August 31, 2015 — Well, they could have just laid him out atop a wooden pyre and lit him up like a viking, but that might have been a tad extreme even for Bill Skrobacz’ friends at the Crow’s Nest.
So, the dozens that showed up at The Nest on Thursday night to bid adieu to Scrobacz — Billy or Skrobie to just about everyone but the IRS — had to settle for personalizing the wooden cap the long-time fisherman built over the back of his Dodge truck in anticipation of his final move to Florida.
Many of the messages were touching, wishing him fair winds and all that. Some were bawdy because, well, this is The Nest, and this is Skrobie. And some had absolutely no shot of making it verbatim into a family friendly newspaper. If you want to read them, you’re just going to have to stake out Interstate 95 this weekend and look for the old salt heading south.
In his 63rd year, after more than four decades of being whipsawed by the life of a commercial fisherman, William Dixon Skrobacz has had enough. He’s had enough of the physical rigors of fishing that have gnarled his hands and hobbled and scarred his legs. He’s had enough of NOAA regulations up the ying and last winter’s snow up the yang.