Half-awake on a night haul

I'm twenty again, out on the old R/V Cormorant, but it's dark and the engine's off and the deck is covered in a fine layer of fish scales that catch the moonlight. I can taste salt and diesel, and I remember the exact sound a wet line makes when it slides off the spool. Then someone hands me a jar of glowing plankton and says 'count these before dawn.' I wake up and I'm still smelling the harbor.