Owing to exhaustion from hauling my own gear, sea testing myself and the boat, and setting 70 of Clayton's, I have to stick to the basics. I can't think of much in the way of good storytelling or life lessons. Today Sweet Pea and I were out a couple of times. I did haul a very few pots and caught a very few lobsters. Mostly, I tried to get used to handling the boat, breaking traps and dealing with The Wind. My new companion. The Pod slides along very nicely, patiently teaching me to row. When the southwest breeze puts a big shimmer on the water, I get a memorable lesson in hydro and aerodynamics. If one end is lighter, it must go downwind. Why did I not know this? Before I figured it out, there were 15 or so very tense minutes where I thought something was spinning me around just to torment. The rest of the expedition was spent trying to figure out where to put everything- oars, gaff, bait, measure, lobsters, trap, radio, accessories.
The terror and embarassment of going onto the open ocean in a jolly breeze and a petit-pod, hauling traps up hand over hand, getting them aboard and back overboard, clawing my way back to the harbor, skiff-jumping, tying up, swapping this and that from one boat to another- all of the jitters and gawkiness of doing this the first time will abate some, I hope. There were a few instants where I could just enjoy the beauty of the linseed/pinetar/turpentine ribs and planks of the curved interior of the boat and outside of that, the ocean.
I'm sure I amused and scared all those who watched. Sorry, Donna. I am home writing this, so that's good. Good night.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Boat and Trap Launching
I can stand up with a guitar and pour out a Bob Dylan song comfortably. Or my own song, or James Taylor, Taj Mahal or something from the Great American Songbook, pop edition. I don’t think about every note. I don’t think about any note. I tip the pitcher and it pours out. That is because that 4 minutes or so of performance was assembled starting about 35 years ago. My knowledge is subconscious now.
Clayton takes me out to set my first 50 traps. I had planned on doing this all myself, and thought that taking motorized help was somehow cheating. Clayton is a good friend and doesn’t have a sternman right now, so I trade a load of his gear getting set for a load of mine. We zip off to Two Bush ledge, tie a trap to warp. Warp to buoy. A causal flip off his wrist and I give it a shove. Over it goes. One trap in the water. Why here? How will I remember? I didn’t plan on coming over here. Then it’s five in the water and another 5 behind the Beach Ledge marker. How will I remember? I didn't realize my buoys were so small and essentially invisible out here! This patch of ocean where I’ve worked hundreds of days for four years suddenly seems as foreign as parachuting into Siberia or the Amazon Basin. It’s so big. Everything is so far apart. I’ll never remember. I’ll never be able to see the buoys. I’ll never be able to set them back where they are set now. How does he know this. He seems so casual. Like I sing a song, he drops traps.
And so it goes on the back side of Wheaton Island, Old Cove and Ten Pound Island. It seems very exposed in a large, wild, open ocean. How did I think I was going to come out here in the wild in a tiny wooden boat that I don’t yet even know how to handle, dealing with finding buoys, safely hauling traps aboard, resetting them and getting home dry and intact? It’s completely ludicrous. These guys have decades of subconscious knowledge and centuries of inherited instinctual intuitive skill. Me, well, I’ve got an ok singing voice.
On the back side of Ten Pound, we drop off the last five in a rollicking westerly swell seemingly a few feet from stern, steep, jaggedy, intimidating granite formations. I don’t even want to come here in my little boat, invisible to the island, rolling around like a marble on a pickup truck bed, much less try to hoist traps in and get them out before the grouchy rock gods take a whoofle out of me.
Maybe my good friend is trying to scare the shit out of me to smarten me up. But there’s still that quiet voice saying the next great adventure of my life is underway. I’m going to Antarctica, Kazakhstan, the Congo right within a half mile of shore of the tiny island that adopted my family and I.
***
My boat was launched in Round Pond on Tuesday afternoon. The four individuals who built her got the first ride following the blessing by Rev. Ives. As though the water didn’t know the boat was there, it slid, surreal, the only disturbance coming from the dipping of oars. This is truly a magic design. The Boatshop crew has been nothing but enthusiastic, while also saying that it was a challenge unlike other building projects. Having two bows and no stern, planks could not be run long and then trimmed. Looking at the hull, I have absolutely no idea how our two dimensional brains can accommodate all those curves. Maybe it’s a fourth dimension thing, and that’s why the water does not even know the Sweet Pea is passing through. I take a paddle, disclaiming as I embark, that I have no idea how to row the boat. The boat seems to know and is patient with me. I’m immediately aware that this 300 pound, 15 by 4.5 foot boat moves much more easily than my 80 pound ten foot aluminum skiff. That’s the design magic that was created before humans even learned how to work with aluminum. It’s a better design. A much older design. And there we come back to one of the fundamentals of the Zero Carbon Lobster Harvesting Project. Progress really means that what’s better should be the measure of the future. Not necessarily what’s faster or bigger or louder.
Clayton takes me out to set my first 50 traps. I had planned on doing this all myself, and thought that taking motorized help was somehow cheating. Clayton is a good friend and doesn’t have a sternman right now, so I trade a load of his gear getting set for a load of mine. We zip off to Two Bush ledge, tie a trap to warp. Warp to buoy. A causal flip off his wrist and I give it a shove. Over it goes. One trap in the water. Why here? How will I remember? I didn’t plan on coming over here. Then it’s five in the water and another 5 behind the Beach Ledge marker. How will I remember? I didn't realize my buoys were so small and essentially invisible out here! This patch of ocean where I’ve worked hundreds of days for four years suddenly seems as foreign as parachuting into Siberia or the Amazon Basin. It’s so big. Everything is so far apart. I’ll never remember. I’ll never be able to see the buoys. I’ll never be able to set them back where they are set now. How does he know this. He seems so casual. Like I sing a song, he drops traps.
And so it goes on the back side of Wheaton Island, Old Cove and Ten Pound Island. It seems very exposed in a large, wild, open ocean. How did I think I was going to come out here in the wild in a tiny wooden boat that I don’t yet even know how to handle, dealing with finding buoys, safely hauling traps aboard, resetting them and getting home dry and intact? It’s completely ludicrous. These guys have decades of subconscious knowledge and centuries of inherited instinctual intuitive skill. Me, well, I’ve got an ok singing voice.
On the back side of Ten Pound, we drop off the last five in a rollicking westerly swell seemingly a few feet from stern, steep, jaggedy, intimidating granite formations. I don’t even want to come here in my little boat, invisible to the island, rolling around like a marble on a pickup truck bed, much less try to hoist traps in and get them out before the grouchy rock gods take a whoofle out of me.
Maybe my good friend is trying to scare the shit out of me to smarten me up. But there’s still that quiet voice saying the next great adventure of my life is underway. I’m going to Antarctica, Kazakhstan, the Congo right within a half mile of shore of the tiny island that adopted my family and I.
***
My boat was launched in Round Pond on Tuesday afternoon. The four individuals who built her got the first ride following the blessing by Rev. Ives. As though the water didn’t know the boat was there, it slid, surreal, the only disturbance coming from the dipping of oars. This is truly a magic design. The Boatshop crew has been nothing but enthusiastic, while also saying that it was a challenge unlike other building projects. Having two bows and no stern, planks could not be run long and then trimmed. Looking at the hull, I have absolutely no idea how our two dimensional brains can accommodate all those curves. Maybe it’s a fourth dimension thing, and that’s why the water does not even know the Sweet Pea is passing through. I take a paddle, disclaiming as I embark, that I have no idea how to row the boat. The boat seems to know and is patient with me. I’m immediately aware that this 300 pound, 15 by 4.5 foot boat moves much more easily than my 80 pound ten foot aluminum skiff. That’s the design magic that was created before humans even learned how to work with aluminum. It’s a better design. A much older design. And there we come back to one of the fundamentals of the Zero Carbon Lobster Harvesting Project. Progress really means that what’s better should be the measure of the future. Not necessarily what’s faster or bigger or louder.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
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.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
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.
Monday, March 1, 2010
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.
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.
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