Living with Lobsters

A friend asked for more detail about lobsters and considering the number of buoys I dodged, I agreed. So, here are a few pictures with comments about living with lobsters in Maine…

A fine example of a lobster boat weighed down with all the gear needed.

Lobster pot buoys on the Sheepscot River...remember we are navigating through these.

Pulling up pots.

Buoys get tangled.

Boats appear out of the fog.

Sailing through the "mine field", as Charlotte is fond of calling the conglomeration of buoys.

Stonington, Maine on Deer Island is a working lobstermen town hidden away on Deer Isle Thoroughfare.

A fellow Nordic Tug negotiating another "mine field".

A distinctive boat loaded for bear.

A sense of humor on Islebourgh Isle.

The working part of the boat with the pulley...looks dangerous!

The table complete with bait bags and rubberbands for the claws.

Beautiful aren't they...

Away

The lobster fishing community is a parallel universe in Maine, impenetrable by us from “away”. It is hunkered down on island hideaways or in cubbyholes tucked into the mainland’s jagged coast. Cruising guides that usually error on the side of optimism, are blunt in their description of certain bastions of lobsterdom as being unwelcoming to recreational boaters.

Lobstermen and women seem the perfect foils for country western songs. Many are scruffy with cigarettes dangling from their mouths. They exude the machismo of total disregard for their health. But this cannot be the total truth, for many come from deeply religious backgrounds and have a legacy of fishing that goes back to great grandfathers.

For the indigenous, training can start as early as five years old. Knowledge handed down from grandfathers and fathers is priceless. In a local bookstore, I asked if there was a lobster fishing textbook that would be used in a community college course titled Lobstering 101. I received a puzzled look and was directed to the shelf labeled Maine.

There I found a skinny book written by a young woman who fished with her father and grandfather, and then went on to earn a higher degree. She does a good job of explaining a life spent on the water, particular customs and superstitions, the biology of lobsters, and the rational behind many of the practices we watched as we cruised through miles of lobster buoys.

But I imagine much of what is done is instinctual. I gained an understanding of cruising on the Great Lakes: the weather, the waves, the lee and weather coasts, and the peculiarities of harbors by putting in thousands of hours. From what I have witnessed here, these lobstermen earn a lifetime of experience before they are thirty.

Despite what I have stated above many of the harbors are both working and recreational. Lobster boats intermingle with cruising boats and in many places distinctive one design sailboats raced by the local yacht club. If there is a dock at all, there are often working and recreational sides.

Lobster boats come in many sizes. Most are in the mid 30 foot range. They have powerful engines and large four bladed props that enable the captains to muscle the boats around. I sat in the pilothouse and watched them maneuver to and from the docks. They did it with aplomb.

If I cut off Carrie Rose’s salon, she could certainly go fishing, so watching them is instructive. The only thing I lack is the self confidence to use the power available to me. But that said piloting Carrie Rose is becoming instinctive. I end up in tight places without much thought and only afterwards try to dissect how I got there.

I compartmentalize my fears and in doing so keep my options open. For me it is the only way to keep cruising. To keep throwing us into new situations and not fall back on familiar territory, this requires a certain recklessness and a willingness to take risks. And with that comes the responsibility to minimize those risks.

That is the fine art of cruising, which I suppose, for superstitious reasons it is not talked about much. Each person has their own perception of these risks and that perspective changes, one way or another, with experience. This is the foundation for an interesting life, even if not recognized.

It is a valuable lesson to learn at the helm of a cruising or lobster boat, and maybe it will create a wormhole between the two. I’ll be thinking of this next year while steering through the multitude of buoys placed by those lobstermen from the other universe, and hope that the experience gained will keep a buoy from wrapping around the prop!

September 2017

Nature

A cormorant rests on a mooring ball. Another flies deliberately, just off the water with rapid steady wing beats.

Nature is so close but we have done a magnificent job of isolating ourselves. A vast paper trail — little understood — protects us from it.

Carrie Rose will support us for a month if we are frugal: Fuel, water, waste, diesel, propane, electrons, and food. If it all functions, we are like a duck in the water, up with the sun and down not much after twilight.

Solar panels, a generator, a small refrigerator, and 200 gallons of diesel; an old radio and books for entertainment; a flute, art supplies, pen and paper for artistic pursuits. Cameras help preserve the moment but I am not sure for who.

The sun passes behind the trees. On the horizon, the sky clears for the first time today. Orange rays light up the remaining cloudbank. The wind dies so we float with the current, flipping 180 degrees every 6 hours.

There is not a sound other than the clock ticking. A duck floats by leaving a surprisingly large wake. A pair of porpoises reveals their presence by punctuating the water’s surface with their dorsal fins as a flock of storm petrels flies out.

Though the sun is long gone, its image is reflected in the clouds and from there, the water. Carrie Rose gently sways on her last night of floating.