Way Out Here

Yesterday was yet another beautiful day in the neighborhood. There was plenty of time to enjoy the scenery as I stuffed bait bags on the long steam out. I watched the familiar landmarks that symbolize "home" to me (Haddock Island, New Harbor, the cottages, and the lighthouse) shrink until they were finally just a dark green line on the horizon. Monhegan drew nearer as we steamed south. The buoys dispersed. The flat, calm, open ocean stretched before us. This is Cap's territory and the kind of fishing that he enjoys.

We are fishing some traps quite a ways offshore in an effort to escape the dense gear in close to shore. We're also preparing to snag the lobsters as they leave shedding territory. Since the traps are in deeper water and there is more line, we are setting them as pairs. Hauling pairs again is reminiscent of fall and spring fishing, but the weather conditions are much more enjoyable. Nonetheless, I have become accustomed to hauling single traps, as we've been doing throughout the summer, and it is difficult for me to switch back to pairs. It feels like working "double-time," with twice as many bait bags to fill per buoy, two bait irons instead of one, two traps, and more work to clean out the traps. Once again, I have very little time to drink water, eat, and pee. I'm out straight all day.

When we arrived at the site and began hauling, my body was forced to speed up to the fast pace. It takes me a few pair first thing in the morning to get into the rhythm. The country song "Way Out Here" by Josh Thompson popped into my head and I started to hum it. "We won't take a dime unless we earned it. When it comes to weight, brother, we pull our own . . . way out here." I thought to myself "No crap."

We were way out there, alright. On the way out we passed a group of gannets divebombing a school of fish. The water rippled with movement from the fish beneath. It must have been a big school. Gannets are fantastic divers and a lot of fun to watch. Much like pelicans, they spot a fish from the air and plummet into the water like a bullet making a big splash as they hit the surface. Cormorants and gulls joined in.

Not long after that Cap pointed up a whale surfacing. It was a small whale--maybe 10 ft long--and it looked like a huge dolphin as the dorsal fin broke the water. He guessed it was a minke whale. A few strings of traps later, I saw a big splash in the distance followed by little silver fish jumping out of the water. I pointed it out to Cap. "That's a tuna," he said. I didn't get a look at the fish, but it looked big. I hope to get a look at a tuna someday. In the vicinity of the tuna sighting, a few seal heads bobbed and countless dolphins surfaced to breath. It seemed like sea creatures were fishing all around us. Seeing so many large marine mammals (or charismatic megafauna in my old biology professor's words) in one area reminded me of Sea World. Not that I've ever been to a marine amusement park or care to go. This was much better because the sea creatures were free and clearly enjoying the beautiful day as much as I was.

It felt like we were part of a bigger whole. We, like the other mammals, were harvesting our share of food from the bountiful ocean. We were all fishing together, the difference between us and them being that we humans were fishing to feed many people whereas the marine mammals were fishing to feed themselves. We are just a handful of lobstermen supplying lobsters to a large population, whereas the sea critters each feed themselves. Luckily, the regulations that are in place make it lobstering sustainable fishery. We have a long way to go in the grand scheme of things, but we are making baby steps one at a time.