Turbo Power

Have you heard a muffler-less V8 diesel engine roar by lately? Then you don't live on the Pemaquid Peninsula. Ours is a culture in which masculinity is defined by two things:

1.) size and loudness of your truck and

2.) the speed of your boat.

We take engines pretty seriously around here. In rural Maine, trucks are more than just redneck transport; they are a form of expression. Your average city slicker might just see a hunk of rusty sheet metal on big tires, but what they don't see is a manifestation of identity, masculinity, and sex appeal.

Let's start with identity. If you sit at a gas station and observe proud truck owners as they step out of their pickups, you start noticing patterns. It's hard not to notice a relationship between height and truck size. That is to say that little guys make up for what they lack in height with wheel diameter and horsepower. And big guys like even more hemi power! They can make all the excuses they want about needing plenty of leg room and head clearance, but the fact is it makes them feel more manly.

I was recently amused to spot, among the many personality tests on Facebook, the "What type of pickup truck are you meant to drive?" test. Naturally, I couldn't help but take it. It was dead wrong: a beater Ford. I've been daydreaming about a forest green Toyota Tacoma TRD for the past few years. I look for endurance, comfort, and grace in a truck, myself. Let's just say that I'd be considered a liberal in this fishing town in more aspects than just my dream truck.

As for sex appeal, well in nature the Alpha male is the biggest, most powerful male with the best reproductive success. It naturally follows that guys with bigger trucks have more luck with the ladies. If there was a sociological study done on the correlation between truck size and reproductive success of males living in rural Maine, let's just say I think the slope of the regression line would be "1" (perfect correlation). "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" is a big country hit around here. Us local girls can appreciate a good off-road vehicle.

I can make fun of them all I want, but I'm just as much of a sucker for a big truck as the rest of the fishermen around here. The fact is that many of the pickups that you see on the waterfront are practical work tools. But that isn't to say that the owners don't get a thrill when the ignition roars to life or secretly suck in the sweetly sickening diesel fumes as they close the tailgate. Alright, I'm going to stop making sweeping generalizations before I offend a pick-up sporting reader. Or is it already too late?

Tradition

As with most tasks related to the lobstering business, preparing the components for building new traps is redundant and tedious yet somehow very satisfying. Cap decided early this spring that he wants to sell all of his old "beater" traps (his son has been encouraging him to do so, claiming that some of them are as old as me!) and build 200 new ones. I was a little overwhelmed by this proposal until he revealed that he would be buying the "cages" with runners on them and that we would add all of the accessories.

In preparation of assembling the traps, there is much work to be done: preparing little gadgets and do-hickeys that you probably wouldn't even single out if you looked at a trap for 5 minutes. However, perhaps the most time-intensive part is the "heads" (the nylon mesh one-way doors through which the lobsters walk and never return).

I told my father about my recent work tasks and he reminisced back to the days when he was a boy and the elderly matriarchs of the community used to "knit" the trap heads for all of the fishermen. I can just picture them sitting around in rocking chairs, with white aprons and tight white buns atop their heads, fingers working away as if they are quilting or crochetting, exchanging the latest news laiden in thick Maine accents. My great-grandmother, whose name I carry on as my middle name, was probably one of these agile-fingered women. Those were the days when my dad used to build his own wooden traps as did his grandfather, who was a lobsterman and a talented artist. We still have some of my great-grandfathers wooden pot buoys as well as hundreds of his paintings.

We don't knit heads anymore, but there is other preparation involved: cutting the mesh and "lacing" it. Yesterday I was sitting in Cap's living room lacing trap heads and I couldn't help but feel some connection with the elders of this ancient tradition. I'm starting to understand what Cap was talking about when he said that "not many people have articulate hands anymore." Even the skill of knitting nylon mesh (such as trap heads or shrimp nets) is becoming scarcer. My father used to build his own nets. While groundfishermen still mend their nets, very few lobstermen know how to knit their own heads. As with many things in the modern world, there are machines that can knit nylon mesh now.

Knitting or lacing trap heads could be seen as women's work to some people, since it is detail oriented and requires dextrous fingers, as does picking out shrimp. I usually resent this notion of "women's work" since it implies gender segregation of labor. However, for some reason in this case, I find pride in carrying out the lady's task. I feel like I'm in a secret club with my great-grandmother and Cap's wife, who also does this job. It is as if I'm carrying on a female tradition for which men's strong calloused hands aren't fit.

Although Cap and I are doing a more abbreviated, modern version of trap-building, we are carrying on a tradition of self-sufficiency that is hard to come by these days. We continue to develop articulate hands.

Lending a Helping Hand

One thing I've learned "down ta the shoah" is that there's no such thing as asking for help. I used to ask, which I considered to be common etiquette. I figured that if someone didn't want help then it's actually helpful to stay out of the way and if they needed a hand then, by golly, go to town! But not so in the world of fishing. Every time that I asked for help, I got replies like "Oh, that's ok, deah, we got it." I suppose part of this had to do with being a young lady whom they didn't think should be lifting heavy items, but there are also different codes of courtesy on the dock of which I wasn't yet aware.

As I spent more time on the dock I observed that other fishermen didn't bother asking if someone needed a hand. They just saw where they could be of use and they jumped right in. When the job is done, thanks will be exchanged in a form something like this: "Shoah do 'preciate it, Billy." "No problem, Joe." Or not. Some guys aren't in the habit of expressing gratitude verbally, or perhaps they just think it's extraneous. But often their thanks will show up later down the road.

It is especially common for fishermen who are operating off of the same dock, meaning either they are members of the same fishermen's co-op or they sell lobsters to the same buyer, to help eachother out. There have been numerous occasions when we bring a trailer full of traps down to load onto the boat and someone else has pulled their boat up alongside the dock. In this case we might help the other fishermen load his boat in order to speed things up so that we might pull Cap's boat in sooner. In other words, the incentive to help another isn't always selfless. But regardless of the underlying motives, we are all in this game together. . . why not lend eachother a hand?

2-Faced

Growing up in a small, rural area where my father's side of the family traces back many generations, practically everyone knows who I am when I say I'm "Dad's" daughter. That's not to say that I know everyone in the area, but those with whom I have interacted tend to think fondly of myself and my family and I of them. I have many friends in this community including many fishermen.

When I became intertwined in the fishing community, I began learning alternate identities of well-esteemed townsfolk. My innocent respect for several fishermen was turned upside-down when I learned of not-so-respectable acts that they have committed on the water. This wasn't easy for me to swallow, as a girl who tends to believe in the good in people.

For example, I heard through the grapevine that someone with whom I regularly have amiable conversations is known to have cut a significant number of buoys on multiple occasions upon losing his temper. Every lobsterman loses his/her patience at some point, but cutting traps is the most disrespectful act that one can commit around here. It isn't much better than spitting in someone's face. Actually, it's worse because not only are you disrespecting them, but you're costing them money too.

As with most predicaments in my life, I went to my Dad with this paradox. How could the fishermen who are so fatherly and kind to me on land be such hellians on the sea? My father explained in his usual soothing and reasonable way how some fishermen are in fact respectable members of this community, but when they get irritated at work on the water that they can be short-of-temper and very reactive. When lobstermen loose their patience on the water, bad things can happen. This reminded me of "Two-Face" in Batman, who's good or ill will depends on the flip of a two-headed coin.

This isn't to say that I am no longer friends with those "two-faced" individuals. I believe that, regardless of the ugly rumors one may hear about a person, I should make my own judgements based on my personal interaction with them. However, my new perspective opened my eyes to the fact that a person can be much more complicated than they first appear.

Solitary Spruce

There's a solitary spruce jutting out on a little point along the shore just south of Round Pond. I notice it every time we pass. When I look up from cleaning the boat on the steam home, I know we're close if I look south and see that tree. It bids us a safe journey on our steam out of the harbor and beckons us home on our return.

In the summertime, my dad and I like to "run out of the harbor" in his 22' Aquasport to catch the sunset. On the way back into the cove we swing by the bell buoy to hear its gentle clanging, like a church bell. My dad says that he used to know when he was home at the end of a fishing trip when he saw and/or heard (in the dark or fog) the New Harbor bell buoy. I know I'm home when I see that scraggly spruce.

Trap Shackin'

Trap shacking is a coastal activity akin in degree of integrity and intellegence to the agrarian past time of cow tipping. In other words, it's just downright stupid and obnoxious.

The other day we encountered a unique snarl that seemed somehow familiar. The tailer line was wrapped around the trap and all bolluxed up. It took a while to sort it out.

"How did that happen?" I asked because I was concerned that perhaps it was something that I had done, maybe the way I set the trap, and wanted to know how to prevent it from happening again.

His reply was unexpected: "Well, you've seen it before, so you might as well know. . ."

Turned out that someone had hauled his traps and then just set them one on top of another in a heap, instead of carefully spacing them.

I'm aware that Cap tries to protect me from some of the ugly truths of lobstering. The dirty local politics. The stealing and resentments. However, it's a reality of the business. I don't need to know names, but I appreciate him letting me know what's going on.

"Shacking" traps means hauling them and stealing the lobsters. I wrote about this before in the case of shrimp traps in "Ghosts Up Above," but it's more common with lobster traps, since lobsters are more valuable. Some people will go to desperate measures to steal. If the trap door is fool-proof, they will find some other way of breaking into it. Cap said that for a while someone was even popping vents so that they could reach in the hole with the vent gone and remove the precious plunder. He had to start drilling a hole in the top of the vent that snaps into the wire mesh and secure the top with a rusty hogring in addition to the two usual bottom corners.

When it gets to that point, you wonder if they are doing it for the purpose of making a few extra dollars or if they are just trying to prove that they can break into the trap. Like a thief who prides himself on cracking safes. In any case, it is a dishonest and disrespectful thing to do to someone else's hard-earned property. An activity that can only be rivaled by trap cutting, which is just plain nasty. But enough of my bitching. Let's move on to more pleasant topics. . .

A Learning Process

People often inquire as to my current occupation. Upon my replying that I'm a sternlady on a lobsterboat, I am commonly met with the usual reactions of skepticism, surprise, and even admiration. The other day someone remarked that I am "overqualified" for my job, referring to my academic credentials. I replied that although lobstering is physical labor, I learn something new on the boat every day.

For example, just a few days ago I learned how to estimate the age of a fish. We were using sheepshead heads for bait at the time. All day I was finding little white circles that felt like hard plastic or bone on the deck. I looked everywhere trying to find some plastic gear that it could have chipped off of, but to no avail. Finally, I asked Cap about them. He pondered it for a minute, then came to the conclusion that they were fish ear bones from our bait. All that remained of the old heads that had been munched by lobsters and various other critters was bone and cartilidge. The earbones easily could have fallen out of the fish skulls. He showed me that you can count the concentric circles on the bone to determine the age of a fish, just as you can count the growth rings on a tree to estimate its age! I found this fascinating.

Cap is a wealth of juicy little marine factoids. I like to think of myself collecting them, in the same way that I used to collect marbles or stamps. In fact, just yesterday we caught a good-sized flounder, maybe 16" long. Flounders begin life in this world with an eye on each side of their body. Eventually, the eye on the bottom migrates to the top of the fish, so that both eyes are on top, but you can still tell which eye was originally on top. I'll call this the dominant eye. Cap told me flounders can either be "left-handed" (with the dominant eye on the left) or "right-handed."

However, these marine factoids are only little snippets of my education on the boat. How could I ever explain to a casual aquaintence all that I have learned from fishing? How could I convey that when you first step on a boat, you have to learn everything anew in this strange, aquatic dimension? It's like being a toddler again. First you learn how to stand, then to walk, then to actually get work done on a plane that is in constant motion.

The fishing industry is a world in which paper resumes have no use besides maybe absorbing engine oil spilled on the deck. You "qualify" for the job of sternman only if you can repeatedly lift at least 50 lbs, work efficiently on the boat without puking, and do fast, hard work all day long. How many "overqualified" Smithies can spend a day on a lobsterboat without barfing over the rail the whole time let alone bait 200 traps with rotten fish?

I survived fishing through the 6 hardest months of the year. Yet I'm still a mere "greenhorn" by a real fisherman's standards. I have worked up to a decent speed at the redundant duties on deck (baiting, banding lobsters, etc.). Upon watching my video of us setting traps, my father, an ex-captain of two draggers, remarked that I am an "efficient worker," which I found very flattering. However, I still have much to learn as a sternlady.

Probably the biggest challenge of working on a boat is learning 1.) how to not be in the way and 2.) how to be useful. One can only learn these things by observation and experience. Only recently have I felt more competent at knowing how to be useful when we get in predicaments. For example, in my early days working with Cap, when we came to a snarl (our lines tangled with those of another fisherman) Cap would give me verbal directions such as "Hold this," "Coil that line," "OK, you can throw the buoy back now." Sometimes he would find difficulty in verbalizing what needed to be done or I didn't do it in time. This could be frustrating for both of us. By now, we have done this routine enough times, that I can predict what needs to be done and I can be of assistance without needing direction. I have also learned little tricks like how to hold the weight of a line over the rail while Cap reties a knot. Simple properties of physics. But there's always more to learn. Although Cap is wise and experienced in my eyes, he too learns new things every day from encountering new challenges.

Spring Bugs

Well, ants and ladybugs have been taking over my apartment for the past few weeks, but, no, I'm not referring to insects. The "bugs" I'm talking about are the charismatic crustaceans for which Maine is renowned. Homarus americanus. Ayuh, lobstah.

Reaching into a trap crawling with gnarly sea creatures bearing huge claws at me has never before phased me. If you pick them up by the carapace, they can't reach you. But lately they've been getting to me. I'm not squeamish about them. They've just been bugging the hell out of me.

You see, spring lobsters are unique. They are slowly filtering towards shore after a long cold winter. Like us, they have been braving the elements (the nor'easters, the bitter cold, and the rough seas) for the past few months. Quite frankly, I've been feeling pretty weathered and grumpy myself after perhaps my hardest winter yet. Shrimping was no picnic, but think of what they went through down there! Believe me, they aren't exactly friendly. This is the most aggressive that I have ever seen lobsters. When the trap hits the rail, I can literally hear claws crunching lobster shells. When I open a trap, they are one big ball of lobster. Mercy is not foremost on their pea brains. They are ruthless. I have to watch where I put my hands. I got clamped onto on Monday so hard that I smashed the lobster down on the rail. That was just my instinct. Only then did it let go of my finger.

I've also been noticing that the females are more aggressive than the males. I'm not sure why this is, but I asked Cap if he thought that was true and he agreed without hesitation.

The lobsters are quite defensive, but not yet hungry. The water is still cold enough (42 degrees F) that their metabolism hasn't picked up. They also aren't in reproductive mode yet. When they start reproducing they get hungry for rotten herring. Therefore, in order to bait them into the traps this time of year, we have to use some really enticing morsels. Cap picks up boxes of frozen foreign fish that we transfer into trays the day before hauling. The fish vary drastically in size, so I string 3-4 on a bait line, depending on their size.

All of this trouble would be tolerable if we were actually catching something. I stand corrected, we catch plenty of lobsters, but very few of them are keepers. The great majority of the lobsters in the traps are shorts and punchtails. This is frustrating, because you pull a chain of lobsters (like that game "Barrel of Monkeys") out of a trap to measure them, throw back 8 and keep 1 puny hardshell. Monday was our first day hauling. We hauled 180 traps and our average wasn't bad at all.

At this point things can only get better. As the water warms up, the lobsters will start moving in closer to land, then they will start shedding, mellow out and build up an appetite. The only factor that won't improve is the market price. It is currently $4/lb. It should be twice that, which has been a consistent trend for the past year or so. From now on the price will start to decrease, unfortunately. We actually caught a shedder with a very soft shell on Monday, which was a little unsettling. It is too early to see shedders yet. That was the only one that I didn't have to worry about pinching me!

Setting Traps

Here's a little video clip that I took yesterday on my camera. This video shows our normal routine when we're setting lobster traps at the beginning of the season. We are still fishing them in pairs, so you will see us getting two traps ready on the rail at a time. It shows you the perspective of the VHF radio on an average day on the boat (the black spiral cord on the left is to the radio and was unavoidable). :) Cap gave me permission to post this on my blog.

Here' s a little summary of what you're seeing:

I carry the lead trap forward from the stern and set it on the rail. I open the trap, string 3-4 sheepshead heads (speared through the eyes with the bait iron) on the bait line, close the trap and secure it with a cable tie. Then I undo a coil of rope, set it on the deck, and throw both ends on top of the trap as an indication that they need to be tied. Meanwhile, Cap is tying the sink rope end of that coil to the buoy with a fisherman's bend. I bring the tailer trap forward, set it on the rail, open it and remove the tailer warp (blue rope). Cap ties the other end of the coil to the bridle of the lead trap and then ties the tailer warp to the first coil (connecting the two traps). I bait the tailer and start to bait the irons for the next pair while Cap finishes tying knots. We both turn our traps on the rail in preparation for setting them. I enjoy the scenery and the warmth of the sun while Cap drives around for a bit scanning the depth and looking at the contours of the bottom on his depth finder. Cap yells "Yep, go ahead!" and I roll my trap off the rail. (This might look simple, but it took me quite a while last fall to get the hang of it.) I finish baiting the irons, while the line whizzes off the stern and Cap slides his trap off the rail. He is watching the line to make sure it doesn't tangle as it is let out (that's why he picks it up and holds it). I bring the next buoy and coil forward for the next pair and off we go again!

Our routine for preparing the second pair is a little different in that I tie the knots. I did this because Cap was still scheming where he wanted to set. Our sequence might vary a bit depending on where we're at. We just do what needs to get done at any given time. And there's always something that needs to get done!

Generally we've been setting loads of 50 traps (25 pair) at a time. That's the number of traps that fit comfortably, standing up on end, on the deck. Most fishermen lay them down and stack them high. More traps will fit on the stern when they are stacked that laying down, but they are not as stable in rough water. Cap likes to know that they are secure and not worry about whether they are going to fall off the stern, regardless of the weather. It is also easier for me when the traps aren't stacked really high. I'm not that tall, if you didn't notice!

My next goal is to take a video of us hauling traps, probably from the same vantage point. Stay tuned!

Rope Mountain

For the past two weeks, Cap and I have surrendered to existence in a trance-like state. This state can only be induced by the monotony of burning rope ends in a nylon haze, tying and untying knots and recoiling warps. It's called rope work.

We confronted the mountain of rope in Cap's old barn reluctantly. It was the relic of long coils from fall lobstering accumulating as we took up traps and then being abandoned once shrimp trapping season began this winter. The mountain o' rope towered over us covered in spider webs and various creepy-crawlers spilling out of the dark, moist sanctuary. This didn't make it any more inviting.

Cap's approach to rope is time-intensive, yet efficient in terms of materials. Some fishermen have inshore coils and offshore coils. They splice the rope together, so that you don't have to worry about knots. Initially the splicing is an investment of time, but after that you are done! Cap, on the other hand, reuses his coils year-round. He has short coils for summer fishing, and then ties on more sink rope to the top and adds float rope to the bottom when fall rolls around and the lobsters are in deeper water. The lengths of rope are tied together using a fisherman's bend. When that knot goes through the hauler, it wears the fibers a little more each time. After a few seasons, the knot is worn enough to potentially weaken it and it's time to trim that end and retie the knot.

I suppose I should back up a bit and explain rope. There are two types of line used in fishing: sink rope and float rope. Sink rope consists of nylon as well as fibers that are finer and will actually absorb water, making the line heavy and therefore it sinks. Float rope is made of pure nylon, which floats in the water column. A line on a trap (or a pair of traps) consists of sink rope on the top (closer to the water's surface) and float rope on the bottom (closer to the ocean bottom). The sink rope is tied to the buoy and the float rope is tied to the trap's bridle. If float rope was on top, it would float on the water's surface and boats would cut lines off all the time. If sink rope was on the bottom, then it would lay on the ocean bottom and snag on rocks all the time. That is why sink is always on top and float on bottom.

The line that connects two traps in a pair is another story. There has been a major change in legislation with regard to this part of lobster gear in the past few years. The "tailor warp" between traps used to be float rope, so that it would stay off the bottom and wouldn't snag rocks. However, someone decided that this was a threat to whales, since it creates loops of rope in which they could become entangled. Therefore, regulation now mandates that tailor warps are sink rope. This may sound like a very simple change, but the implications are actually huge. See the length of the tailor warps is short enough, that it doesn't make sense to use it as float rope on your main line. This means that all lobstermen who fish pairs (that is to say the great majority of them) have a ton of float rope to dispose of and replace with sink rope. This is a very costly transition for them to make.

Cap is resourceful and spliced some tailor warps together to make a long enough float rope to use. However, that takes a lot of time and most fishermen don't want to bother. There is a woman by the name of Penny Johnston who found a good use for these old tailor warps. Fishermen donate their old float rope to her and she weaves door mats out of it. Float rope comes in all colors, so she was able to make different colorful designs. She founded the Maine Float-Rope Company, which has apparently been quite a success.

We finally eliminated Rope Mountain yesterday. Just another milestone in the endless tedium of gear work. Now we only have to paint 100 bouys, build 200 traps, set another 150 traps . . . . the list is infinite. A fisherman never rests!

The Dream

We have been working on gear and setting traps so intensively lately, that I'm even dreaming about it. Last night I had a dream that I was setting my own traps. I motored out of a non-descript harbor in my 12' aluminum skiff with a backdrop of an eery gold sky. I steered hard to the starboard to avoid a ledge and continued out the mouth of the harbor to set my traps. I spotted the ledge where I planned to set around, the tip of it just peeking out of the water. At that point I slid a trap off the rail and let the line out, motoring away as the trap sunk, just like Cap does. However, at the last minute I realized that the line was wrapped around the bridle end of the next trap. I frantically tried to untangle it with one hand while I steered with the other.

In the dream I had two realizations:

1.) I am clueless when it comes to the strategy part of setting traps. Sure it's easy enough to slide traps into the water. But there's a whole other part of it that I know nothing about: knowing the topography of the bottom, where to find lobsters, and how to set the trap in relation to those contours. When I arrived at the ledge in my dream, I realized that I actually didn't know what the heck I was doing.

2.) It is incredibly dangerous to be working out on the water alone. When the rope caught on another trap it crossed my mind that at any moment it could pop off, catch my arm, and drag me into the water. No one would be there to save me. I realized that having someone else on board is a safety measure as well as a big help with the work.

Good lessons for a sleepy sternlady!

So'west Haze

I am pleased to say that it seems that the days of bitter north winds have left us. Although we return to the deep waters to lobster again, we are entering into a new season with different weather patterns and the seas are much more managable.

The past few days that Cap and I have been out setting traps, have been beautiful: glassy calm water, crystal clear sky, and a horizon lined with a soft, ethereal haze. We fully enjoyed this change of weather and steamed home before the wind picked up in the afternoon. This kind of day is characteristic of the southwest wind weather pattern that prevails through most of the summer months.

One day when I was younger I remarked about this light haze on the water as my father and I walked along the rocky shore. My fisherman father responded "That's the so'west haze, Kaff. . ." and went on to tell me about the weather patterns.

Salty Veins

Yesterday on the steam out to the West Grounds, I spotted a black, shiny round thing bobbing on the water's surface. At first I dismissed it as a dirty, algae-covered buoy, but the second time I looked, I realized it was a seal. It glided through the water effortlessly, probably curious about what we were doing. Then Cap accelerated to full throttle and the seal's head dove followed by the smooth curve of its back and it disappeared out of sight.

I'm glad to see the seals back. I enjoy their company in the summer months. They are sweet, playful, and curious about human activity. And they remind me of my black lab, Liza, who we had to put down last July. That girl took to water just like a seal. Her head even resembled the shape and shininess of a seal's bald head when she swam. Liz and I used to swim together in Back Cove in the summer. She'd swim alongside me, puffing gently out of her nostrils from the exertion, both of us smiling contentedly. There's nothing that she and I liked better in the summer heat than taking a refreshing dip in the ocean. Simple pleasures.

In fact, I've been known to swim almost every day in the Cove during the summer months. Last summer I wasn't down there much, because my job was SCUBA diving, and I'd had enough time in the water by the end of the day. However, in previous years, especially on hot stuffy days of cleaning my parents' cottages, I so looked forward to that icy splash at the end of the dock. The fishermen used to say that my shiny dark head of hair looks like a seal's head when it's slicked back from the saltwater. I'd be swimming along and the boys would say from the dock "Look it's a seal! Oh no, it's just Katherine swimming."

I look forward to that cleansing dip at the end of a hard summer day's work. There is something so pure, so re-energizing, and so buoyant about immersion in saltwater. Freshwater simply doesn't compare in the scalding July heat. As a warm-blooded Mainer who doesn't do well in heat, I have to have the ocean within earshot in case of emergency so that I can run and jump in when I overheat. But then again, I don't do well far from the ocean any time of year. It nourishes my soul.

The Other Woman

Spring is here. Fishermen that I've never heard of are seeping out of the cracks and launching their boats. We have to share the dock again, which takes some getting used to after practically having the run of the Harbor all winter.

The other change is that there's another sternlady in the Harbor. Another woman. I'm strangely intrigued by her presence. I guess that's how the guys reacted to me when I entered the scene last November. I feel comradery towards her, like we're in a secret sternlady's club. I have to say it's a relief to see another woman on the water.

Interestingly, I find that I'm comparing myself to her, which I don't do with male fishermen. She's pretty tough. She has a big shiny black Dodge Ram 1500 Hemi truck with silver flames on the sides. Pretty cool. She parked beside me yesterday and dwarfed my green Camry with peace bumper stickers. She's stalky, tough and wears bright tie-dye shirts. I gotta admit, I feel a little immasculated by her. I feel like a girly-girl.

Yet I know it isn't productive to compare myself to others. I survived a winter of fishing, of which I am rightly quite proud, and I daresay did my job well. I may be petite and lady-like, but that's not to say that I'm weak or squeamish about digging my hands into rotten herring. An old co-worker at the oyster farm where I worked a few years back used to call me "Mighty Mouse." Little, perhaps, but quite capable for my size, thank you very much.

Maybe next time I see her on the dock, I'll say "Ya know, your nails would look great in fusia." Just kidding. . .

Good Omens

Lobster season is off with a bang! We set 150 traps in the past two days. Yesterday Cap's son pulled up alongside us to report that they saw Air Force One fly overhead when they were out hauling. Obama must have been on his way to Portland. Cap speculated that he might have flown into the Brunswick Naval Air Base, since he probably wouldn't fly this far north if they were landing at the Portland Jetport. Unfortunately, Cap and I were in at the dock when the presidential sighting occurred and missed out. I like to think of it as Obama blessing the commencement of lobster season, even though he wasn't aware that he was doing it. I imagine other fishermen who witnessed the fly-by were shaking their fists instead of marvelling. The gov'ment is blamed for just about everything around these parts.

The fog was so thick out there today that we couldn't see land all day. Even on the steam home, when were were but a stone's throw from the mainland, the rocky shore wasn't discernible. Cap had to use the radar and the chart on his computer to find our way home. He showed me how boats and marker buoys appear on the radar screen. I learned that the size of a mark on the screen doesn't represent the size of an object in real life. Different materials (metal, wood, fiberglass) reflect the radar frequencies to varying degrees. For example, a wooden lobster boat only showed up as a pin prick compared to a well-defined streak that represented a metal marker buoy. I found this interesting.

At one point this morning I looked up to see the makings of a rainbow. I say "makings" because it wasn't actually a rainbow. It was an iridescent arc of white light opposite the hazy sun. The light wasn't refracting so it wasn't a colorful arc, but the illuminescence was pretty. I pointed it out to Cap and he said "Maybe we should set some traps over there!" Another good omen.

Today we hauled a pair to reset it after a half hour. Low and behold it had a keeper in it! That was inspiring after hearing pretty dismal reports of the catch lately. We were off in deeper waters today (40 fathom or 240 feet), so it makes sense that we will catch some lobster out that far (10-12 miles off shore). I ate it for dinner; first lobster of the season. Boy was it good! I was starting to get tired of shrimp. It's the first reward I've had for two weeks of hard work. I've gotta say, it'll be nice to start hauling again and see a paycheck!

These "good omens" might seem like trivial consequences that are irrelevant to lobstering. Frankly, at this point I'm looking for any sign of hope, given the dismal reports of the catch lately. The price at the dock is only $4.50/lb, whereas it should be $8 or $9 this time of year. We will only be fishing 400 traps and the catch will be lower on average than it was last fall. Luckily, lobsters are hardier than shrimp and can be left to accumulate in a trap until the bait's gone. Therefore, we will let the traps set for a week and make it worth the steam out. We will probably only be hauling 2 or 3 days a week and building traps on the "off" days.

Spring fishing will feel like a breeze compared to shrimping, once we get all of the traps overboard. Cap and I both have sore arms and backs from handling traps. Shrimping was good conditioning for lobster season. My upper body is stronger than ever. I have the strength now, but I'm looking for a resurgence of inspiration. It is hard to find gear work and trap setting inspiring. I think once the sun comes out and we start hauling again, I will remember why I'm out there.