When my neighbour Gary Thompson gave me the opportunity to go out with him and his crewmember “little” Gary Cotter, I jumped at it, eager and excited to begin the adventure.

My dad was visiting for the week and so I invited him along for the experience and we all packed into Gary’s pick-up and drove down to the Harbour that berthed his fishing vessel the Roaming Lady.

As we started out at 7:30 a.m. the day was clear and bright with the promise of a warmer day.

We set out into the open ocean and my dad who tends to sail often on Lake Ontario, pointed out the difference of the two waters, with the forming swells that rolled along the surface.

The wind blew and the temperature was cold but I could not feel it through my many layers.

As he urged the boat toward the first trap, reading the coordinates of the location off a piece of paper taped above the helm, he explained that because of the too cold water temperatures the lobster would not yet be crawling into the traps.

We reached the first one and little Gary picked up the buoy that attached itself to the trawl of traps, connecting deep below the surface, and heaved in empty trap after empty trap.

My stomach lowered in disappointment. All that work with nothing to show.

We drove on to the next and one or two lobsters began to be heaved out along with the traps.

I took the lobster from Gary and while my Dad held it I got a chance to band it, my fingers wary of the claws creeping towards them.

We went on collecting lobsters along with a scattering of tinkers, fish and other creatures of the sea that were thrown back at once.

As he worked, little Gary told us about the time he had gone into the ocean, one day in December a few years back.

Little Gary had been caught between stacks of traps when one fell overboard out of order and the ropes that snaked across the deck threatened to entwine around his feet bringing him overboard and down into the depths of the sea.

He had two choices in that brief flash of time; one to allow the ropes to pull him in or two to jump into the hypothermic waters by choice.

He jumped, the icy waters immediately penetrating his clothes and weighing his body down like a brick.

Gary swung the boat around and fished little Gary from the waters with difficulty and with every second weighing critically.

He made it over and warmed up with a change of clothes without causing much damage to himself.

I gripped the handle on the boat a bit tighter as we continued on to trap after trap.

We stopped halfway through the route to try to locate 20 traps that had been lost after the buoy was broken from the rope connecting them to the visual surface.

After 20 minutes of dragging an anchor and rope about 40 fathoms deep under the surface until finally the rope pulled taut and they were able to pull the lost traps aboard and to safety.

I got a chance to haul in the traps which were quite heavy for my weak arms, bait them and step out of the way while little Gary threw them back overboard.

At one point I look over at my Dad with his cheeks red and toque low over his ears while he now proficiently strapped elastic around claws.

He looked up with a grin.

“This is the most fun I’ve ever had,” he said.

We turned the Roaming Lady back towards the shoreline, past rocks covered with lazy seals and I got a chance to steer for a time.

With my hands on the wheel and my eyes looking out over the water I had to agree this was a lot of fun. I can see where the love of lobstering that sweeps through our county comes from.