“I’m actually from Virginia Beach directly across Ross Bay from Hazel, but my parents moved here around ’66 or ’67. It was only a 6 or 7 mile trip for that 6 or 7 year old boy I was back then, but, boy, what a difference. You had to choose a side during the so called Ross Bay Tuna Wars. Which fleet’s color you wore could indicate your preference, green or blue. So that got me wearing blue-green or green-blue all the time, just in case. The area is so small you never knew who was going to show up at your front door, friend or foe. You could only tell them apart by their own colors they were wearing. And if they showed up in blue-green — or green-blue, heh — you knew they were as confused as you about what was going on and you were safe with them.”
He took his cap off, turned the the front toward him as if reassuring himself the words were still upon it, then back toward me. “Eventually I felt comfortable enough to put Virginia Beach back on instead of just having it blank. I wanted to show people my roots again, and that the the split which rocked all of central south east western New Island for about a 6 to 7 year period was over. Because of the fierce competition, tuna’s about gone in the bay anyway — guess that’s what ended the thing actually. They fish for that stuff further out into the ocean now. The wound is not entirely healed these days but getting there. Ross Bay with its Virginia Beach, Rosslea, Bayside, and Hazel are all united again, or about as well as they were in the before-war times. There’s still squabbles, there’s still scuffles. But nothing like when the tuna was in the bay.” He placed the cap back on his head, satisfied with what he’d said about the subject so far and waiting for me to respond. He stared directly into my eyes.
“So you were about 12, or 13… or 14 when it ended,” I say, trying to make sense of all the 6’s and 7’s involved.
“Yeah, I guess that’s about right,” he said, eyes glazed over again, obviously thinking back. “12, 13… 14. Let’s go with 13. Pretty sure I was 13 when the armistice was sign, as the locals call it. Only 12 to 14 of the warring fisherman died and only 6 or 7 what we’ll call civilians killed, collateral damage as they put it. Pretty reasonable totals for all the bad blood going around. You wouldn’t believe all the shouting! I remember shouting… all the time!”
Keep it down, I think, but also keep this to myself. It was a cathartic moment for the old man of maybe 66 or 67 now. And, anyway, I was learning a lot about New Island history. Tuna Wars. What petty people! Could not they share? So I *did* ask him that.
“Well, to answer that, let me ask you what color you think my cap is, green or blue?”
I was starting to see his point?
Sunklands 