A New Port

Life is indeed quite different living in New Bedford, but one thing hasn't changed: my job still involves working on boats. It's a little different this summer, though. First of all, bait is not part of the equation anymore, thank God. I'm also not working on the water every day, but when I am out to sea, it is for 8-day trips and I'm on the boat for good. I'm sleeping in a bunk, eating in the galley, and standing watch in the wheelhouse. It isn't a 10-hour-day of lobstering with scenic views of the Maine coast. It's 200 miles out to sea on Georges Bank without any land in sight. Luckily, I'm only going on three trips this summer.

In fact my first trip out to sea in May was the first time that I slept on a boat. I sterned on a lobsterboat for a year and two summers, but I'd never slept on a boat before. The first night wasn't much fun. I was seasick from the clumsy motion of the top-heavy 90-ft commercial scallop fishing vessel jerking abruptly from side to side. My bunk was next to the engine room. Now I understand why most fishermen are deaf. The roar of the engine was louder than I could have ever imagined. After a few nights I adapted to taking Dramamine regularly. I was getting used to the deafeningly loud engine and when I put my earplugs in to sleep even had the delusion of silence. My body grew accustomed to the now seemingly gentle sway of the hull. The motion rocked me into a sound sleep.

In some ways I feel a comforting familiarity with the working waterfront in New Bedford. The sounds and smells of the dockside remind me of home. Rotten fish baking in the sun. A salty sea breeze kissing your face. Men joking and laughing over the loud clamor of machinery. But to look at it, New Bedford's waterfront is quite a different story than New Harbor's quaint

wharves. Hundred-foot-steel-hulled giants dwarf the graceful, white 30-ft fiberglass hulls of lobsterboats from home. Fifteen-foot steel dredges adorn either side of the scalloping vessels, appearing much more dangerous than the 3-ft long traps that lobstermen use. Even the fishermen are different. I enjoy the trip down to the dock to pick up scallops for our work and look forward to the opportunity to shoot the shit with the fishermen. But I'm not greeted with the friendly, fatherly faces that I know well from home. Instead foreign accents yell at us abnoxiously, sometimes making me blush at their ludeness. One guy thought I was a whore when I greeted him kindly. I quickly averted my eyes and walked on. The captains are for the most part respectful men, but the deckhands can be pretty rough.

It is, however, interesting seeing such a culturally diverse port. Maine fishing communities are uniformly white and often politically and culturally conservative. You wouldn't exactly call New Harbor diverse. However, this major fishing port is peppered with Portuguese, Columbian, Mexican, Fillipino, Polish, and Vietnamese fishermen. A fair number of Mainers make the commute to scallop out of New Bedford as well. We have a reputation as being hard workers down here.

Hanging in the wheelhouse of the first vessel I went on was the quintessential relic of New Bedford. It was a cheap plastic cross that looked like it was straight out of Ver-o-Peso in Belem, Brazil, a famous dockside market. Delicate gold flourishes and plastic diamonds adorn the tips of the cross, reminding me of gaudy Brazilian jewelry. A scallop is mounted in the center of the cross. This keepsake is undoubtedly Portuguese. The piece reminds me of the brightly-colored boats outside Ver-o-Peso, the exotic fish for sale at market, and the stench of the docks. The colorful hulls of New Bedford's fleet and the elegant Portuguese names are reminiscent of Brazil. This port is a blend of some of my favorite ports on different continents. It's a perfect melting pot of fishing cultures from around the world.