“We used to say around here if you can’t get a girl, get a Bowdoin boy” a successful Harpswell lobsterman says to me as we motor toward his next string of traps. It’s early afternoon in mid June and the sky is stubbornly blue despite forecasted rain. I’m feeling very lucky to have the opportunity to see first hand the work I’ve dedicated my summer to studying.
I laugh at the “Bowdoin boy” comment, but do not doubt at all that this phrase is uttered on the wharves of Harpswell.
I slip my soft, pale, Bowdoin boy hands in my pockets. Despite my embarrassment it’s refreshing to be in the presence of such practical, honest work. The comment is noted, but then passes as we reach the next string of traps and work is at hand once again. Lobsters are caught, valuable data is collected, and another day of my summer slips away.
I never anticipated that interviewing lobstermen would be an easy task, but as a student of anthropology and environmental studies I was eager to follow in the footsteps of James Acheson, author of the classic ethnography, Lobster Gangs of Maine, and many other researchers involved in collecting and utilizing what is known as local ecological knowledge (LEK). Being awarded a Doherty Coastal Studies fellowship allowed me to begin exploring the potential impacts of climate change on Maine’s lobster industry by talking to those closest to the fishery; the lobstermen.
Now I was partially to blame for my difficulties, because Maine in general and lobstermen in particular are known to be suspicious of outsiders, and as a Seattle native I certainly qualify as an outsider. Despite this fact I chose to focus my work in the town of Harpswell where my adviser, Anne Henshaw, had no contacts.
I’m certainly not the first person to recognize the value of talking to fishermen in order to understand a fishery. I can’t even claim I’m the first person to talk to lobstermen about climate change and I owe a great deal to the Island Institute for its work in this area of study. Yet, having the opportunity to do this type of research gave me a much greater respect for the knowledge of fishermen.
Over the summer I was able, through a process that often felt like persistent pestering, to interview over a dozen lobstermen. Combined with the audio from the Island Institute’s lobster and climate conference last winter, I had access to the input of over 30 lobstermen with homeports ranging from Cutler to Kittery. And while it was often difficult to secure face time with lobstermen, the difficulties with data quantity ended as soon as we sat down to talk. For the most part, I did not observe a tendency towards secrecy or skepticism towards researchers. I found people eager to talk about their observations and interpretations and always ready to tell a good story or invite me out on their boat for a day of lobstering.
The words of lobstermen describe a natural and social environment in a state of change. In Harpswell, once productive bays look lonely in the absence of brightly colored buoys. Lobstermen in southern Maine battle crowding, algae growth and decreased lobster abundance, while Downeast lobstermen look to pass on their abundant catches to a young generation that is often not interested in dealing with rising fuel and bait prices to go lobstering.
The wealth of information provided by the participants in this study will, I hope, prove valuable as Maine’s coastal environment continues to change. However, at least for this Bowdoin boy, the most important message is that not only do lobstermen and fishermen of all varieties possess valuable knowledge, but they are willing if not eager to tell it to those with open ears and an open mind. They are willing to help in research if researchers are willing to take their advice. In a changing world, collaboration will allow both lobsterman and policymakers to adapt to new conditions and continue the successful tradition of catching lobsters in Maine.
Mike Tillotson is taking part in research on climate change and its effects on the Maine lobster fishery.