I did something very original while in Maine - spent 6 hours on a boat with two lobstermen, some Dramamine, and my sister Michele. We had prepared ourselves for an early start to the day (5 AM), cold temperatures, and the rocky motion of the fishing boat.
Michele and I met the lobsterman (Clive) and his sternman (Cage) on a dark, quiet dock in Boothbay Harbor shortly after 5 in the morning. We had our cameras and tripods in hand and were ready for some great photography. I was also ready for a nap, but that wasn't happening anytime soon.
The lobster boats aren't very big - just big enough for two men comfortably. Michele and I squeezed on with all of our equipment. FYI - there is a bathroom onboard, hidden beneath some steps. You have to pump your own toilet water and wash your hands with hand sanitizer. Yummy. Cage was very warm and friendly, a true Southern boy from Georgia. He shook our hands upon introduction and then announced that he was headed to the tiny toilet because - as he put it - he shouldn't have eaten three helpings of his grandmother's macaroni and cheese since he is lactose intolerant. Double yum.
Soon after leaving the dock, Cage began baiting the lobster traps using none other than dead fish. The smell was oh-so-fantastic. Did I mention this was a small boat? So small that at times, my thigh would brush against the slimy bin of dead fish.
Cage was a hardworking fellow. Very efficient and fluid when working with the bait and the lines that held the traps together. He would stack them up on the back of the boat and allow them to be pulled into the cold waters by the rope.
Each line is connected to a buoy, and holds about 5 traps. By law, lobstermen in Maine can have no more than 600 traps out at sea at a given time.
They will pull in and re-release anywhere from 150 to 300 traps per working day. And they get to work early - at 5 am - and return around 1 pm for lunch. Then they go back out for round two in the afternoon. It's a full day of pretty grimy work. I can't imagine ever getting the fish smell out of my hands.
Clive, the lobsterman who owned the boat, has been doing this for decades. Before working as a lobsterman he was a teacher.
Throughout our six-hour journey, Clive drove us past a few pretty neat sights, including lighthouses, harbor seals, and this old US life saving station.
There's Michele. Eyes and camera focused on the prize.
There's me (
photo courtesy Michele). Cold, shivering, helplessly trying to not fall off the rocking boat.
This small house was located on an island near the lifesaving station. Cage told us that local fishermen used to throw parties out on the island after a day at work. Can you imagine anything more remote?
Another view of the lifesaving station.
This picture gives a slightly better feel for the size of the boat and the lack of walking room. The gray metal box in the middle of the boat is where the fresh lobsters are kept. Those slots lead down to a tank of water that keeps them alive.
Clive was in charge of steering the boat, navigating our route, and pulling the traps out of the water. He would then open the cages and pull out the beautiful little lobsters, if he was lucky enough to have caught any. On average, be probably got one or two lobsters per every five cages. But he wore his emotions clearly on his face. You could tell when he was devastated that no "worthy" lobsters had been trapped by a cage, and he couldn't help but grin ear to ear when his trap was full of beautiful lobsters.
Clive would pull them out of the cages, look at the quality of their shell, check their status (a female with a notched tail or with visible eggs is illegal to keep), and measure for size. "Worthy" lobster bodies measure between 3.25" and 5". This measurement doesn't include most of the tail.
Then Cage would clamp the claws shut with bands. Even this part was a science, depending on the density of the lobster shell and size of the claw. Different sized bands are needed for soft shell or hard shell lobsters.
A sweet little lobster awaiting his fate. It's possible I ate him for dinner that very evening. Right after Jed yanked his head off in the kitchen sink. Sorry little lobster. You were delicious.
A lobster about to go into the tank.
And in he goes.
The color of the buoys has great significance. Clive's buoys are green and white, as shown below. Every lobsterman has a specific buoy which must be registered. That's the only way they can locate their traps.
I have a new respect for knots - an art it seems is only taught to boy scouts, fisherman, and the military. But these knots are responsible for holding together 5 traps and surviving the climate of the cold Atlantic ocean. They are responsible for the livelihood of many a lobsterman.
Sweet little lobster. Interesting fact...lobsters can be three different colors: red, brown and blue. Most of the lobsters we saw were brown and red (though hubby and I saw a blue one at the Maine aquarium).
A starfish hitchhiking a ride on the side of Clive's boat. He was the more attractive of creatures I saw clinging to the boat.
Overall, Michele and I had a fantastic and enlightened time on the boat. I learned a lot about the reality of a job that is based around hard, physical labor. I learned a lot about a profession that I thought would be lucrative. These guys barely scrape by. That being said, they surely must have a passion for the job. And is there any better reason?
