TIGHT LINES
with Andrew Spencer

Andrew may not need a weatherman, but he sure can use a compass.

WHERE THE FIGAWI?

Ihave no sense of direction. I freely admit that and I've grown quite comfortable with it. My father claims I didn't get this trait from him; he's one of those people who'll say you need to go north on whatever street and then head west until you see the tree leaning off towards the southwest and then you head east. My directions involve statements like, "Pull out of the driveway and turn left." I'm kind of simple-minded like that.

Part of my problem with directions - in addition to the fact that I have trouble sometimes telling left from right, not to mention north from south - is that I base a lot of my traveling on landmarks. When I'm heading out to Bartlett's Farm, for instance, I go out the Surfside Road and turn right at Poet's Corner, then head down past the place with the Alerions and veer to the right. I go up to where those kids were selling lemonade a few years back, take a left, go past the horses and then I'm there.

Crystal clear, right?

For me, it works. But it also helps to explain why I'm so horrid at giving other people directions. I flat-out can't tell you what street you're turning on. I just know the street when I see it. Of course, it might also explain why, more often than not, I'm the one who has to backtrack because he took a wrong turn, but I digress. There is a problem inherent in my navigational method, though, and I'm afraid it's a problem that's not going away any time soon.

You see, Nantucket is a constantly-changing place. One day you're bouncing along a dirt road, the next day it's smoothly-paved asphalt. One day you're walking your dog on the beach dodging piles of trash left there by people who are allowed on the beach, and the next day you're dodging those same piles of trash sans your now-illegal dog. You get the point. Friends and neighbors, the landmarks, they are a-changin'.

And the same thing happens with the waters around Nantucket. You know, the places where we all like to go fishing?

If you're heading out, make sure you've got a clean change of clothes and at least one segue to get you through the day.

The storms we endured this spring did more than just blow away a big chunk of the 'Sconset Beach Preservation Fund's efforts. It also detached what is affectionately referred to as Esther's Island, formed by Hurricane Esther in 1961, which made its first of two landfalls in mid-September of that year on Nantucket. It split the western tip of Nantucket, creating a tiny parcel of land between Smith's Point and Tuckernuck. That newly-created chunk of real estate was, predictably enough, named for the hurricane itself. Esther's reconnected to Nantucket several years back through accretion, which is the opposite, I guess you'd say, of erosion.

Anyway, it's an island once again, and fishermen everywhere are flocking to see the new hotspot. But take it easy on your way out there. The shoals change, just like the landscape, and there is little to ruin your day faster and more completely than driving the bow of your boat directly into a shoal that wasn't where you thought it was. Been there, done that and trust me, it's a miserable experience.

The same holds true for your favorite surfcasting spots. This would be yet another one of those things where we're talking about hindsight in the case of yours truly. Many, many years ago in my misspent youth, I was driving down what used to be a gentle sloping hill. Unfortunately for me, it had suddenly turned into a pretty steep drop-off, a fact I discovered just as my front wheels crested over the edge and the undercarriage of my car was resting firmly on the ledge. Ranks right up there with getting your boat stuck in terms of the misery level.

Fortunately, all of these less-than-pleasant experiences can be pretty easily avoided. Just take your time, talk to people who've been there and follow their advice. If they say you shouldn't go, then you shouldn't go. If they say you need to be extra careful, then you need to be extra careful. Listen to the voices of experience, for they know

of what they speak. It's all well and good to participate

in the fun and games during Figawi Race Weekend, but when you're the one stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no clue where you are, fun and games cease and desist pretty quick-like.

And speaking of fun and games, congratulations galore to Rob Huntley, who caught, to the best of my knowledge, the first keeper striper of the season. He pulled it in while fishing "somewhere in the harbor," and the fish measured out at 28 1/2 inches. I visually confirmed the fish my very own self, so I can assure you people that this is not any sort of false fish tale. And as an added bonus, his well-behaved and very clean dog Blue was along for the ride. Congratulations again, Rob. And Blue, keep it clean, my four-legged brother; don't let the Man get you down.

Tight lines. I