Got Crabs?
Chicken Neckers
“Chicken Neckers” was the derisive term used by the professional crabbers to describe us amateurs. Chicken necks were inexpensive and crab lore had it that the quarry found them quite tasty, so naturally it was our bait of choice. The Pros used things like eels for bait and hundreds of big wire traps they called “pots.” We used lengths of string, old bolts for weights, the aforementioned chicken parts for bait and dip nets. The more experienced amateurs replaced the cords in their nets with “chicken wire” which made it easier to eject the crab when caught.
Several times each summer, two or three of us city boys would take a day off from work, get up at three AM, load up a car with Styrofoam coolers filled with beer and bait and head for the land of plenty, the “sacred” (to crabbers) Wye river. From Baltimore, we had to cross the Chesapeake Bay bridge to get to the part of Maryland known as the “Eastern Shore.” Daybreak at the Wye river was rumored to be the ultimate, optimum time to capture the crafty crustaceans. A marina (a wooden shack with a refrigerator outside) there had small rowboats for rent and for those not fortunate enough to catch their limit (never happens) when day was done, they had crabs for sale so that your fish stories would have evidence to prove to your wives that the trip was worth every penny.
And…We’re off! After the experts (all) aboard the craft settled on the most likely spot for action, we proceeded full speed ahead, or sideways, or crisscross to our target, usually a spot not too far from shore in about 8 to 10 feet of water. A chicken neck and a weight are tied to the end of a cord and thrown from the boat so that it lands about 15 feet away. A little slack is allowed and then the other end is attached to the boat. This is repeated until you think you have enough lines (maybe 10 – 12) in the water all around the boat. Then the waiting and beer drinking begins. A lot of false hopes happen early as the cord is moved by the current or flotsam. But there is no doubt when the first real crab starts chompin’ on that succulent neck. The cord becomes taut as the crab tries to eat and retreat simultaneously. We maintain a whispered silence as one of the crew s.l.o.w.l.y reels the cord toward the boat. Based on the “pull” of the crab on the line, speculation on its size begins among the crew… it’s a monster! (hardly ever).
Crabs are very skittish unless they are REALLY hungry. At any untoward movement they let go of the bait and swim backwards like a shot. Our quarry is visible when it gets about 3 feet from the surface…GET THE NET! GET THE NET! (spoken excitedly, but softly). The net man slowly and deftly slides the net into the water and comes up from underneath and behind the crab so that when it attempts its backward escape – he is ours!
We always had an official bushel basket but only filled it when we left the marina with extra crabs bought there. Early afternoon was time to leave, too much sun, too much beer, not (nearly ) enough crabs. The designated driver (designated not because he was sober, but because it was his car) would steer us home where our loving families awaited with GIANT pots to steam our crabs with “Old Bay.”
And one more beer…and one more beer…and one more…and more…ZZZZZZZ
“Chicken Neckers” was the derisive term used by the professional crabbers to describe us amateurs. Chicken necks were inexpensive and crab lore had it that the quarry found them quite tasty, so naturally it was our bait of choice. The Pros used things like eels for bait and hundreds of big wire traps they called “pots.” We used lengths of string, old bolts for weights, the aforementioned chicken parts for bait and dip nets. The more experienced amateurs replaced the cords in their nets with “chicken wire” which made it easier to eject the crab when caught.
Several times each summer, two or three of us city boys would take a day off from work, get up at three AM, load up a car with Styrofoam coolers filled with beer and bait and head for the land of plenty, the “sacred” (to crabbers) Wye river. From Baltimore, we had to cross the Chesapeake Bay bridge to get to the part of Maryland known as the “Eastern Shore.” Daybreak at the Wye river was rumored to be the ultimate, optimum time to capture the crafty crustaceans. A marina (a wooden shack with a refrigerator outside) there had small rowboats for rent and for those not fortunate enough to catch their limit (never happens) when day was done, they had crabs for sale so that your fish stories would have evidence to prove to your wives that the trip was worth every penny.
And…We’re off! After the experts (all) aboard the craft settled on the most likely spot for action, we proceeded full speed ahead, or sideways, or crisscross to our target, usually a spot not too far from shore in about 8 to 10 feet of water. A chicken neck and a weight are tied to the end of a cord and thrown from the boat so that it lands about 15 feet away. A little slack is allowed and then the other end is attached to the boat. This is repeated until you think you have enough lines (maybe 10 – 12) in the water all around the boat. Then the waiting and beer drinking begins. A lot of false hopes happen early as the cord is moved by the current or flotsam. But there is no doubt when the first real crab starts chompin’ on that succulent neck. The cord becomes taut as the crab tries to eat and retreat simultaneously. We maintain a whispered silence as one of the crew s.l.o.w.l.y reels the cord toward the boat. Based on the “pull” of the crab on the line, speculation on its size begins among the crew… it’s a monster! (hardly ever).
Crabs are very skittish unless they are REALLY hungry. At any untoward movement they let go of the bait and swim backwards like a shot. Our quarry is visible when it gets about 3 feet from the surface…GET THE NET! GET THE NET! (spoken excitedly, but softly). The net man slowly and deftly slides the net into the water and comes up from underneath and behind the crab so that when it attempts its backward escape – he is ours!
We always had an official bushel basket but only filled it when we left the marina with extra crabs bought there. Early afternoon was time to leave, too much sun, too much beer, not (nearly ) enough crabs. The designated driver (designated not because he was sober, but because it was his car) would steer us home where our loving families awaited with GIANT pots to steam our crabs with “Old Bay.”
And one more beer…and one more beer…and one more…and more…ZZZZZZZ
posted by revsnodgrass | 10:14 AM
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