we would pass a jellyfish that turned the water to fire. Now the sky was getting brighter and I could see the white buoys of our trap in the distance. "How many fish are swimming around in our trap below those buoys?" I wondered eagerly. The first line Leaman hauled up was to close the doorways, because when that was accomplished, the fish were trapped inside the net. Then using other lines, we hauled the heavy net to the surface. Now it became a two-boat job, so Leaman climbed into the punt that we had towed behind our boat and went out on the heads (outer edge) to pull the net up on to the gunwales to prevent the fish escaping over the top. As the net broke the surface, the cod were flipping and flashing, flapping their tails in a panic at losing the freedom of the wide bay, That's when Dad went to work with the big dip net and gradually loaded our boat with their beautiful silvery bodies. To a young boy, the trip home felt so exciting. I lay on the cuddy with my head hanging over the bow. Now the boat rode so low that I could reach out and trail my hand in the water. The wind was coming up, some of that water was spattering my face, and it burned in the hot sunshine of the sparkling morning. As we edged up to our wharf I could see a knot of old retired fishermen waiting to welcome us home. Fishing was still in their blood so they were as pleased with our catch as we were. After tying the boat to the wharf we trudged wearily up the hill to home, where Mom had breakfast cooking on the old wood stove. That bacon, eggs and toast with partridgeberry jam on Mom's freshly-baked bread tasted wonderful. Spending a morning on the salt water and hauling a full cod trap gave Leaman and me such an appetite we felt we could have eaten a whale. After breakfast, there was still lots of work to be done. The fish that were still on our boat had to be unloaded, thrown up onto the wharf one at a time, using a two-pronged fork. Then, they had to be cleaned and, since there was no refrigeration back then, covered with a thick layer of salt. When our morning's work was finally finished it was time for a nap, because in the evening we'd again be out on the water pulling the trap, probably toiling late into the night.<br /> Those summer mornings a long time ago were a busy, backbreaking time for our family, but if I could turn back the clock, I'd love to do it all over again.   Submitted By: Hayward Prince