"Gone Fishing"

Much as I hate to leave the island in September, I’ve been tempted away for a few weeks by my Turkish friends in Istanbul.

Here, I’ve traded Penobscot Bay and Eggemoggin Reach for the Bosphorus and Golden Horn.  Instead of driving our one-and-only Deer Isle-Sedgwick Bridge linking us to the mainland, I walk the Galata, just one of several bridges that join the European and Asian sides of Istanbul.

I watch a battalion of shoulder-to-shoulder fishermen dropping multiple-hooked poles set against a backdrop of mosque minarets and covered bazaars rather than lobstermen hauling traps of singles and pairs in the open pitching sea.

Men who, rather than standing astride an idling boat, find more comfortable and clearly terra firma ways to ply their trade. Who look to have opted for small plastic drinking glasses rather than large boxes brimming with bait.  

Here, in a city of a staggering 17 million versus the island’s year-round population of 3,000, where, in 1789 when Deer Isle was being incorporated,  Istanbul was still being ruled by Ottoman Empire sultans, native hamsi replaces herring.

And while no bright red crustaceans dripping melted butter tempt from lobster pounds on the coast, docked gilded boats selling fish sandwiches – one of Istanbul’s “fast foods” – can be a tasty substitute. But only for a time.