A Silent Tide

Chapter 1 - Harper's Creek

BOOK ONE

 EIGHTY YEARS LATER

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Chapter One

Harper's Creek

The talons of the osprey held fast to a small speckled trout while the bird made a final approach to her preferred place of feeding at the mouth of the harbor. Her target was the top of a large, blackened piling that stood four feet above the waterline, a remnant structure of an old wharf that long ago serviced the river boats and fish steamers that once frequented the shores of Mathews County, Virginia.

Fifty years ago, skipjacks full of oysters and scallops bound for the restaurants of Manhattan would tie up two abreast at the wharf, competing for dockage with the pound netters in their deadrise fishing boats which would be loaded to the gunnels with flounder, spot, croaker and striped bass. Hard shell blue crab also thrived in these waters and was the stuff of steamed culinary legend from Boston to Charleston while the sardine-like menhaden was netted in vast volume, processed for its oil with its desiccated remains used for fertilizer in farms across the country. Back then, the world of the waterman was in its prime. The bay was full of bounty, and prosperity was in abundance. Those were truly the times of the high tide. 

But prosperity, not unlike glory, is often fleeting and, in time, the fish, the oyster, the scallop and the crab left the bay. The nets became less full, the tide began to ebb and gone were the boats that once overflowed with the best the bay had to give. The well of the harvest had run dry and now, only a hardy few remained to ply the trade of the waterman. The once busy wharf that bore witness to man's capture of nature's good work, had burned to the waterline long ago and was never rebuilt, and the piling that occupied the osprey's attention now stood in silent testament to the bygone days of the feast, charred evidence of a time when the enterprise of the Chesapeake Bay waterman was king.   

The osprey landed upon the pilings aged and rotted pinnacle, and ripped into the flesh of its prey while keeping her sharp eyes attuned to the affairs of her mate who stood like a sentinel aside the couple's nest.  A well woven hodgepodge of sticks, feathers and sea grass, the nest served as the nursery for the couple's lone chick and was situated between the top of a day marker and the solar light that illuminated the red and green sign boards that directed boat traffic in and out of Harper's Creek Marina.

She ate ravenously, relishing the opportunity to gorge herself without the attention of the seagulls that, like hyenas, excelled at separating the primary predator from their kill. Bothersome birds to an osprey, gulls would often attack her from all sides in hopes of getting the female to release her meal and then, abandoning all pretense of the camaraderie that garnered the catch, they would fight each other like rats over the unlucky fish. Squawking and diving with beak slashing against beak, the fish would be torn to pieces, with the victor, usually the largest of the gulls, feasting on the lion's share of the carcass while the lesser mortals fought over the smaller hunks of meat that remained of the carnage.

Today, however, was an exception to the usual contest and for the moment, the large bird ate in peace for the gulls had no need to ambush a fierce and vicious opponent like a mother osprey on her mission to provide food for her young. On this particular morning, the flock's conniving as to how to satisfy their endless appetite was intently focused elsewhere as a familiar predator of another sort had now captured their attention and an easier go of mealtime was at hand.

Entering the harbor that morning was the Bay Lady, a thirty-eight foot fiberglass-over-wood workboat in pristine condition from bowsprit to transom.  A classic deadrise design from an era long past, the Bay Lady was one of the finest boats of her kind on the Chesapeake Bay.  Gleaming white with a Confederate flag posted off the stern, she sounded her horn to announce her return from tending the nets of her Captain, Coles Howard and her decks were covered in fish.