Upon our arrival the day  before we had grabbed the first open dock we saw, settled the boat, and gone to sleep. On our first morning, we awoke to the midweek carnival atmosphere of Float 20: a healthy representation of the population had descended onto the public docks, weilding beach chairs, crab pots, fishing poles and cigarrettes. The official peanut gallery set up just off our stern, obviously well-practiced in the art of dock-sitting and advising the fisherpeople. Throughout the day we shared multiple exchanges with this mostly-cheerful gathering, and although noone seemed to be catching any dungeness crab large enough to keep, many of them stayed on well into the twilight, hoping to convert their fish heads and chicken legs into a tasty Dungey dinner.

In the late afternoon we joined the drama of a young couple trying to retrieve their bicycle fallen in the water just on the other side of our dock. The two of them puffed on a short joint while the curly-haired round woman formed her plan to dive for the bike. One of the nearby crabbers tried to locate it with a grappling hook, hoping he could be successful before she dove into the brown water. He managed to fetch up a barnacled beach chair… then another… and yet another. Crabbing on the dock is obviously a more hazardous pastime than we first imagined. Convinced she could do better and despite the dire warnings from mere onlookers,  this small round girl-woman leaped into the water and immediately confirmed the cold temperature. Once she had been hauled dockside, we donated some fresh water to rinse her face.

After all the excitement we took a slow promenade down the boardwalk before settling on the Fish Shack for a surprisingly good meal. Coming home, we witnessed great barrels of tuna being offloaded from a fishing boat docked at the the Starkist building: the frozen bodies came off the ship piled in round bins like poorly-stacked firewood. Forklifts dumped the individual carcasses onto converyor belts, and the great predators thunked and bumped through the dusk on their last journey from the top of their food chain to the bottom of ours.