To Trawl or not to Trawl?

I have to admit that I find it frustrating when people say that “trawling is bad.” Like many issues, black-and-white ethical statements such as this do not do the topic of habitat impacts justice.

As the daughter of a former groundfisherman, my family’s income depended on otter trawling when I was growing up, so perhaps that has influenced my perspective on trawling. I think the issue of benthic impacts from trawling is much more complex than it is often portrayed. As several studies have demonstrated (Kostylev et al. 2005, Lindholm et al. 2004, Lokkeborg 2005), dragging influences different habitat types in different ways and to different degrees. While dragging might have detrimental effects on complex habitat with rocky substrate, the effects may be negligible when compared with natural disturbance on dynamic, unstable sandy bottom.

Think about it in terms of the terrestrial environment. If a big net was swept across the Sahara Desert and the old growth forests of northern California, do you think it would have the same effect on these ecosystems? Of course not. The vertical structure and the ecological resilience of these habitat types is completely different and therefore you would expect the effects of trawling these areas to be quite different. The old growth forest is a relatively stable environment that has taken centuries to establish and so the effects of trawling would be significant. However, the desert represents an unstable substrate subject to high levels of natural disturbance (wind and heat), and the impact would likely be impacted relatively low. This diversity of terrestrial habitat impact is not unlike the marine environment.

Furthermore, it is extremely difficult to quantify the effect of trawling on benthic communities. Successful studies have only been able to do this in benign coastal environments, since the task demands either divers or cameras both of which require ideal conditions. We attempted to quantify incidental mortality of scallops and dredge impacts on sandy bottom in Southern New England using a ROV and an AUV in 2014. Despite the shallow water (~30 fm), calm sea conditions, and low currents it was nearly impossible to 1.) tow over the area that was surveyed pre-dredging, 2.) to locate the dredge path after towing and 3.) to accurately quantify the difference let alone yield consistent results. Further complicating the matter was the question of whether the pre-tow survey was representative of untowed conditions? Unlikely, since this area is regularly fished. What then do you quantify as "unimpacted" seafloor? It is not as straightforward of a study as one may think when reading the literature.

So the next time that you hear someone declare that dragging is inherently detrimental or even hear scientists confidently state dredge impact statistics, think twice about the issue and be aware that it's more complicated than some let on.

Sea Safety

A month ago I heard about a safety training course being offered in Belfast, an hour away from campus. It had been three years since I participated in the Fishermen's Safety Training in New Bedford in preparation for the field season on Georges Bank. I planned to go on the Maine DMR shrimp survey soon, so I decided it was time to brush up on my safety skills. Two colleagues agreed that they could use the training for their field work, so we arranged to attend the course.

When we arrived at the instructor's house, the driveway was full of big trucks with fishing gear in back. I realized that everyone except us three students were taking the course as a requirement to get their lobster license. Suddenly I felt a bit foolish taking the training voluntarily. I overheard someone remark that they didn't need the training since they'd spent plenty of time on the water. But that's just thing: the more time you spend on the water, the fewer precautions some folks take that could save you in an emergency. There is such a thing as getting too comfortable.

A woman about my age from one of the islands was also taking the class. She commented how the island fishermen were nervous about the impending regulation for all lobstermen to take safety training in order to retain their permit. The instructor asked why it made them nervous. "They're afraid that they'll have to take a swim test and they can't swim," she replied. That's when it hit me why I felt so strongly about taking this training.

It goes back to 1990, when I was 5 years old. I don't remember much, just that it upset my parents to the point of despair that they couldn't conceal from me. The little that I know is from what they told me years later. My dad owned two groundfishing boats at the time: the F/V North Wind and the F/V High Chaparrel. He captained the North Wind and had two brothers work for him. One September day the brothers wanted to go out fishing and make some money, but my dad wasn't able to go. They eventually convinced their reluctant captain to let them take the boat. He got the boat ready and checked it over multiple times before handing it over to them. They didn't return and the boat was not found. My dad has struggled with survivor's guilt ever since then. He sincerely believes that those men would be alive if he had been on the boat.

My father was one of those fishermen who can't swim. He had done survival suit drills with his crew, but had never taken a formal safety training. Who knows if the brothers had or if the training would have helped them. I believe that every fisherman, from greenhorn to weathered seaman, should take that training biannually if not every year. It isn't reading the safety tips in a training manual that counts. It's practicing those skills (quickly donning a survival suit, practicing Mayday calls, using a fire extinguisher) on a regular basis until they are intinctual that can save your life in an emergency situation. And it's my opinion that there should be public funding available for everyone who makes a living on the water to take that training as a requirement. Fishermen shouldn't have to pay to take it.

Not only is there no swim test, but you don't have to know the first thing about swimming to take safety training. We did jump in the water, but in survival suits so buoyant that out bodies were practically raised above the water's surface. The suits are warm and cozy. I reckon I could've floated around icy Belfast Harbor all afternoon on that bitter February day. But I'd rather not have occasion to.

Shrimp Doc

It's hard to believe that five whole years have passed since Cap and I trapped for the little buggers. And that the last time I consumed fresh-caught Pandalus borealis was exactly three years ago. . . It's true, I have shrimp on the brain again. So help me God.

Although I've been studying the charismatic Georges Bank sea scallop for the past few years, I have listened closely to news of our beloved Maine shrimp as they've taken a precipitous decline. A project has been brewing in my mind for close to three years now and the opportunity to pursue it has finally arisen. It is not by choice that it has been so long since I last ate fresh northern shrimp. It's by lack of opportunity. The Gulf of Maine northern shrimp stock has been dwindling in recent years, to the point that the fishery has been tragically closed for two seasons. My fishermen friends have sacrificed much more than the sweet, fresh coldwater cuisine. Cap has done alright lobstering further offshore through the winter months, but at a high tradeoff. He burns much more fuel and is forced to fish twenty miles offshore in harsh conditions, which is far for a 35' lobsterboat in January.

But it isn't just my past experience in the fishery that drives my interest in the issue. On the contrary, I remember swearing that I'd never lay hand on a shrimp trap again after the 2010 fishing season. Nor is it purely the Maine economy that compels me to revisit shrimp. It is a much greater problem yet. An ecological problem. The Gulf of Maine represents the southern extent of the range of northern shrimp. As a cold water species, the entire life cycle of northern shrimp is impacted by warming water temperatures, and the Gulf of Maine is purportedly warming at a faster rate than other regions. It is no surprise that we're seeing fewer shrimp in Maine waters every year. Shrimp serve as a temperature-sensitive indicator species for this region. So we should pay attention to changes in the GOM shrimp stock, as other species may follow suit. Furthermore, shrimp are important prey for many groundfish species, such as cod and haddock. Removing a historically abundant prey item, may have repercussions up the food chain.

It is to study this issue (temperature effects on northern shrimp reproduction) that I applied to UMO's doctorate program last summer. I feel confident that it will make an excellent dissertation topic simply for the reason that the idea has persisted in my mind for some time now. I deem that adequate intellectual fuel to power my studies in the coming years.

Before the holidays, I swung by to tell Cap about my new project and to inquire whether he'd like to participate in sampling. He met the idea with support and enthusiasm, although I remembered his residual disgust with academia. Pending grant funding, it isn't so far fetched to think I might be out there trapping with Cap once again in the coming winters. What goes around, comes around. You just never know where life's gonna lead you.

Northbound

It's been three and a half years since I turned in my lobster license plates and pointed Eddie (my car) south for New Bedford. It was a painful day moving to Massachusetts, eased only by the golden opportunity of grad school and a loving boyfriend who lived nearby there. On January 1, 2011, the day of the move, I promised myself that I would return to my home state as soon as I finished my Master's degree.

One year at a real job and a relationship later, that dream has not waned. With my ties in Mass broken, my heart once again yearns for the north. The difference is that now I'm free to go! Yesterday Eddie and I were northbound for a visit to Maine, but the drive had a new meaning. Tomorrow I will continue north from my home town to see my new school, and meet my PhD advisor. Yes, I begin a doctorate program in January. Maine is finally drawing closer on the horizon.

I have always felt a sense of relief when I cross the border from Mass into NH. Like when as a child you added a drop of detergent to a bowl of water, breaking the surface tension and sending your little paper boat across the tiny pond. It's analogous to that feeling of released tension. After escaping Mass, Maine feels that much closer. The NH air feels cleaner, the landscape more open, and the straight stretch of highway taunts me to drive faster. It is there that I received my one and only speeding ticket on such a drive Home.

Eddie's bow follows a gradual bend and the highway starts to incline up a gentle slope. Then I see it. My heart jumps with joy. The magnificent green bridge rears ahead. I rubberneck at the apex of the arch, eager to take in the first sight of Maine. I used to let out a whoop at that point in the drive on my way home from college. I still feel the same elation, but a contented smile is sufficient. Crossing to the other side, my body relaxes and my muscles feel at ease. My mother says that her "molecules fall into place" when she returns home from traveling. I used to think that was a goofy thing to say. But that's just how I feel returning to Maine. A sense of belonging. A sense of place.

A friend of mine asked "Why do you want to return Maine?" when I shared my plans for the winter. He commented that your hometown is never as you remember it when you return. I tried to explain the natural beauty of the landscape, how deep my familial roots run, and the friendliness and sense of community unique to the state. But it runs deeper than that. It isn't just community, it's the strong sense of local culture that colors Maine communities so brightly. Cape Cod simply is not made of the same glue. There is a sense of transience on the Cape, perhaps that stems from being a wealthy vacation destination. It's difficult to put one's thumb on in, but the Massachusetts communities in which I've lived don't share the same feeling of interconnectedness. They lack the spirit that one's well-being is enhanced by participating in the local community.

This fall I will be northbound one last time and not just for a visit. Maine is where my heart fills and where my spirit is free. The north is where I belong. I expect this time I will return to stay.

Time Warp

July 25, 2014, 1:00 am

I'm sitting on watch in the wheelhouse of a 65' lobsterboat, 70 miles offshore on Georges Bank scanning the radar for other vessels. I check our course, speed, and the engine vitals. All's well. I glance at the clock again: 1:05 am. It feels like the slowest hour of my life. I remind myself that the boat clock is wrong (it wasn't set back for DST), but it doesn't really matter out here. We're on boat time. The measure of time is completely relative in this reality. It doesn't matter what clock the rest of the world is operating on. We have no appointments to miss, no designated time to arrive to work (besides rolling out of your rack after the captain's wake-up yell), and no calls to make. In fact, we're out of cell phone range and the sattellite phone is for emergencies. The only occasion that World Time might be relevant is in checking the tide chart, but, to the captain, the tide is more of a feeling than a time.

My eyelids start to succumb to gravity and I stand to stay awake. 20 minutes left now. I fetch my pee bucket and toilet seat, quickly relieving myself before returning to the wheel. We have reason to be tired. I've been on my feet for the past 20 hours hauling 40-trap trawls with captain and two experienced deckhands. The boys do all the hard work handling the traps (the end traps weigh 250 lbs each!), line, poly ball and highflier. I handle the bait. It's smelly but lightweight compared to their tasks. At least I'm well-qualified for measuring, notching and banding lobsters. When the boys get behind I break the rail with the next trap. We work like a production line: clean out trap of lobsters and crabs, bait the line, hogring the vents, close trap and slide down the rail to stack on deck.

Some things never change. I've spent the past 3 years getting my Master's in Marine Science and transitioning into my current position as Supervisory Research Biologist at a non-profit organization. Yet I still find myself with my head in a bait barrel occasionally. My next phase of life will be as a doctorate student at the University of Maine at Orono studying the Gulf of Maine shrimp stock. No doubt my Ph.D. will also involve baiting shrimp traps with rotten herring. I don't stray far from the bait barrel.

This trip I'm along for the ride for research purposes: to haul scallop spat collectors. The only boat willing to make the trip had a condition: if I help them haul their gear, they'll help me haul mine. Fair enough. And a good excuse to experience offshore lobstering on Georges Bank.

My attention returns to the radar and to the present. The pinpoint of a highflier bobs about a mile to our south. A tanker crawls by to our east, a distant light on the horizon. My back hurts, my feet are sore, my right thumb is tired from banding lobsters (sadly enough), and I reek to high heavens. No time for a shower tonight. . . this morning. The smell of rotten pogies, slimy yellowtail and redfish racks, skates, and monkfish heads oozing with guts wafts from the deck. The vessel is beautiful, tidy and clean, but there's just no avoiding the stench of bait when trapping.

I've become accustomed to the luxury of research trips on 100' scallopers. New Bedford's scallop fleet is a fine one, which one would expect from an industry worth $380 million. Many of the boats have not one but two heads and the boys often generously give me a state room of my own. But it's humbling to be on a lobsterboat again. The rivalry between trappers and draggers even holds this far offshore with seemingly ample bottom for everyone to share. The lobstermen say that scallopers are spoiled with short watches, lightweight gear handling, relatively little time at sea, and huge paychecks. I suppose they are right in some respects. But handling 2 ton steel dredges is every bit as difficult and dangerous as stacking 120 traps 6 rows high. It's just different. Every fishery is unique. Trappers and draggers will always detest eachother.

Watch is over. Time to wake up the deckhand for his turn, after only an hour of sleep, poor soul. Time for me to rest.

Soul Food

Although I'm not a picky eater in the least bit, one thing that kills me about cuisine on the scallop boats is fake sweeteners: Aunt Jemima's "syrup" and mass-produced honey. High fructose corn syrup is no substitute for maple syrup and Stop 'n' Shop honey simply doesn't resemble the real thing. Both are a far cry from the pure product to which I'm accustomed.

Growing up in Maine, I was spoiled by the purity of simple living. At an early age, my dad and I tapped the red maples on our property and we made syrup. Perhaps the hard work that went into the process made it that much sweeter, but to this day it is the best syrup I've ever laid taste buds on.

Later on my dad took up beekeeping and I helped him tend the hives. There was a steep learning curve the first season, but he reaped a rewarding batch of sweetness in the end. Again, the best honey I've ever tasted.

Daddy's motivation to maintain the hives subsided when I left for college, but thankfully our supply of the "real stuff" continued thanks to his best friend Uncle Jimmy. Jimmy was a very special man. The type with an contagious smile and a laugh that would brighten your day. He lost a battle with cancer last winter. But his legacy lives on in the heavenly nectar of his hives.

This morning I poured it over my cereal, thinking of Uncle Jimmy's zest for life. Somehow his honey is sweeter than most. It has the perfumy taste of honeysuckle, even though the plant isn't common in Maine. It's as if the honey embodies his sweet and loving spirit. It is soulful.

Rest in peace, Uncle Jimmy.

An article about the survey trips I go on with a section about my research is being featured in the May issue of Commercial Fisheries News.

Here's the link:

https://docs.google.com/open?id=0B155nqFspMYwWEVKQ0VvRGo0cVk