Simply stated, “Why do Maine lobster landings keep going up?” The shaky economy and the high cost of fuel have failed to make lobster fishers into millionaires, but  lack of lobster is not an issue. In 1994 we thought the record-breaking 39 million pound harvest, exceeding the previous record by 26%, was a fluke. By 2009 the harvest soared to 78 million pounds, in 2010 93 million pounds, and some predict even higher numbers for 2011. What is going on?

A while back I summarized the prevailing theories about why landings continue to increase. Reduction of predators (the cod fishery collapse), increase of kelp beds due to sea urchin fishing (kelp beds protect young lobsters) and finally, the inspired way lobster harvesting is managed by our Maine laws and fishermen. This last reason is kind of self-serving; after all, you don’t create an historic population boom by eating less of something.

Meanwhile, the scientists were baffled. For many years they warned that the fishery was on the verge of collapse, calling it “overfished” (Stock Assessment Review Committee Document 93; 18 July, 1993) . It’s easy to see how they would think this. For about a century, data suggested that a healthy harvest level was somewhere in the 20 million pound range. But a publication written in 1996 and available at the Maine Government website here proposes an interesting theory. While mentioning the usual reasons, lower predation, increased minimum size as amended in 1988,  and warmer water temperatures, it also presents a unique calculation. In 1994 lobster fishers raised their traps 39 million times:

If we assume each newly set trap contains on average about 2 pounds of bait, we can then calculate that Maine fishers used about 78 million pounds of bait in 1994.

In 1994 the lobster harvest was 39 million pounds, so that’s two pounds of bait per pound of lobster. The lobsters know how to work a handout. They enter the traps (underwater videos show them doing this with little difficulty) and unless they are big enough to not fit through the escape vent, they will not stick around until the trap is hauled. If they are too big, a notched female or an unnotched egg bearing female, they will be returned to the water. The few whose carapace measure from 3-1/4″ to 5″ are retained.

from Maine lobsterguide.pdf

So if this theory is correct, what we have here in Maine is a semi-domesticated fishery! They come into shallow waters in the spring, eat “our” food, mate, shed and grow. Without the artificial food input would there be nearly 100 million pounds of lobster? Think of it this way: a quick and dirty google search (USA Today) brought up a ratio of 5 pounds of feed for one pound of chicken and two pounds per pound of catfish, so it’s not unreasonable to think that bait is a significant factor in the increase. More landings result in more traps. More traps mean more feeding stations, and so more lobsters. In Nova Scotia traps are limited by law, and the harvest has leveled off.

While it’s hubris to suggest that our fishing methods are so well designed that we are able to produce more lobster than we can harvest, it does appear that an unintended byproduct of this fishing method (the bait) could be doing just that. So keep eating lobster. There are hungry mandibles to feed.

Late Word: The Ellsworth American reported on Feb 1, 2012 that the 2011 lobster harvest was 100 million pounds! Wow! The same article also reported that the 2010 total just for our Hancock county was 31.1 million pounds. Compare this to 11.6 million pounds caught in Massachusetts  waters in 2009. For our part of Maine, that’s 576 pounds of lobster for every resident!

Amelia made this for Christmas 2010

Get Ready Lobsters, ‘Cause Here I Come

(apologies to Smokey Robinson)

I never met a clam who makes me feel the way that you do. (You’re alright)

Whenever I’m asked what makes my meals real, I say crustaceans do. (They’re outta sight)

So, fee-fi-fo-fum
Look out lobsters, ’cause here I come.

And I’m bringing you some fish that smell.

So get ready, so get ready.

You’re gonna love it in my wire hotel.

So get ready, so get ready ’cause here I come.

(Get ready ’cause here I come) I’m on my way. (Get ready ’cause here I come)

If you wanna play hide and seek with me, let me remind you (It’s alright) The meal is free if you’re too big or small, I just release you (It’s outta sight)

So, Fiddley-dee, Fiddley-dum Look out lobsters, ’cause here I come.

I’m bringing you a life with no risk.

So get ready, so get ready.

I’ll make your friends into a lobster bisque.

So get ready, so get ready ’cause here I come.

(Get ready ’cause here I come) I’m on my way. (Get ready ’cause here I come) (Get ready)

[Instrumental]

If all my friends should want you too, I’ll understand it. (Be alright)

I hope to trap enough for them, the way I planned it. (Be outta sight)

So twiddley-dee, twiddley-dum Look out lobsters, ’cause here I come.

And if you’re a lady that’s just full of roe.

So get ready, so get ready.

I’ll notch your flipper and just let you go.

So get ready, so get ready ’cause here I come.
(Get ready ’cause here I come) I’m on my way. (Get ready ’cause here I come) (Get ready ’cause here I come) (Get ready)

Everybody knows the one about the  old Mainer sitting on the porch of the general store who, when asked by the tourist if he can take the road to Bar Harbor says, “I wouldn’t bothah, they got plenty theyah already”. Other variations: “How far to Bar Harbor?”, “About 24,000 miles the way you’re headed” or “You cahn’t get theyah from heah”. Mainers are known for their dry humor and clever witticisms. Being isolated helps to sharpen the tongue. We’re not at the end of the earth, but you can see it from here.

Photo by George French, courtesy Maine State Archives

The jokes tend to fall into four categories: the weather, tourists, “people from away” (who now live here) and quirky Mainers themselves. Tim Sample is the father of Maine humorists. In this video clip he explains the difference between a native Mainer and someone from away:

But if Tim Sample is the father, Marshall Dodge and Bob Ryan are the grandfathers. As Yale University students in the 1950s they put together an album of Maine humor and called themselves “Bert and I”. They practically invented the genre with their slow storytelling, dry humor and sound effects. Their albums sold over a million copies:

Bill Sawyer wrote a pamphlet in 1982  called, “A Collection of Maine Humor” which I was lucky enough to find at our Lamoine dump’s swap shop. In it he tells a story about an encounter with a tourist:

Some years back Ben Prichard, driving his old pickup truck, went clean through a stoplight and smacked real hard, broadside, into a big Cadillac with New York plates. He really whaled it. The fellow from New York was some upset, got out, walked over to Ben, yelled and hollered, and gave him a real hard time.

When the New Yorker had finally blown off most of his steam, Ben said, “Now young fella, there ain’t no sense in you carryin’ on like this. It ain’t so bad!” He then opened the glove compartment, drew out a pint of whiskey he always kept there, and said, “Now try a pull of this and calm down a bit.” The fellow from New York took a long draw of the whiskey and handed it back to Ben, who promptly put the cork back in the pint and started to put it back in the glove compartment.

“Aren’t you going to have some?” asked the New Yorker.

“Nope, ” says Ben, “I’ll wait till after the police come.”

Last year it looked like this

We all know that the shortest day of the year is the winter solstice, December 21. Here we get 8 hours and 50 minutes; not only on that specific day but for about a week as we hit the bottom of the sine wave. The solstice is just at the midpoint of the trough. Right now, on January 18 we have started the climb out of the bottom and have a whopping 9 hours and 17 minutes; and we’re adding two minutes per day. By the end of the first week in February we will be adding  3 minutes per day. We will continue adding 3 minutes until May as we start to reach the top of the hump. By the summer solstice we will have a maximum of 15 hours, 32 minutes.

But what does day length have to do with temperature? It stands to reason that the return of the sun means warmer temperatures, but it doesn’t quite work that way. There’s a time lag. Our warmest day of the summer is on average July 27, over a full month after the longest day. On this scorcher, our average high is 81°F. Remember this when it’s over 100°F where you are! (Now taking reservations!) As for winter, according to wunderground.com for Bar Harbor our coldest average day is…TODAY! January 18.  The chart shows an average low temperature of 6°F and an average high of 26°F. Like the bottom of day length, we start to add a degree or two every day from now on.

Jan 19, 2012. Just a little snow on top of Cadillac Mt.

This law of averages for temperatures is unlike the day length numbers though. Temperatures can be all over the place. This winter is shaping up to be mild (famous last words), with lots of ups and downs. I found budding elderberry shrubs in our woods. Today for example our high was 44°F and the low is projected to be 12°F. Not bad for the “coldest day”. Of course, I’m basing this conclusion on the data from one website, a bad practice. I can’t even find out how many years are used in the averaging.

Temperatures vary widely during winter throughout Maine. Here on the coast we get a lot of weather blowing up from the south and by the time it gets here it’s usually rain. The same day in the western mountains will be solid snow. Up in Caribou it can be 20 degrees colder. Our coldest temperature ever recorded in Maine was -50°F in Big Black River, on January 16, 2009. On that same day in Bar Harbor our low was a balmy -25°F! Makes today’s low of 12°F sound positively tropical! One thing I like to look at to get an idea about how cold things can get here is the ocean temperature. When the ocean freezes over, the temps plummet. Our ocean is currently at 43°F, quite warm.

Our cats are good thermometers. If it’s below 10°F they won’t go outside at all, and they are supposed to be Maine Coon Cats. If it’s between 10°F and 20°F they actually knock or yell at the door to come in. Sometimes they claw open the screen door and let it slam. Above 25°F and they become less panicky, finding warm places to hide while watching small animals, coming in only when it rains or they can’t find anything to torture and eat.

Photon has too much fur for 2012

I’ve been dragging my feet about getting my recreational lobster license. I built the boat and have it well enough through its paces to know that it will do fine as a lobster boat. In fact, I think I can safely say it will be the only electric lobster boat in Maine, and probably on the east coast. I also want to do this as a source of amusement for my guests at SeaCat’s Rest, to give them the illusion that I am a real downeast Mainer and not a Michigan transplant, out there pulling up traps…with my electric boat.

There remain two big hurdles to bringing this plan into reality, the license and the equipment. There’s a third unknown, that of whether I will encounter hostility or sabotage from commercial lobstermen. This could derail the whole project and make the entire investment a loss. According to some reports I’ve read, the way to ingratiate oneself is to meet with the lobstermen,  offer pints of liquor and adopt the persona of a “good old boy” while humbling asking permission to drop your five traps. This to me is the most intimidating part of the process and I may skip it.

I have considered high tech alternatives to the usual buoys marking the traps. Without buoys there would be no sabotage. While on a long road trip I conceived of a system in which a buoy would be held underwater at the trap and released with a command from a remote. As usual when I come up with an invention like this someone has already done it, and this time was no exception. The company is located in Australia and is named Fiomarine. Unfortunately one of their rigs costs $9,000 in Australian dollars! Without a doubt, the booze would be cheaper (even single malt) . Still, the folks at Fiomarine are working on a more affordable version, and they promised to let me know when one is available. With all the reported “turf wars” taking place in the lobster grounds this could be a good solution. One buoy release could be linked to several, even a dozen traps on a line. No more cut lines, no prop entanglements or endangered marine mammals.

from Hamilton Marine

So getting the license the first time means taking an open book test and paying $65 plus spare change for trap tags. Not overly daunting. The equipment required is a bit more complicated to assemble. A small trap, manageable by someone without lifting equipment, is around $100. I hope to get a few for free or used, but they may need work or modification to bring them up to current laws, such as the biodegradable escape hatch. This allows lost or neglected traps to release lobster after a short while. 3/8″ sinking line and buoys, a gaff hook, bait bags, a double-sided gauge for measuring lobsters, a banding tool and probably a half dozen things I can’t anticipate all add up to an investment of maybe $800 for my 5 trap project. So if I figure on lobster at $4.00/lb (soft shell, midsummer) that means if I want to break even the first year I’ll have to haul 200 lbs of (keeper) lobster! At least I won’t be paying for gas or diesel.

This post is to introduce a new static page on affordableacadia.com. It is a page dedicated to the weird stories I have discovered while researching my family the past few years.  These are the stories my parents and grandparents failed to tell me. If you find the names of your great grandparents like I did and start to search through newspapers in the area where they lived, you may find some amazing stuff. My grandfather’s brother got caught stealing chickens in 1913.

Uncle Willie, chicken stealer

Another grandfathers brother’s child ended up in prison for a while. His son still is in prison, for life. Murders, suicides, dirty tricks, deviants, check it out. The permanent link is on the right at the bottom.

This is nothing to do with Maine, or SeaCat’s Rest, our Acadia vacation seaside apartment.  I wish I could tie it in somehow, but my family roots are in Connecticut, New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Michigan and Indiana. Maine is not in my family history, just my present. So find out all our family secrets here, and let me know if you find some of your own. It’s a blast!

Guests of SeaCat’s Rest, our affordable Acadia lodgings, often ask what the best trails are in Acadia National Park, and I am called upon to recite pros and cons about the dozens (hundreds?) of trails available. So from time to time I write about one so that guests can find better info from this website instead of my fallible memory.

Guidebooks will often lead with the most popular trails and at some times of the year these trails may be a bit too crowded. The Beech Cliff Trail is off-the-beaten-track enough to almost guarantee an uncrowded experience. An instant measure is how full the parking lot is. If a trail lot is so filled with vehicles they are spilling out onto the roadside, you may wish to keep looking. It is no accident they call the west side of the island the “quiet side”. This is where the Beech Cliff Trail is.

Fomitopsis sp., growing on spruce

There are actually two ways to get to this trail. One starts at the Echo Lake beach lot at the bottom of Echo Lake just before Southwest Harbor on Route 102. This option involves a very vertical ascent and narrow cliff-edge trail suitable only for a mountain goat. This section is also known as the Beech Cliff Ladder Trail. Instead I would advise option two, entered from the other side of the ridge. Rather than driving to the bottom of Echo Lake, find Beech Hill Rd., just at the south end of Somesville. Turn right (west, assuming you are going south on 102) and when possible take left turns until you find yourself at the trailhead lot, about 2 miles from Somesville.

The first half of this short (.6 mile) trail winds through spruce woods but gradually becomes steeper and a bit more challenging. Finally you emerge at the cliff edge where you see Echo Lake and the ocean beyond. I hope you brought your camera!

Many times I’ve walked the trails of Acadia National Park wondering whether the trail I was on was worth the effort, or just a random cut through the woods, perhaps following an old deer trail. Then I emerge on a waterfall, panorama or other breathtaking vista and I remember that this area was loved and trekked by America’s first generation of  “rusticators” who felt that it needed to be protected and preserved for all. Most trails in Acadia are like this, works of natural art discovered 100 years ago and handed down to us intact.

The Beech Cliff Trail is often closed in the early summer because it is a nesting site for endangered peregrine falcons. To find out if the trail is closed call 288-3338 or go to www.nps.gov/acad.

One possible origin of our state’s name is a province in northern France. Most visitors are surprised to learn that there are parts of Maine today where the French language is a significant presence if not dominant, just an hour or two from SeaCat’s Rest. In Aroostook County, Maine’s biggest and furthest north, over 18% of the population speaks French at home. In York and Androscoggin Counties in southern Maine, the numbers are 6-12% and 12-18% respectively. How did this happen?

Flag of Acadia from wikipedia

One would expect that the nearness of francophone Quebec would account for some of our French speaking citizens, but that’s not the whole story. Actually, there are two French cultures in Canada and Maine, the Québecois and the Acadians. The Québecois hale from the more northern and urban parts of France and the Acadians probably came from more rural western France. Self-separating into Quebec and the now Canadian maritime territories (Acadia) respectively, they developed along slightly different lines, were isolated from each other and now speak somewhat different versions of their language. Over the centuries the Acadians have arrived at their own unique language, the latest version called Chiac, a hybrid blend of French syntax and grammar, ancient French words and modern English. Chiac is mostly spoken in eastern New Brunswick and is on a bit of a cultural upswing, with rap groups like Radio Radio and the animated Acadieman, all conversing in Chiac. As a non French speaker I can’t begin to differentiate between the version of  French spoken in northern Maine and Chiac, maybe someone can inform me. I do remember sitting in a restaurant listening to a French conversation peppered with English words; it was unique.

Acadian settlements today, from wikipedia

Historically, the Québecois were fairly secure in their province but the Acadians got pushed around, forced to mix with English and developed a fierce independent spirit. The Acadian Expulsion of 1755 by the British was a traumatic and seminal event and forced relocation of at least 10,000 from Nova Scotia to many parts of North America, including Louisiana and the Carolinas. Meanwhile their fertile farms were taken over by English speaking colonists and later, loyalists fleeing the War of Independence. By 1780 the Acadians were allowed to resettle their former areas, but the better lands were taken. It was around this time that many chose to settle in northern Maine, in the upper St. John river valley.

arrival of Acadians to Madawaska, Maine, from http://www.acadian-cajun.com

It was here in Aroostook County in the early 1800s that the Acadians dug in their heels. At that time Maine’s borders were in dispute between Britain and the new United States. The Acadians didn’t much care, they had settlements on both sides of the border. They had their own flag and considered the two powers to be unnecessary bothers. Among them were also Québecois.  Meanwhile, the French presence in southern Maine was still absent. That was to change in the 1860s when abundant waterpower developed the textile milling industry. Québecois came and filled those jobs in Lewiston, and Maine’s second largest city became very French.

Lewiston factories c. 1910, from wikipedia

Not so long ago francophone Mainers were looked down upon. Kids were forced to speak English in school and made to feel ashamed of their heritage. Now we have a governor whose first language was French. He’s not a great governor, but he’s broken one barrier. For a more thorough treatment of the subject, check out this UMaine website about Maine Acadians. Here’s a quote from there:

One Fort Kent woman in her early 30s echoes the sentiment of Valley residents who frequently report negative experiences associated with the prohibition on French in public schools. She refuses to teach her children her own native language because she was embarrassed about her speech in school; she wants to make certain her children do not develop a French accent.

A bit of Maine's complicated border. From campobello.com

Last night I found myself wondering whether in colonial America, the future provinces of Canada were just more British colonies. Was there any real difference between Nova Scotia (then including New Brunswick) and Massachusetts (then including Maine)? In 1700 did one side think of itself as part of a different nation or did the concept of Canada and the United States appear only after the Revolutionary War?

Ignoring for the time being the huge part played by France, by the 1770s all of the colonies were known as part of the  British Empire until the War of Independence. Thereafter the northern colonies were called British North America. Ontario and Quebec became the Provence of Canada in 1841 and the rest joined as the Dominion of Canada in 1867. So the answer is yes, the concept of Canada as a nation was a result of the independence of the 13 colonies to the south.

The northern colonies were where those loyal to the Crown fled during the revolution. I was surprised to learn that among my ancestors were loyalists.  My 6th great grandfather John James Glassford (1708 – 1792), a farmer in the Albany, NY area, because of his allegiances was chased out, had his home burned and lost 300 acres. He and his wife and family had to settle on the British side of Niagara and to petition the British government for restoration of his losses. Many present day Canadians can trace their ancestral roots to New York and New England.

Maine border claims, blue is the current border. From http://www.upperstjohn.com/history/northeastborder.htm

In the early days of our state we even had an almost-war with Canada over our northern boundary.  The Aroostook War started in 1838 because the Treaty of Paris, which ended hostilities after the War of Independence, was vague about the border. No shots were fired but both sides spent huge amounts on war preparations. Fort Knox near Bucksport on the way to Acadia from Boston is evidence. The Aroostook War deserves a post of its own, so in this context let’s just say it began a tradition of compromise and cooperation between Maine and her Canadian neighbors, Quebec and New Brunswick.

Maine’s border with Canada stretches 611 miles, third to Alaska’s 1538 miles and Michigan’s 1160 (but most of that is through the Great Lakes).  There are some odd border areas. For example, in order for Canadians to get to Campobello Island, they have to take a ferry from Deer Island, New Brunswick or more easily, drive across the border to Lubec, ME and cross on the short bridge. Two border crossings. Campobello Island is fittingly home to Roosevelt Campobello International Park, jointly administered by the Canadian and American park services.

The Aroostook Valley Country Club has nine holes on each side of the international border. During Prohibition, American golfers could amble over to the Canadian clubhouse and have a few drinks before heading back. Until the heightened security following 9/11 this was no big deal. Then the border patrol got into the act, informing golfers they were breaking the law if they crossed to the second nine holes without going through the nearest border crossing. See  U.S. swings at terrorists, hits golfers – Chicago Tribune. Things got even sillier when it was revealed that farmer Nick Pedersen couldn’t get to his New Brunswick farm without using a local US road, which he had been doing for 80 years, without Customs involvement. The complicated convolutions of his situation can be seen here.

From Google Maps

In Estcourt Station, Maine, (above) just at the very top of Maine and opposite Quebec, is an odd little outpost accessible only by Canadian roads. Besides a few farmed fields the only thing going on on the American side is a gas station, where Canadians can save a few dimes on a gallon of gas. The new security regime warns Canadians to check in at the border crossing before buying gas, which most ignore. Michel Jalbert ignored it and it cost him 5 months in jail and $5,000 in bills, fees and lost income while being held in a US jail. Admittedly, he had a shotgun and a criminal record, but it seemed to most a hefty price for saving a few bucks in gas.

from wikipedia. The sign warns customers to go to customs. The border is at the granite post.

Lost in all of this is the genuine affection between our two nations and the warm feelings between neighbors and relatives across the line. Atlantic Canada especially seems to identify itself with the States, it seemed like everyone I met in Nova Scotia, as well as local hero Alexander Graham Bell, spent considerable time in the US. Now it is necessary to have a passport or passport card to get across, although I got onto Campobello in 2009 without one. Somehow the border crossings make us seem like enemies, but I’m hopeful this is a passing phase.

Latona was a goddess of Roman origin. Daughter of Caeus the Titan and Phoebe, or, according to Homer, of Saturn, and mother of Apollo and Diana. For our town, I assume one particular legend of Latona’s applies. She was banished to earth and earth people were forbidden from giving her comfort by the jealous goddess Juno. Latona and her two children asked the farmers around a lake if she and her children could drink from it. The farmers, fearing the wrath of Juno, denied her. After repeated entreaties she finally decided she had had enough, and turned them into frogs. Lamoine people, by naming our spring after the spurned goddess, are certain to provide her water, and therefore need not fear being changed into frogs.

Latona Spring is downhill from Blunt’s Pond, once used for a public water supply, and kept relatively pristine by laws against bathing, motorboats and swimming dogs. This water is filtered through the aquifer and emerges at Latona Spring, where it is captured in a brick enclosure. From here water emerges through a pipe where visitors or Roman goddesses can drink or capture as much as they wish.

Many locals use the water for drinking if their own well water is less than tasty. We have recently used it as we “break in” our new well. We know that the bottled water from the supermarket is no better than that from our Roman goddess. The spring has recently undergone renovations by the owners, Lamoine’s Whitcomb family. The roof has been temporarily moved and is in need of shingles. Plumbing has been replaced and the outlet pipe has been artfully enclosed in granite stonework. New gravel now improves parking.

Stone steps lead to easy access of cool, pure water

The entrance to Latona Spring is just opposite the sign for Latona Lane on State Route 184, Lamoine Beach Road, about 2 miles east of the school. If you visit, please remember this is private property shared with the public, and may not remain so if abused.