Captain Roger

© Everet D. Regal 9/15/17

Not often do I point my camera in the direction of people while out exploring, but as soon as I walked into the harbor-side Buoy Shack, this scene was the object of my interest. Deep shadows and scattered highlights held secrets and outlined the shape of a well-weathered man, skillfully working rope, crafting treasures with worn cork from retired fishing nets. With a friendly smile and soft greeting, he spoke of the sea and those who lived that tough life.

Taylor, my wife, struck up quite a lengthy discussion with him, while I wandered around the water-beaten docks that lined the stern side of his shop, photographing many scenes of the harbor. When I returned inside, he graciously agreed to continue what he was doing, while I captured a few photographs, through the weather-beaten doorway.

We now knew that this was Captain Roger. He had owned two fishing vessels and reluctantly earned his living from the sea. As he stated, “around here, you either become a fisherman, or you starve.” He retired from ocean about 8 years ago, selling his fishing boats and opening this small shop, offering collected odds and ends from corks to sharks teeth, whale jaws to blubber hooks, buoys to retired rope.

All things authentic, well used or worn, were hung from the low, gray beams, draped across broken, weathered boards from fallen docks, hung from rusty hooks randomly scattered upon the see-through walls or leaned up against anything and everything that would provide a resting place for curious tourist eyes. You had to watch your head as you moved about, or it would quickly remind anyone, of even average stature, that wood does not give, when it meets your forehead.

Captain Roger was a wonderful man, soft in tone, but spirited in nature. You could tell he had paid his dues to the ocean, raising and supporting his family, but was now enjoying his remaining years as a quiet shopkeeper, no longer feeling the sting of the cold saltwater slapping his face or numbing his hands.

We promised to make a print of this portrait and mail it off to him, as a thank you for his generosity. I kept that promise, as well as a framed copy fondly displayed on our own wall.

As we prepared to leave, he quietly stood and expressed his desire to give us a gift before we left. With a sincere smile, and tired eyes, he made his way from behind his makeshift counter, wrapped his arms around Taylor giving her a kindhearted hug, then turned to me and shared the same. What better gift could we receive from a stranger 1,500 miles from our home, than an intimate exchange and a lifelong memory? For that we were grateful.