Fishery Management and Dark Energy

As the last sardine cannery in Maine closes for good, I regret not eating more of these humble, Steinbeckian, omega-rich and sustainable fish. One more line of work that uses what we have here and brings us closer to our environment is gone. One more local food source that doesn't require extensive pesticide, fertilizer, petroleum based transportation, processing and refrigeration is gone. I accuse the dark art of fisheries management science.

The parent company said it closed Stinson due to fishing reductions for atlantic herring. These reductions came about not because regulatory data showed fewer fish, but because of the discovery of a 5 year old contradictory computer model and data problem. Data for all the subsequent years was then revised to comfort those who didn't like contradictory computer modeling data.

Dark matter and energy appear to the lay person as astrophysical fudge factors to explain away contradictory and perplexing observations. Light from distant stars and galaxies is dimmer than expected, suggesting the acceleration of the expansion of the universe. It was presumed that the expansion following the big bang would be slowing and eventually reverse as a result of gravitational pull between objects in space. The light shift observations messed up this tidy conclusion. There must be some force to counteract gravity and make galaxies keep running away from each other faster. What we're seeing is confunding, so there must be a thing out there somewhere... Let's call it "dark" matter and energy. Stuff we can't observe or pick up a chunk of along the shore or use to power laptops and toasters.

On to fisheries. There are scientists in the fishery regulatory environment, in government and in the employ of nonprofit organizations. Leaders demand that policy and regulatory decision-making be based on "good science." What is good science, other than science I agree with, or that fits my agenda?

When computer models and data don't fit together in a pleasing way, we fudge the numbers, reshape the computer models and call it "science" as though that is the same as counting fish. Absence of good evidence becomes good evidence of absence.

Perhaps it is time for a new definition of science, especially in the regulatory environment.
When policy makers or advocates trumpet science being on their side, let's keep a clear distinction between measurement and observation and computer model fudge factors.

We might also find better ways of utilizing information from the empirical ocean observers- fishermen. Unfortunately, stimulus and other galactic scale federal bucks are going not to cooperative research, but instead to new offices for NOAA and to consolidate the New England ground fishery in favor of fishermen who never smell baity and who have more lobbyists than deck hands.

It's Saturday because we're on the couch at 7 a.m.. The nagging sense that I'm already behind gets more pronounced as the song birds get louder, grass is suddenly green and pieces of wood keep getting added to Sweet Pea. At some point, I ought to get outside and put rope together, paint buoys, groom up my traps and get some clue about what I'm doing. My yellow pad with the last winter list still has many lines not crossed out. Winter things aren't done. Spring things getting in arrears in a hurry. Overlapping wedges of shoulds and wegottas. Perhaps it's best to just burn that page- ceremonially revoke winter's leasehold on the list cortex in my brain. These uncertainties are answered for me as I hear my son stirring.

Us and them?

As the criminal trial on the Matinicus shooting unfolds in Rockland, there is a another quiet story playing out in Augusta. It’s a new version of an old story. The Department of Marine Resources seeks legislation allowing it shut down entire fisheries where there is conflict between fishermen and “a risk of harm to any person.” LD 1604. As with the shutdown itself, this law was pressed through the legislative process without the DMR making any effort to work with fishing communities to address the problem of violence between fishermen.

The martial law declared over Matinicus lobstering last year was implemented by sending out a half dozen armed officers, who announced that we were all out of work for 2 weeks, handed out copies of the rule and departed into the evening rain about 10 minutes later. There was no effort to work with fishermen or community leaders to deal with violence on the wharf. Despite the motivation of about 95% of the fishing families to maintain stability following a stunning incident, the department did not engage with the Board of Assessors or the fishing leadership to come up with any meaningful safety plan.

From the Commissioner's and others' remarks, it appears those officials believe everyone in the Matinicus fleet bore some indirect responsibility for the actions of the combatants. This was why the Commissioner felt justified in imposing such dramatic collective punishment and putting an entire community out of business to "send a message." Imagine closing a small town in Aroostook County to all farming activities in September if a couple of farmers got into it, or closing Piscataquis County to logging because a couple of loggers got violent.

My impression is that there is a mentality that the community of Matinicus Island deserved a crackdown from afar because of the unique enforcement challenges and frustration the Department has experienced. DMR wanted to "get its point across," and "send a message." I ask whether a similar act of violence between fishermen in Stonington or Vinalhaven have resulted in a quarantine of those fishing communities.

This typifies the relationship between state agencies and Matinicus- a lack of services and support, lack of interest, and an unwillingness to collaborate to solve problems. When there’s a problem, officials simply throw up their hands and portray islanders as out of control and lawless. The reaility is that the island self governs not by choice, but by necessity, out of the lack of having a partner in Augusta. DMR won’t supply resources to deal with ccriminal activity, but wants to, by remote control, punish the entire community and force the community to deal with the actual trouble makers.

The new law provides for a hearing in front of the Commissioner within 30 days. I believe the hearing should be before a judge or a qualified administrative hearing offficer not employed by DMR. I also believe that if the Department wants to wait 30 days to provide a hearing, it can suspend any closure until the hearing has been held and a ruling issued. That will make a hearing provision meaningful. Otherwise, it’s a joke. In poor taste. Boat payments won’t be suspended. Credit card companies won’t wait for the hearing.

In its currrent form, LD 1604 encourages arbitrary action from afar and lets the DMR off the hook for doing the hard work of dealing with a few individuals who commit crimes and think it’s OK because they’re fishermen. There are fishermen who’ve lost tens of thousands of dollars to gear and boat sabotage and are still waiting for a meaningful response from the government officials who have the power and responsibility to act. LD 1604 is no substitute.

The fundamental question is whether the island must self govern or whether state agencies can provide meaningful services and support in the role of partner as well as enforcer from above.

Carpenter's Boatshop Update

I got some pictures today from the Carpenter's Boatshop in Pemaquid, www.carpentersboatshop.org. Simon, from Scotland, appears pretty well immersed in planking either at the stern or the bow. Since it's a double ender and I'm no expert, it's hard to tell which is which.

Zero Carbon Lobster Chronicles- Cleaning Out and Making Ready for Baby (Boat)

Now it’s March, and I’ve been hiding from my impending adventure. I’ve been playing music, enjoying the winter rhythm, ice skating, playing electronic games and...cleaning the barn. There is a connection. My boat needs a place to winter and I need a workspace to begin preparing fishing gear for the season.

A paragraph to set the stage. The barn could be accessed by walking sideways, stepping over, crawling under a tangle of garden implements, power equipment, tools, kites, boogie boards, lawn chairs, carboard boxes we might want to use someday, flower pots, lumber in every length and width, just plain trash, a dozen or so rental bikes, strollers, hula hoops, lawn decorations and a waffer-thin after dinner mint. So far, just an average family stuff depot. In addition, however, lurking darkly under and behind the fluorescent plastic kid and family items, are an assortment of industrial wood and metal working tools from the age of steam when everything was built locomotive style. The metal behemoths are accessorized with many, many bushels of metal pulleys, wheels, rusted auto parts, broken and seized tools, scrap iron, belts, hoses, two engine blocks and lots of things I can’t identify.

Cleaning out the barn was a worthy challenge. Many days were spent carrying, skidding, prying-sometimes just for that next half inch. Remarks got uttered. This island of Matinicus puts one in touch with two conflicting priorities which make me a Distraught Fellow. First , you shouldn’t throw away that axle because you might need it some day. Second, there’s no leaving things on the curb for the recycling truck. The cheapness of things and the work it takes to manage an overabundance of them. The dearness of space to move and function.

The bandsaw, drill press and one of the lathes have homes now thanks to Craigslist, Uncle Henry’s, John Deere and R.K.. The larger lathe, weighing a ton and a half give or take a quarter, is still standing like Eeyore at the end of the driveway. The totes of metals are off to be recycled. The town recycling program has experienced a surge in patronage. Goodwill got some things. A practice burn pile got a little larger. I owe some big favors.

Just Another Friday on Matinicus

The power was out overnight resulting from the most ferocious freightrain winds I've heard since coming here. Clayton said it hit 70 knots at his house, which was mostly standing still. Since the school couldn't open, we took an early morning excursion to see the big surf. Unforecast bright sunshine and warm temps made it pretty nice for the last Friday in February. Down at the harbor, things got a little stranger. The harbor bell, a 12 foot high metal can with a big brass bell, normally positioned a quarter mile outside the mouth of the harbor, was bobbing around right at the shore, wavering towards a couple of shops. It shouold be interesting to watch the Coast Guard retrieve it.

I stopped to check in on friends and helped refasten their metalbestos chimney, the top section of which flew off in the night. The brain trust figured out after a lot of times up and down the ladder that it would be easier to take out the next section down and put them together on the ground. It was easier until the time came to carry the now 6 foot section up the latter to reattach it. Done.

Ryan and I played tetherball with a mooring fender, flew paper airplanes and jumped when some cabin fever dudes dropped a string of firecrackers in the road. At 11:00 a.m.. In February. I guess it wasn't personal 'cause I heard more go off up the road to the north. I issued a hunting license, though I don't know what you'd hunt for right now.

Worked on music with the school kids. Singing, drums, rhythm and possibly the continental U.S's only school ukulele band. Their spring concert will be fabulous.

That's the news for Friday, February 26, 2010.

Hanging out a shingle

I stare at the painted over plaster cracks while running the copier in a dark, 40-something degree building that was once the one room school. I'm finishing a legal project that's taken most of the winter. It's one page at a time. Slow. Wind and February-style rain outside. It's about as dismal and clammy as the hold of a freighter in the north sea. I'll haul wood, go check out a painting job, play some guitar, wrestle my children and do it again tomorrow. This is the way to practice. I'm the happiest lawyer in Maine. Shoes and trousers optional.