The landing has been absolutely mobbed every evening when we get in from work. Saturdays are the worst. Everyone comes out for their lobster dinner on weekends. Cap and I step on shore for the first time in 12 hours exhausted and ready to go home, when we are met by utter chaos. The shiny black SUV's and polo shirts are a stark contrast to our dirty appearance, as we are steeped in mud, salt, and bait. Every space in the parking lot is occupied, and some cars are even double-parked. The wharves are teeming with people holding trays of steaming lobsters and corn cobs. Dogs are running rampant. A car alarm or two is honking obnoxiously. And to top it all off, a huge yacht is being launched, blocking off my car. Utter mayhem. This isn't exactly the greeting I like to get at the end of my work day, when all I wanna do is get outa there!
The other day when we met at the landing at 6am, the dock was already busy! The railing of the dock was lined with professional folks standing in front of fancy cameras on tripods, eagerly darting the lens this way and that to capture a fleeting snapshot. The click of shutters was palpable in the air. A photography class. The crowd parted as Cap backed his pick-up truck down to the edge of the wharf. Cap went to bring the boat in to the dock, while I stayed to unload rope from the truck. There must have been twenty pictures taken of Cap as he drove the boat past the eager photographers. I smirked, since Cap is probably the most modest person I know and is shy in front of the camera. I noticed at least five tripods being carefully positioned in a semi-circle in front of the bait cooler, where Cap would be headed next. Once again, I couldn't help but smile. I wasn't sure if they would think it was so photogenic once Cap opened the cooler door, unleashing the stench of pogies!
While Cap got bait, I loaded the boat with rope, unloaded buoys, and fueled up. Little did I know that I was the next subject of their photo shoot. I heard a click and saw a camera flash as I stooped over the diesel tank, nozzle in hand, watching the level of fuel slowly rise. I looked up to find an apologetic photography student asking permission to take my picture. I replied that she could as long as I could have a copy. So we exchanged emails and she continued to click shots of me fueling up. I look forward to seeing the photos.
Once we reach open water, you would think that we would be clear of the crowd. Not the case. Lately we have been feeling bombarded with sailboats and sports fishing boats that sail or motor close to us to sneak a peak of natives. At times we have suddenly found ourselves in the thick of a sailing race. The other day we had just emptied and baited a trap when Cap was throwing the boat into gear to circle around and set the trap. I looked up to see a huge hulking sailboat bee-lining it maybe fifty feet away from us. It was passing right in Cap's blind spot in the wheelhouse and I told him right away. Cap easily could have swung the boat around right into it. A couple sat on deck reading obliviously. The real kicker was: they weren't even under sail! They were motoring. Technically, if a sailboat is under sail it has the right of way over a working boat. But in practice, it is always courteous to give lobster boats plenty of space. I swear, some people just don't understand that lobsterboats go in circles. That's what we do all day. When a sailboat is motoring, there's no excuse for heeding a lobsterboat. There is no lack of space on the water. There's a huge expanse of ocean to go boating on. Cap and I watched the boat pass in disbelief for their lack of respect. He made a comment giving me permission to throw a pogie at them next time. I literally could have thrown a rotten fish onto their shiny white deck, had I thought of it in time. They were that close.
The other day we had another drive-by. This time it was a small family in a skiff wanting to buy lobsters and they were very friendly. They pulled up alongside us asking if we would sell them some lobsters and making small talk about how the catch was this season. A woman asked if she could take our picture while I picked 10 lobsters out of the tank. We both reluctantly agreed. I felt like an authentic sternlady. Overall, this was a much more pleasant interaction than the last drive-by sale.
The irony of summer is that many fishermen choose lobstering as a profession partially because they value independence. They enjoy the freedom of working on the open ocean and not feeling obligated to interact with other humans. Many fishermen don't have very strong social skills. Yet in the summertime, tourists magnetize to the lobstermen to take pictures and ask questions. Interacting with people is unavoidable.
For the most part, I enjoy talking with strangers and answering their questions. Sometimes it challenges me to relate what I have learned about the industry or to express how I feel about my job. Granted there are plenty of times at the end of the day when I am grumpy and tired and the last thing I want to see is another human. There are other times when I feel that people are being disrespectful and are only making our job more difficult. Luckily, these instances are few and far between. I have to remind myself when I'm feeling bombarded by summer folks that it is a good thing. The local economy is healthy and the lobsters that we catch are nourishing many bellies. We are contributing to others getting the real "Maine experience." All of the hard work is worthwhile after all.
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