Spoiler: we didn’t catch any crabs…

Every successful crabbing adventure needs a proven plan of action. This entails using effective bait, finding fruitful drop zones, and waiting ample time before pulling pots. For whatever reason (probably evolution), crabs are omnivorous, so traditional fishing baits like “Pro-Bait” or “Master-Bait” [hehe] were out of the question. We needed those stanky raw chicken legs — you know, the ones on sale that nobody buys due to ratchet dankness — so that’s what we did. After cramming as many as we could fit into the bait baskets, t’was time to launch the boat. While Ryan and Karly rowed out to set the pots, Cady went on a coastal beach walk and I stayed back to stream the World Cup Final. The gang reassembled and, with the help of lounge floaties (containing handy built-in beer holders mind you), we paddled to the outermost buoy for a watery hangout. Our delightful rendezvous was interrupted by a curious seapup, who popped his head up to say hello. Cady decided to join the pup and ditched her floaty for a quick swim, in which several jellyfish didn’t take too kindly and stung her [lol]. Being the protective boyfriend that I am, not to mention one who is seasoned in natural therapeutic healing modalities, I offered to pee on her wounds. She refused and eventually the pain subsided. We swam back to shore to re-up on some brews and kicked it on the sun-drenched, music-infused deck. Hours passed and the empty beer cans piled up, but eventually the moment we were all waiting for arrived — time to check our pots. The mood got real serious (not really) as everyone half-soberly stumbled down the boat launch. One-by-one we climbed in, and what ensued next would change our lives forever.

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