The Angry raging waves 2

THE ANGRY RAGING WAVES 2

He tied the twine at the end of the net to the seat of the canoe. We came together and sat at the wooden platform in the canoe and began to flow with the tide upstream. I looked into the dark water and saw the movement of fish and the depth of our net being light up by millions of bio-luminescent.
“I never fail to wonder where all these lights in the water are coming from,” I remarked, looking up at my brother.
“It is the wonder of nature,” he answered as he leaned on his elbows to stare into the glittering water. “We can swim in the water during the day and you will never see any of these lights, or whatever is making them shine.”
“I am surprised that even as the whole net is lightening up like a diamond curtain, the fish will still get caught on it,” I reflected.
“That is the reason why we are out here in the cold,” he reasoned. “The fish is always standing against the current. The water, therefore, carries the net to meet them. They may also not understand what the net is about, and may want to examine the glow from the net.”
“Whatever be the case, I want them to come in droves to check out our net tonight,” I joked, as I reach out for the bottle of diesel from under the seat.
“Pass the bottle to me when you through,” he said as I poured a handful of the diesel on my hand and start rubbing it all over the exposed parts of my body.
“I will see how these hungry mosquitoes will come to feed on my blood tonight,” I smirked.
I lay down on the wood and tried to listen to the sound of the night. There is no humming of an engine from anywhere, but I could hear the continuous humming sound that has become a permanent feature in the Niger Delta. It is the sound of fire that is emitting from the flaring of gas from the various flow stations of the Oil Companies.
Any direction one turns to look, he will see the illumination of fire from the distance beyond his sight. They act as an artificial moonlight even when it is supposed to be a pitch dark night. Beyond the sound of the fires, I can also hear the constant blowing sound of the sea.
Though it is still a very long way downstream, the feeling of the sea is everywhere I look. I can perceive the smell of fresh fish in the air. The weather is very calm and the stars were bright all over the sky, and yet our canoe was continually being rocked by giant undulating waves that were washed off at the ocean entrance.
I looked at the distance trees as we were swiftly swept along with the current by this body of moving water. I can also hear the sound of fishes struggling to get free from the net. But the more they struggle the more they got entangled.
About an hour later, we decided to draw in the net. Our net was configured to catch mainly herrings; we caught another type of fish, like Broke marriage, Barracuda, Mullet, and a lot of herrings, our primary target.
“Ah if we carry on this way,” my brother mused. “We may have up to five scorecards.”
“I think we can do that before down,” I agreed happily.
“But the tide is already full,” he observed after he has drawn up the last float. “If we launch another round, we will start going down stream with the ebb tide.”
“I hope we will not get to Owukubu,” I objected. “I don’t want us to get that far.”
“Well, if it looks like we are to get that far before the current stop flowing downstream, we may just have to tie up somewhere and follow the tide in whenever it turns,” he said reasonably.
“Are we going to launch from midstream to the bank, or should we paddle to the to the trees line and do as the first time,” I asked, as I made to turn the canoe that way.
He looked around the river for a moment and then pointed towards the trees. “You see that line there if the water starts ebbing now, it will push everything to that side. If we launch from the near bank, the net may be pushed into the trees and get entangled with the mangrove tree.
“We have to launch from this point down. Whenever the water threatens to pile us aground, we will start drawing in the net.”

It was after midnight when we got to Amgbakiri. The camps in this area were smelling of smoke and drying fish from the afternoon fishermen. They must have made reasonably catch for the fires to be blazing this late into the night.
We have just launched out for the fourth time and were lying down on the platform. The odor of fresh fish was very thick in the air, but it was coming from our own canoe this time. We were happy with the result of effort so far. It was a fruitful night. We have a rough estimate of over 3 score cards of herrings, excluding other fishes.
I was lying with my back on the plank starring at the stars as we rolled along with the current. The wind was getting stronger the more we are approaching the entrance to the ocean. The waves have also increased in both height and size. Some of the stars were running under a wide gray cloud that has risen from the horizon.

I was jolted awake to the sound of an ominous rumbling from the distance. Our canoe rolled from bow to helm as if some giant whale has passed under us, rubbing its back on the keel.
I shook my brother awake and pointed downstream where there was a huge dark cloud like the face of a monster, grinning with its ugly gnarled face at us.
“I think we’re going to encounter a storm,” I howled at him.
“I’m not sleeping,” he said, rubbing the corner of his eyes with the back of his left hand. “I’ve been watching that cloud also. You see, it has swallowed up all the stars in the sky.”
The encroaching darkness was supported by a very strong wind, pushing our canoe backward. The rope of the net that was tied to the front seat was drawn tautly, seeming to drag us into the deep black water.
“I think we had better draw up the net and head home,” there was a slight quiver in my voice as I said this, and hurried to the helm of the canoe, grabbing my paddle.
The storm was sudden, and there was very little we could do to escape from being swept under these rumbling rolling waves as they pursued one after another. Initially, they were just a high rolling body of water. But as the tempo of the wind increased, the waves also became violent and rough. They were not just the mesmerizing rolling and rock waves. They have become angry and aggressive.
The wind seemed to suck them into the air, suspends them for a while and just let fall back into the sea. They broke their crest over our canoe, threatening to submerge us into the dark hungry depth of the sea. The net, as Furotogu was hurling it into the canoe, was coming from the belly of the waves.
“Let us cut off the net and run for it,” I howled to him. The wind seemed to snatch the word from my mouth. I do not even know if he heard my shouting. I tried to make out the line of trees from any of the banks. It was a futile attempt. Everywhere was covered in darkness. I jumped to where we have left the lamp and hid it under the platform.
Then it came. A torrent of rain as heavy as the cloud was let loose from the skies upon the sea. It drenched us into our skin in a matter of second. The rain, like a giant hand, rolled away the clouds, and for a brief moment, I was able to make out the shoreline. The wind and waves were hurling us dangerously to that bank.
“I’m through,” my brother shouted triumphantly above the sound of the storm, as he pulled in the last float. “Where is the nearest bank?” he shouted again.
“Over there,” I cried out, already turning the canoe to face the bank I have seen.
“I hope it is not the mburu angala’s bank (big mangrove trees),”
“No. I think it is the short trees.” I tried to reply, pulling my paddle vigorously against the current clawing towards the bank.
My brother also picked up his paddle to join. The most unlikely aid to our effort came from the wind and waves. The waves pushed the canoe from one crest to the next one against the pull of the current and drove the canoe into a shallow bank away from its raging anger.