The long haul: struggles of a lobster town

Between those worries and a creeping awareness of a downturn, a few lobstermen, at least, are turning inward. Brennan Dyer, a Vinalhaven native, wants his son to learn about the trade his family has plied for generations, but he also wants his future to be more than bait and buoys.

"I'm trying to tell him not to be a lobsterman," says Mr. Dyer, stacking traps after hauling 145 pounds of lobster with his wife, Stormy Gale. Dyer is trading in his new equipment for used gear and plans to do carpentry work this winter to make ends meet. "Last year [the lobsters] were really late, this year they are really, really late. There aren't a lot of people making money."

For now, though, worriers are in the minority. Maine's coastal waters have long been the setting of battles between government, science, and fishermen, and the media has hopped on the "gloom and doom" that pervades the lobster industry, says Robert Bayer, executive director of the Lobster Institute at the University of Maine. Yet the industry, according to him, is "actually quite stable."

Lobstermen must throw back crustaceans if they're too big, too small, or carrying eggs. Such preservation tactics have shielded today's lobster industry from the historic ups and downs of America's fisheries, says Dr. Bayer.

Though Mr. Day says some fishermen have overextended themselves and lost their boats, he, for one, remains confident. Even if the numbers drop, he says, skilled lobster-catchers know the currents, the crags, and the boulders that lead to good catches: "Good fishermen will still be good when you can't just throw over [a trap]."

But the challenges here are real, and they go beyond the search for lobsters on the ocean floor. As Alley suits up in orange rubber pants and his engine hums, he says his $285,000 boat guzzles 50 gallons of gas a day. Property values have skyrocketed and prices are likely to keep climbing, as out-of-staters build homes along the shores of granite rock and pine trees.

Across the water in Rockland, Philip Bennett is getting his hair cut at a local barber shop. A lifelong lobsterman, he says illness caused him to lose his boat, gear, and home in Vinalhaven. He can't afford to return so he's living in a trailer on the mainland.

"A native can't buy land out there now," says barber Seth Knowlton. "It's too expensive."

This has changed to feel of the place, say some. "You knew everyone" years ago, Mr. Bennett recalls. "Now on the ferry it's just strangers. They are making [the area] into New York."

But despite all this, the stubborn and the hopeful insist that the region's core identity will survive. Warren, at work in her office above the Vinalhaven Fishermen's Co-operative, with a view of lobster boats docked outside, says the regional identity is not at stake. Not even close.

Come good seasons or bad, strangers or mansions, "It's lobsters, lobsters, lobsters," she says. The air still reeks of dead fish; traps are stacked on front lawns. She worries that fishermen will take more risks - staying out later in the season or rushing to sea before repairs can be made to their boats. But what's more likely is that they'll choose smaller boats or work with simpler gear, she says.

Downgrading wouldn't mean the end of what many fishermen love most, anyway, says Richard Hildings, a lifelong lobsterman who's made a small fortune in the trade. It's the freedom that he thrives on - smelling the sea and watching the sun rise over the water. "Haven't you ever noticed?" he asks, driving his boat to the mainland after a day's work, "the best people in the world live by the sea."

Page: 1 | 2