At 4:47 AM, he motored out of Everett. The air was thick as velvet. He found his secret hole—a sandy patch near the Mukilteo ferry lanes, 120 feet down. He baited the pots with a mesh sack full of turkey legs and stinky bunker oil. This is the deal , he thought. The state gets its fee; I get the fat Dungeness.
He pulled his limit: five males. No females, ever. He rebated the pot and sent it back to the deep. puget sound crab license
He’d bought it online in April, a ritual more sacred than Easter. $8.30 for a resident endorsement. A tiny price for a slice of the Sound’s salty soul. At 4:47 AM, he motored out of Everett
He waited. Sipped bitter coffee. Watched a seal poke its head up like a periscope. He baited the pots with a mesh sack