Beyond the Pale: Sprat, "Jesus," Oscar and His Friends

After a lovely Saturday in Galway (more on that to come), Erin and I returned to my apartment to rest a little before a night of live music. Erin noticed a man with a net climbing down a ladder in the bay; we watched him for awhile. I wondered if someone had dropped something and he was trying to retrieve it. Instead we saw him plunge his net into the water and come out with a fish. Amazing! At this point we noticed many ripples on the surface of the water and decided we had to go down to get a closer look.

Armed with cameras, we exited my building and made our way to the edge of the bay. I took my sunglasses off and suddenly realized that the water wasn’t cloudy, it was filled, absolutely FILLED, with little fish. The occasional fish that hit the surface caused the ripples. The sight of those fish mezmerized me.

The man we saw from my window with the net was fishing with a pole at this point and we asked him about the little fish. He told us they are called sprat. Sprat are about five inches long and similar to sardines. Sprat invade the harbor in September and October. He had a plastic bag filled with the little fish and he told us we could have some. I was less than enthused. [I admit it, I’m a hypocrite. I believe if a person is going to eat a living thing, that person ought to be able to kill, clean and cook it. I am able to cook, but not kill and clean.] Erin, however, thought it sounded like an adventure.

The man climbed back down the ladder and caught some sprat for us. He was not satisfied with the amount, so he entered the bay in another nearby area and came back with a huge number of sprat. We assured him we didn’t need many. He told us how to cook the fish (rinse in cold water, dip in egg and flour, fry in oil and garlic). The man’s young son was with him and very excited about the whole endeavor. When we were taking our leave and thanking the kind fisherman he said, with a twinkle, “Call me Jesus.” I'm not sure if he was referring to hanging out with people who fish or the multiplication of the fishes.

Erin and I returned to my apartment with a bag of sprat. We took four of the fish and put them in a ziplock bag in my refrigerator for later cooking (I am trepidacious). We dumped the unrefrigerated fish back in the bay.

The sprat in the bay made me think of Oscar. Let me explain... When I first arrived in Galway, Kevin and I frequently saw an otter swimming in the bay during our after-dinner walks. After Kevin left, the otter made a few appearances in the bay close enough to my apartment building to be visible from my window. I decided the otter needed a name so I named him Oscar. Kevin thought “Badger” was a good name for an otter, so his name became Oscar B. Otter. The “B,” of course, stands for Badger.

Yesterday morning I was thrilled to see that Oscar brought a large number of his friends into the bay. Now that I have seen the sprat in the bay, I know why they were there. What a bounty for those of the otter persuasion!