Melissa Wood is associate editor for Professional BoatBuilder magazine and a former associate editor for National Fisherman.
Written by Jerry Fraser
Tuesday, 13 January 2015
On Thursday morning, it was 7 degrees below zero in Wells, Maine, and that’s pretty cold when you go out to start your car. But it’s even colder when it’s 1:30 a.m. and you’ve just been rousted out of your bunk to haul back.
Carvel Whaley, who I fished with on the Lady Jennifer in the winter of 1984 after my boat Hard Times had sunk, would let you wring every last second out of your mid-watch kink. Carvel was soft spoken and rather than bang on the stateroom door or holler at us to …grab our socks, he’d slow the engine down and throw the winches in gear. We’d awaken instantly and roll out on deck still digging the gunk out of our eyes. Depending on how deep we were fishing we might have 10 minutes before the doors came up, a few hundred seconds to jump into our oilskins, guide wire onto the drums, and pray the net was in one piece.
We were flounder fishing on pretty good bottom so we didn’t stave up often but when we did, Carvel was an excellent twine man and would work with us to get the net mended and back in the water.
Not all captains were so inclined, and some developed a reputation as “slipper skippers” in honor of the footwear in which they padded about the wheelhouse through the harshest winter weather and back-deck fiascos.
The Lady Jennifer was an 80-footer, or thereabouts, but had only one net reel, so fishing stopped when we rimracked. On boats with two reels you could set the second net if you destroyed the first one. This was efficient, but crews had mixed opinions about two reels because it meant there was no jumping back in the rack until the first net was fixed, however long it took.
I’m not a guy who thrives on cold weather — you’ll never see me shirtless at a Green Bay game with a big red letter painted on my stomach — but it didn’t bother me much in those days, especially once I yielded to common sense and started wearing long johns. My hands would get cold when I first came out on deck, but they’d warm up on their own and stay that way for hours, which is why I’d never leave the deck until we were done.
The warmest place for a deckhand was the fish hold (which also was the coolest place in the summer). I enjoyed working the hold and like most fishermen took considerable pride in the condition of my fish when they came out.
The Jennifer’s hold was nine or 10 feet deep, with another 18 inches or so to the top of the coaming, but there was no ladder. Instead, wooden blocks were fastened to a stanchion on either side of the slaughterhouse. You planted one foot, groped across perhaps five feet of hatchway for the next lower block on the other side, and worked your way up or down. It was fine once you got used to it, and it saved working around a ladder when shoveling ice, but it took getting used to.
In my case the learning curve may have steepened through weakness of the human flesh. My first trip as hold man commenced just a few hours after a Bat Juice marathon in which all hands, accompanied by their skipper, had joyously participated.
It was a late-winter night and despite the relative snugness of the hold I thought, once I’d managed to get down there without landing on my ass, that it was an open question whether or not they’d have to use the Gilson to hoist me out. But I made it on my own, as trawlermen have since they first cast their nets on the waters.Add a comment
Written by Melissa Wood
Tuesday, 30 December 2014
I'm not that sentimental. But I admit that I get a little teary eyed every time Dr. Suess's Grinch discovers that Christmas doesn't come from a store, and that "maybe Christmas ... perhaps ... means a little bit more."
And sometimes I still believe it, too. Case in point: For some last week, Christmas came from the side of Route 1, where Noah Ames gave away lobsters from the back of his pick-up truck in Thomaston, Maine, on Christmas Eve.
In the parking lot of Midcoast Marine Supply, Ames put up a signboard to notify passing drivers: "Free lobsters today for those truly in need," and gave away 100 pounds of them. The requirements for getting a lobster were simple. All you had to do was stop and ask, he told the Penobscot Bay Pilot.
Ames catches lobsters on his 40-foot No Worries out of Maine's Matinicus Island. Ups and downs are a consistent part of any long-term commercial fisherman's career, and like most people who chase wild animals for a living, Ames has also known hard times around the holidays.
"We know what it's like to be down and out and to be hurting, and I've had holidays where I've been struggling just to get presents for the kids," Ames told Maine's WCSH-TV.
Ames' three children helped their father give away the lobsters on Christmas Eve. Like the free lobsters, this year one of his gifts to them did not come from the store. As Ames explained, he not only wanted to give back to the community, but also show his children the value in doing so.
That gift extended to passing drivers. Some of those who stopped didn't ask for lobsters but caught Ames' Christmas spirit and asked how they could help, too.
"I think the best present to give is a smile, and it's pretty easy to get a smile with lobsters," said Ames.
Written by Jerry Fraser
Thursday, 18 December 2014
But the job does present challenges, one of which is reconciling for our audiences the sometimes competing interests of those who harvest fish and those who drill for oil and natural gas in the ocean. (Among others, the offshore service component of the U.S. oil and gas industries is a valued constituency of the WorkBoat brand.)
From the perspective of fishermen, particularly mobile gear fishermen, oil rigs can impede or prevent fishing in certain areas. And while the risk of spills may be remote, the specter of disaster looms, with historic precedent.
On the other hand, energy companies have to go where the energy is.
All this is by way of explaining why President Obama’s executive order putting Alaska’s Bristol Bay off limits for oil and gas exploration is a double-edged sword. Sure, I like the idea of ensuring that the waters of Bristol Bay remain pristine. But I liked it a whole lot less when the pristine waters at issue comprised the Pacific Remote Islands Marine National Monument, a creation of President George W. Bush expanded by the current occupant of the White House, in which case U.S. fishermen found themselves on the outside looking in.
I think those of us who are in the business of extracting the Earth’s resources ought to have one another’s back. Society benefits when oil and gas producers and commercial fishermen do their jobs responsibly. Good government can facilitate prosperity and ensure healthy resources — an honorable mission, I’d like to think — by knowledgeably asserting, “OK, here’s how you’ve got to do this.”
In Morgan City., La., they hold the Louisiana Shrimp and Petroleum Festival every Labor Day weekend. This past September marked the 79th, making it Louisiana’s oldest state-chartered festival. It began in 1937 as a blessing of the shrimp fleet and expanded out of recognition of the many people the oil industry employed. “Those were the two things that people did,” says Nathalie Weber, president of the festival. “There were shrimpers and then the oil industry brought in the oil boats and the rigs and the people working in that industry.”
The celebration goes on for five days. There is festival king and queen, fireworks, music and parades ashore and afloat. There is a Mass in the park, and the priest still blesses the fleet.
“Do you like your shrimp grilled, fried, blackened or boiled?” asks Paige Johnson, 2013 queen, the festival’s 78th. “We love our shrimp and we celebrate our oil.”
There’s a lesson there.Add a comment
Written by Melissa Wood
Tuesday, 16 December 2014
The case of Robert Thompson proves that people don't just steal lobster out of traps.
Thompson was the manager of the Spruce Head Fishermen's Cooperative in South Thomaston, Maine, and in that job he was in charge of buying and selling lobsters for one of the state's largest lobster cooperatives.
But he would also buy lobsters directly from co-op members as they unloaded at the dock. He covered the sales by issuing those lobstermen boat slips that didn't include the lobsters he bought. The fraud continued up the seafood chain: According to the U.S. Attorney's Office (as reported by the Bangor Daily News), those illegal lobsters were then bought by J.P. Shellfish in Eliot, Maine. Owner John Price gave his truck drivers cash to pay Thompson and the co-op members when making deliveries (J.P.'s was also Spruce Head's largest legitimate buyer).
By buying those lobsters, Thompson was stealing from the co-op. Its members are required to sell their catch back to the organization. His theft was suspected by co-op leaders who installed video surveillance when Thompson went on vacation and worked with NOAA officials and the local sheriff's office to help bring charges against Thompson, who was arrested in October 2012 for felony theft.
This week, Thompson, 53, pled guilty to one count of tax evasion and one count of violation of the Lacey Act, which prohibits illegal sales of lobsters. Thompson, who is expected to be sentenced in the spring, may be given as much as five years in federal prison and a $250,000 fine for the tax evasion. However, last year the state dropped theft charges against Thompson. (The U.S. Attorney's Office requested the state drop the theft charges because it would have been required to give materials to his defense attorney that it said could jeopardize the federal investigation.)
But if the co-op had not been involved in the original investigation, it's possible Thompson's scheme would have lasted much longer. While U.S. commercial fishermen necessarily abide by quotas, monitoring and other sustainability measures, it's apparently getting easier to commit fish fraud. According to an article in the Baltimore Sun, the number of special agents trained to investigate seafood fraud cases has fallen from 147 in 2008 to 93, and their numbers are expected to be further cut. The Sun also found out that in that same time period, the number of civil and criminal cases sent to NOAA's general counsel and U.S. attorneys dropped almost 75 percent, from 793 to 215.
Despite the sometimes acrimonious relationship between NOAA and commercial fishermen in the Northeast, this isn't good news for the industry. Only eight agents monitor domestic fisheries from the coastline extending from New York to Virginia. Those eight agents are also responsible for monitoring 1.4 billion pounds of seafood imports annually. Marine Policy journal reported that 20 to 32 percent of wild imports — worth an estimated $1.3 billion to $2.1 billion — are illegally harvested.
"If I was gonna be a criminal, I would be in the fish and wildlife smuggling business." Scott Doyle, a special agent for NOAA who investigates seafood fraud on the East Coast, told the Sun. "Nobody has any idea what's going on. They just buy the fish."
Written by Jerry Fraser
Thursday, 11 December 2014
In the 1960s, in the long summers of our youth, we would catch mackerel by the boatload off Ogunquit, Maine.
My boat was probably 10 feet long and had a flat, plywood bottom. When I was 10 my mother bought me a used 3-hp Johnson outboard (last year's model, $85), and when I wanted to stop or back down I spun it 180 degrees and slid the throttle to open.
Relatively speaking I was underpowered. The other kids had 5½-hp outboards on lapstrake Amesbury skiffs. But we all loaded up on mackerel.
We trolled daredevil lures with treble hooks and three or four worms, and in the calm of late afternoons and early evenings, particularly if thunderstorms had passed through, the bottom would rise up. Mackerel would roil the ocean from the beach to Bald Head Cliff, and probably beyond. We trolled through great bunches reeling in three or four fish at a time, for the most part throwing them over. (Who said you can't catch 'em twice?)
Back and forth we would go, each of us landing and liberating hundreds of fish until the sun set. There was nothing like steaming into the cove after night fell for aspiring 10-year-old fishermen.
There was no market for the mackerel, which is to say they weren't worth catching at our artisanal scale. From time to time seiners from exotic ports like Rockland would lay over in Perkins Cove, real fishing boats with masts and fish holds and nets, thrilling us to no end. But they were pogy boats and they, too, had no interest in our mackerel.
The mackerel were still there several years later when I graduated from high school. I had a bigger flat-bottomed boat (same outboard) and I figured, optimistically, no doubt, that I could carry 1,000 pounds of mackerel. But there was no market for mackerel, so that fall I pumped gas and torched herring with a friend, and the following spring I got a job on a redfish boat.
In the late 1960s and in the 1970s until the enactment of the 200-mile limit, mackerel, like everything else in the northwest Atlantic, were hammered by distant water fleets from Europe and the Soviet bloc.
American are not big mackerel eaters. So although stocks have recovered, they still aren't worth much money. Mackerel is now a midwater fishery, and getting on them and staying on them is a dicey proposition.
One reason is suggested by the research, which has found that in the years since my cohort and I fished them, warming water has spread out stocks to the north and east of their traditional winter grounds.
In any case, they no longer make themselves available in vast plentitude to little boys between Ogunquit Beach and the home shore, pining for the day when they can make a living on the ocean.
Written by Melissa Wood
Tuesday, 09 December 2014
Superstorm Sandy spared Maryland's Smith Island the heavy damage it flung on most of its neighbors, yet it still almost destroyed the historic commercial fishing community. That's because while 7,000 acres of tidal marshes, which are also home to abundant crab nurseries, kept the storm at bay, the federal government planned to use relief money as an opportunity to offer island residents cash in exchange for their property, as long as no one ever built on those abandoned parcels again.
Thanks to community organizing, Smith got lucky again. Though some residents were in favor of the government buyout, others opposed it. Wanting to protect their unique way of life, they formed Smith Island United and proposed government money instead be used to protect the island against erosion. It worked. Smith, home to about 250 people, is expected to receive $15 million in federal money toward building a new breakwater and jetty.
The story of Smith's near demise is told in "Come High Water: Sea Level Rise and Chesapeake Bay," a special report produced by Chesapeake Quarterly, published by the Maryland Sea Grant, and the Bay Journal newspaper. The articles, while short and focused, present a comprehensive yet easy-to-grasp assessment on the science behind rising sea levels as well as how the threat of rising seas is affecting low-lying communities on Chesapeake Bay.
As explained in the report, rising sea levels are one of the consequences of global warming thanks to melting polar glaciers and the fact that warmer water takes up more space than cooler water (because of its chemistry). Added to this, the Mid-Atlantic coastline had already been sinking because of a phenomenon called "glacial forebulge." During the last ice age, the ice sheet's massive weight pressed down on the land beneath it so much that it caused the land outside the sheet (including the Mid-Atlantic coastline) to tilt upward, so that it rose like the opposite end of a downward seesaw. Scientists expect the Eastern shoreline to be hit especially hard, with sea levels rising 3 feet or more by the end of this century — the fastest rate in the United States.
One of the most interesting parts of the report is the skepticism in these communities about global warming. In the article, "Snapshots From the Edge," Bill Boicourt, an oceanographer at the University of Maryland's Center for Environmental Science in Cambridge, says he is often met with skepticism when talking about climate change to church groups and civic organizations. "They know what they are seeing, but many blame the problem on erosion, or 'tides.' Many don't want to talk about melting ice sheets or greenhouse gas emissions. They want to talk about fixes today that may help to get the water out of their yards, fixes such as the reconstruction of barrier islands in the Chesapeake Bay."
At first, it's hard to understand this skepticism. Why wouldn't people who can actually see their land sink into the ocean accept climate change as a real event? Why wouldn't they want to advocate for solutions that may slow down or halt the rising seas that may someday engulf their communities?
But then again, I see valid reasons for the denials. Even though rising sea levels are accelerating, the land has been sinking around here since Europeans first settled centuries ago. And messages about climate change have long been mixed, not just among politicians but also among scientists: For example, while they mostly agree that climate change is a real thing, there are differences of opinion on its outcomes, such as whether warming water is causing the Gulf Stream to slow down.
Going back to the story about Smith Island, I wonder if for some that skepticism/denial may be the best way to hang on. After all, erosion is a problem that can be dealt with at the local level. Stopping climate change requires global action that we have no control over. How do you argue in favor of preserving a way of life, if you're as good as doomed?
Written by Melissa Wood
Thursday, 04 December 2014
If one species could serve as a poster child for fishery conservation efforts, it would probably be bluefin tuna. When NMFS was devising its new Atlantic bluefin tuna regulations, for instance, it received more than 200,000 public comments, according to a Reuters article announcing the new regulations.
Announced this week, those new rules will affect commercial fishermen by making surface gillnetting off limits during bluefin spawning months in the Gulf of Mexico in April and May. Longline restrictions will also be in effect off Hatteras, N.C., an area considered a prime feeding ground for bluefin, between December and April.
Another change for longliners is that their bycatch and discards of bluefin will now be counted against their individual vessel quotas, meaning they must shut down fishing if they exceed it. The new rules start on Jan. 1.
According to NMFS and conservation organizations these new rules are a win-win: "The United States is committed to protecting Atlantic bluefin tuna using sustainable, science-based management, and we will continue to be an international leader in its management," said Eileen Sobeck, director of NMFS, in a statement. "These measures allow fishermen to continue fishing for their target species using alternate gear. We are balancing the needs of the fishermen with the recovery of bluefin tuna."
"This is a balanced solution to the problem, a good balance," Tom Wheatley, conservation manager for the Pew Charitable Trusts, told the Associated Press.
But do you, commercial fishermen and the people most affected, believe these new rules are balanced? Greg Abrams, a seafood dealer and boat owner from Panama City, Fla., told the Miami Herald that the restrictions were over the top and that they unfairly hit gulf fishermen while leaving the issue of bluefin take in Mexican waters untouched. "They've put so many fishermen out of business," he said.
Speaking of balanced, what gets left out in reports about bluefin is that U.S. fishermen sustainably harvest the species, playing by the rules and staying within quotas (but of course fishermen make up a small percentage of the 200,000 comments that came into NMFS when considering the measures). In fact, at the November meeting of the International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas, quotas for Atlantic and Mediterranean stocks were slightly increased.
Sometimes if you play by the rules, you just get more rules.
Written by Melissa Wood
Tuesday, 25 November 2014
Last week, the e-commerce siteAlibaba made headlines in Canada when it sold 90,000 Nova Scotia lobsters from a single operator in one day. The company that made the sale, ZF Max International, was described as a “Canadian-based operation with a parent company in China. ZF Max employs up to 60 Nova Scotians and runs a lobster plant near Halifax.” In other words, those Canadian lobsters are being sold to Chinese consumers by a Chinese company over a Chinese website.
You may have never heard of it, but the Alibaba Group is the world’s largest online retailer. Taking advantage of the country’s growing middle class, Alibaba sites account for 80 percent of China’s online sales, racking up $248 billion in sales last year, which is more than the United States’ two biggest retailers, ebay and Amazon, combined.
It’s big business, and a market as big as China can dominate. The problem is that if all of a sudden that market is shut off, it can be difficult to make up the difference in domestic markets that may have been neglected. This is what happened when China boycotted geoducks earlier this year: Fishermen, divers, growers and dealers in the Northwest suffered heavy losses.
I’ve covered other fisheries, like Maine elvers (or glass eels), that depend on overseas markets. A couple years ago, prices peaked at around $2,500 per pound for these tiny glass eels to help stock Asian eel farms whose global supply was limited by conservation measures on glass eels taken around the world. That spiked prices, and helped create a contentious fishery of Maine fishermen fighting over who gets to put their net where, and, later, who gets a share of the quota.
With such a prized catch, fishermen should have had control of the market. Instead, they had almost no idea about where the elvers were going. I visited a seafood dealer in Pembroke, Maine, in the spring of 2013, and happened to be there when Asian exporters Jason and Kevin (last names were not provided) of American Elver Depot in Flushing, N.Y., came to weigh, package and ship the tiny elvers to China. I tried to find out more about where they were going, but neither Jason nor Kevin would speak to me, and I was hung up on when I tried calling the company (read more about the global elver trade here).
Why so secretive? Could Maine fishermen, if better organized, have demanded much more than what they were getting?
I understand the positive side of the Alibaba story. Creating new markets for seafood should help to increase demand and provide diversity so that when one market is weak, another one will (hopefully) help make up the difference and keep dock prices healthy. We should be figuring out ways to make the most of those new markets, rather than letting them make the most of us.Add a comment
Written by Jerry Fraser
Thursday, 20 November 2014
National Fisherman’s Fisherman of the Year competition has emerged as one of the enduring highlights of Pacific Marine Expo.
It’s no surprise. The deck of a fishing vessel is a demanding workplace, and fishermen depend on each other to work safely and efficiently under any conditions.
That’s why the Fisherman of the Year contest challenges fishermen to display three skills their co-workers prize: the ability to put a rim-racked net back together, or to quickly splice an eye into a piece of rope, or to tie a knot – correctly – in the shadows of a moonless night. If they compete successfully at those tasks, they move on to the final event, one that demands they exhibit a skill that could someday save their life: the survival suit competition.
As many as three fishermen will line up side by side on stage to see who can properly get into a survival suit in the least time.
Safety counselors say fishermen need to be able to don an immersion suit in a minute. We have had Fishermen of the Year winners do so in less than half that time.
The winners of the net-mending, knot-tying and rope-splicing competition each earn $100. The grand prize, for winning the survival suit competition, is a personalized “Fisherman of the Year” jacket (and another $100!).
The Fishermen of the Year contest takes place Friday at 1 p.m. in the keynote area. If you can’t compete, you can watch.Add a comment
Written by Jerry Fraser
Thursday, 13 November 2014
For those of you across the fruited plain, here’s how it went down in New England’s cod fishery.
Beginning 20 years ago or so, NMFS cut the number of days boats could fish. Then it cut them again. Then it bought back some vessels. Along the way it discovered its stock assessments were flawed. It bought back more vessels and cut more days.
So much for effort controls.
In 2009 Jane Lubchenco, a college professor from the West Coast, took over the reins at NOAA and led the effort to convert New England to catch shares management. Kool-Aid drinkers with a taste for this regime believe that catch shares “rationalize” fisheries, scaling production capacity to match a desired harvest level.
As of today, the desired harvest level for cod is zero. “Thanks for playing,” fishermen have been told.
So much for output controls.
“We couldn’t be any worse off, either the resources or the people, if we had no management at all for the past 20 years,” Maggie Raymond, owner of two groundfish boats and a longtime industry activist, told Maine’s Portland Press Herald this week.
Which brings to mind Thomas (Diddy) Martin. Diddy was a first-rate welder and mechanic who worked on a lot of the fishing boats around southern York County, Maine, in the 1970s and ’80s, including mine. Diddy could make anything run but his specialty was putting scrap metal to indestructible use by fishermen who otherwise could be counted on to break anything. “This has got worms,” he’d say about whatever he was rigging. “But we’ll rube” — as in Rube Goldberg — “something together."
When we were done work we would go to a bar and argue. Diddy believed that fishery management was a waste of time. I was a champion of fishery management, which at the time had no impact on me as an inshore fisherman. I didn’t even fill out the logs.
“Diddy,” I’d say earnestly, “we’ve got to manage these fish.”
“No way!” he’d declare. “All you’ve got to do is catch them. If you can’t make any money catching dabs you’ll catch something else or go out of business.
“I’m tellin’ ya,” which he always said when he was telling us something, “The last thing you want is for the government to get involved.”
I miss you old friend. And you were right all along.Add a comment
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National Fisherman Live: 3/10/15
In this episode, Online Editor Leslie Taylor talks with Mike McLouglin, vice president of Dunlop Industrial and Protective Footwear.
National Fisherman Live: 2/24/15
In this episode:
March date set for disaster aid dispersal
Oregon LNG project could disrupt fishing
NOAA tweaks gear marking requirement
N.C. launches first commercial/recreational dock
Spiny lobster traps limits not well received
Alaska Gov. Bill Walker is required by state statute to appoint someone to the Board of Fisheries by today, Tuesday, May 19. However, his efforts to fill the seat have gone unfulfilled since he took office in January. The seven-member board serves as an in-state fishery management council for fisheries in state waters.
The resignation of Walker’s director of Boards and Commissions, Karen Gillis, fanned the flames of controversy late last week.
Keith Decker, president and COO of High Liner Foods, will take over for the outgoing CEO, Harry Demone, who will assume the role as chairman of the board of directors. The Lunenburg, Nova Scotia-based seafood supplier boasts sales in excess of $310 million (American) for the first quarter of the year.Read more...