She had just shed her shell, emerging inches larger. When Kevin reached in the pot to grab her, she was so weak that she couldn’t even lift a claw in self-defense. She was completely vulnerable and exhausted. I almost wanted to protect her. But that’s ridiculous, since I have no problem throwing hard crabs (males, anyway) into boiling water, cruel as it is. I relish tearing into a pile of crabs, messy as they are – delicious with cold beer, pickles and cheese, as is the custom around here.
I sat the crab on the table and she just looked at me, didn’t even spit like they do. Looking at this photo, I can even recall the limpness of her limbs. She went into the refrigerator and within 24 hours, ended up in pieces on a hook, and turned into two large rockfish.
In terms of food value she was definitely worth more as bait than as a meal herself. But in terms of a living creature……I can’t even go there. I love crabs. And rockfish.
Maybe I’m starting to turn soft myself.