A wee short story about a mink on the boat

Last updated on September 20, 2025

@lmcalisterwv

We had a mink slip on board yesterday when we left and didn’t realize it until we were well away. Everyone took great care to make sure the little critter was safe and sound, but about 12 hours after on the boat seems to have been enough for the wee feller. Instead of staying in the pot he had climbed into… he found a way out, and jumped into another pot, just as that pot was going to the bottom of the ocean. I woke up about eleven, to see men gutted at this thought. They had done their best to care for him, this wild mink, with every intention and hope to return him safely to Ireland’s shore and maybe even with some food for his troubles. These gallant fishermen, who brave the rain and the giant swells of autumn’s fall on the Atlantic, well, each man to the last could only spend the remaining 8 hours of laborious work fantasying of ways in which the mink escaped, and found a new home on the shores of Scotland. Perhaps this was a way to pass the time, but I think it was their feeble attempt to put the sadness in abeyance. #ireland #fishing #irishtiktok #commercialfishing #nature

♬ original sound – lmcalisterwv

Here is an expanded bit. Sometimes, the mood hits me.

We had a mink slip on board yesterday when we left and didn’t realize it until we were well away.

Everyone took great care to make sure the little critter was safe and sound, but about 12 hours after on the boat seems to have been enough for the wee feller. Instead of staying in the pot he had climbed into… he found a way out, and jumped into another pot, just as that pot was going to the bottom of the ocean.

I woke up about eleven pm, to see men gutted to their core at this thought. They had done their best to care for him, this wild mink, with every intention and hope to return him safely to Ireland’s shore and maybe even with some food for his troubles. Luigi Ginger fella had already offered a name, Jonathan the Mink.

“Lad, he’s gone,” said, one bold fisherman, with tears in his eyes. 

These gallant fishermen, who brave the torrential storms and the giant swells of autumn’s fall on the Atlantic, well, each man to the last could only spend the remaining 8 hours of laborious work fantasying of ways in which the mink escaped, and found a new home on the shores of Scotland. In my mind, he swam to shore only to find a seagull, waiting to take him to the top of the Paps of Jura.

Perhaps this was a way to pass the time, but I think it was their feeble attempt to put the sadness in abeyance.

I , for one, will look a little northeast tonight, and imagine Jonathan frolicking among the wild Scottish heather.