The oceans want you to buy less S%*t this Christmas

Since corporate America is pushing Christmas already, I'm pushing back this week.

An appropriate Christmas tree.  (Except I took this in April!)

Not to be a grinch, but Christmas stinks for the oceans.  Sure, everyone loves the "peace on earth" thing, and the time with family, and the magic that comes with kids and Christmas.  But there are a ton of reasons the holiday sucks, and if you're an Ocean Lover, it's worth talking about.

Manufacturing costs to the environment.  This is probably the most straightforward issue with buying shit.  The more you buy, the more shit has to be made.  The more raw materials need to be extracted from the earth, the more factories need to burn fossil fuels to make the shit, the more water is used, and the more waste from making all that shit is produced.  Less shit means less of all that.

Do you really need that new cellphone?

--Begin Rant--

My last cell phone lasted 6 years.  I would have kept it longer, holding strong against the smart phone movement, except I was sick of paying $70 a month for minimal service to Verizon, so I bought a Republic Wireless smart phone, guiltily recycled my old one, and haven't looked back.  (Want a $10/month Republic plan?  It's awesome. I highly recommend it.  You too can say Suck It, Verizon.)

I am surrounded by phones.  I teach at a small, elite liberal arts college, and every one of my students has a shiny/colorful/well-accessorized cell phone surgically attached to their hands.  Even though they’re amazingly engaged in class, a millisecond of down time during labs (to collect papers, wait a moment for a computer to boot up, and walk between facilities) has students staring blankly at their phones while fingering them lovingly. 

Truthfully, I hate looking at the sea of phones around me.  I simply can't stand to see them all.  Think of the money being funneled away from us by Motorola, Apple, Verizon.  Think of the time we waste Googling “who sang ‘rock the boat’” (Hughes Corporation).  Think of the flabby brains, unable to read a map.  Think of the natural resources that go into our obsession with new phones.  Think of the ships burning fossil fuels carrying all those phones from China.

Multiply that by the billions – yes, billions – of phones on this planet.

When we discard our old phones, they’re more than likely to end up being “recycled” in a developing country, where toxic components make their way into the non-EPA protected environment.  Cell phones contain lead, mercury, beryllium, nickel, cadmium, brominated flame retardants.  Their disposal is linked to cancer, reduced brain development in children, and damage to the nervous system.  The work done in the digital dumping grounds of the third world puts children and the poor in particular peril. 

That shiny new phone doesn’t look so shiny anymore does it?  I'm doing my best to keep my current phone as long as my last one -- 6 years, --unless it dies a natural death before then.  This has garnered some very odd encounters with friends and family.  I mean, hey, you can get a “free” one if you just head into the local cell phone store (they all look so shiny under the spotlights!).  Or, too bad you don’t get a new one from work every year like I do. 

My students, in particular, pity me.  They try to hide it, but I can see it in their eyes.  Despite my clear and concise explanation that my phone must last 6 years because it’s my stand against consumerism and environmental nastiness and corporate greed, they simply stand there and shake their heads (probably tweeting “my prof is such a loser” when my back is turned).  

But I'm going to hold strong.  Those new cell phones come with a price, and the oceans pay for part of it.  

--End of Rant.--

Effects of shipping.  All that stuff under the tree got here somehow.  Most of it got here by being shipped in mega-carriers over the oceans.  In the past 20 years, global shipping has quadrupled. That's right, quadrupled.  This hasn't just meant more ships, it's meant bigger ships -- much bigger ships. Back in 2000, the biggest ships carried around 8000 containers; now they carry 18000.

This increase in shipping is bad new for the oceans.  The most straightforward effect of more ships is more burning of fossil fuels (marine shipping is a major contributor to greenhouse gasses).  But there are many other costs.  For example, one of the leading causes of deaths for certain great whales is ship strikes.  In California alone, there were over a hundred documented ship strikes between 1988 and 2012.

Growth in shipping traffic since 1992.  Credit: Jean Tournadre/GRL

In addition to the direct effects of ship strikes, more shipping means more noise in the oceans -- a huge problem we are just starting to understand. Marine mammals use sound to navigate, communicate, and hunt in the oceans' opaque waters.  They have very sensitive hearing and an amazing capacity to make sound.  (Damon's PhD thesis was all about how bottlenose dolphins use sound to select and find prey -- and how fish use sound to avoid ending up in a dolphin's stomach, so this topic is near and dear to our hearts.)

Noisy oceans can prevent animals from feeding, breeding, resting, and communicating with each other.  Less stuff being bought by us means less shipping means quieter oceans.

Having less stuff.  As you know, Damon and I just downsized our lives.  Less space means we have less crap.  We like it that way, and think many others would too.

This was a lucky whale.  NOAA/CINMS

Alternatives to crap

'Tis better to give than receive.  I'm all about giving gifts.  They're a way for me to show my love, share my wealth, and add to the Christmas magic.  However, my policy for the past few years is to give only consumables (preferably locally produced) to anyone over the age of 25.  Here are some of my favorites from Maine:

Stonewall Kitchen:  The best freakin' jams, jellies, sauces, and cookie mixes around.  A home run under the tree as far as I'm concerned.  Their marmalade is a favorite of mine (hint hint).

Alcohol:  For most people, this is a great choice.  However, you need to remember that mailing alcohol is often illegal, and is almost always easier if you use a company that does this sort of thing on a regular basis.  They can tell you who you can and can't ship to.  Here's a great article on the subject.

Want to give booze to local folks?  Great!  You can go by your local wine and spirits shop, or you can look for local producers.  Here are some ideas for Mainers:

1. Cold River, Freeport.  Super yummy vodka and gin.  Sippable. 
2. Honeymaker Mead, Portland.  (I love mead, have I told you that?)
3. Maine Craft Distillers, Portland.  Rum?  Whiskey?  Vodka!  Count me in.
4. Urban Farm Fermentary, Portland.  Their Dry Cidah makes me so happy.
5. Sweetgrass, Union.
6. Wiggly Bridge, York.  Named after this place.

The Wiggly Bridge in York.

About a ton of craft beers.  Google them.

(Okay, I'm gonna add one for our neighbors to the south:  1634 Meadery in Ipswich, Mass.  My good friends Dan and Deb Clapp are makin' a go of it with this funky, fabulous drink.  If you're on the North Shore, stop by, try their mead.  Tell 'em I sent you.)

A boozy alternative:  How about a wine or beer tour?  Take your loved one on a fun day, drink some great spirits, meet fun people.

1. Wine Wise, Portland:  Damon gave me this a couple of holidays ago.  It was awesome.  We walked to four restaurants in Portland, had a small plate and paired wine at each, and learned about the wines from sommolier Erica Archer.  
2. Maine Beer Tours, Portland:  For the suds-lover in your life.

In a hurry and just need to pick up a present at your local liquor store?  How about these ideas: dark'n'stormy kit (Goslings rum and ginger beer, not at all local but good), Rum Chata + Fireball (killer shots can be made by combining these), or a fine wine from an environmentally conscious vineyard (Rusack or Benzinger come to mind).

Chocolate.  Really good chocolate.

1. Black Dinah, Isle au Haut. (Okay, Westbrook and Blue Hill too, but I love the idea of a world-class chocolatier on Isle au Haut.)  Anyone looking to send a blogger a little gift, this is the one . . . . 
2. Monica's, Lubec.  You can't get any further Downeast than this.  Send 'em your love, and your money.
3. Wilbur's, Freeport.  Stop by if you come to Freeport to Christmas shop.  

Seafood.  You can't get more Maine than this.

1. Lobster Roll Kits.  Nope not cheap, but awesome.  I sent my parents this last year for their birthdays.
2. Smoked Salmon.  Yum.
3. Chowder.  Wouldn't a gallon of clam chowder be great for Christmas Eve?
4. General Seafood.  Harbor Fish is my go-to for anything from the sea.  You can't get better.

Fruit.
Blueberries from Maine.  Hells Yeah.

Meats.

Yarn?  From Maine?  Yes please.
Halcyon, the bestest yarn store in the Northeast.
Hope Spinnery.  Produced using wind power!

Other.
Soap. You can't go wrong with fancypants soap.  Go by your local fancypants shop and pick some that smells great.
Lotions.  Smooth.
Tea or Coffee.  Buy the good stuff.
Candles.  Nothing too artificial.
Used books.  Yes, USED books.  There are plenty of well-loved books out there that need a home.  If you have a book-lover in the family, why not go to a used bookstore, or even Goodwill, and pick up a dozen great books.  No trees will die for your gift.

Memberships and donations
Maine Island Trail Association
Maine Coast Heritage Trust
Friends of Casco Bay
Any number of marine conservation and research groups like this one, this one or this one.

World Fish Migration Day; Alewives Abound

Today is World Fish Migration Day.  A day to celebrate the spectacle of fish that connect the oceans and rivers of the world; to appreciate the many people who rely on these fish, and to work to ensure fish will run the rivers for generations to come.  So hooray for the alewife!  The salmon!  The eel!  Three cheers for the shad, the lamprey, the dourada, the giant catfish!  Hats off to fish ladders!  Hooray for all the organizations working for these fish.

Maine is blessed with more than its fair share of migrating fish.  We have your anadromous fish; the alewives I've grown so fond of, the Atlantic salmon (perched on the edge of extinction), the rainbow smelt, blueback herring (very difficult to tell apart from alewives), striped bass, Atlantic and shortnosed sturgeon (both in trouble), the Atlantic tomcod, the sea lamprey, and the American shad.  These fish all are born in freshwater, migrate to sea where they mature, then swim upstream to reproduce.  We've also got your catadromous fish, whose life cycle is just the opposite of anadromous fish -- they are born at sea, swim upstream and mature in fresh water, then swim downstream and reproduce at sea.  The American eel is our lone representative of this group.

I spent time this week at three fish ladders; at each, I stood transfixed by the sheer determination of the fish to make it upstream and breed.  At Nequasset, where I've been volunteering to count fish as part of their fish ladder restoration project, I stopped by to pick up some smoked herring.  Alewives were an important source of protein for Native Americans and colonists; especially the poor.  (To this day, some towns still give smoked herring to widows in town.)

Harvesting at Nequasset.  These are going for lobster bait.

Price list in the fish house at Nequasset

The smokehouse was full of delicious smoke; a small fire of alder wood is stoked, then smothered with saw dust to create a thick smoke.  Fish are first brined; then smoked for several days.

You know it's spring when these signs go up

Tools of the trade; salt for brining and sticks for hanging herring

The skilled smoker!

Inside the smoke house.  I can't tell you how wonderful it smelled.

Now what do I do with it?

Making a bit of a mess.

I took a dozen home to try.  I have to admit; these were not the easiest things to deal with -- cleaning this small fish was a task.  But I'm glad I tried them; they won't go up on the list with my cherished lobster rolls, but they're part of Maine's heritage, so worth trying.

Harvesting at Damariscotta

I wanted to make it back to Damariscotta for their fish harvesting, so I set an alarm for a pre-dawn departure, tricked a co-worker into coming along found someone I knew would be as fascinated by the process as I would be, and headed out at 5 am to see the fish.  Nequasset is a small-time fish run compared to Damariscotta, where they sometimes have more than a million fish climb the ladder.  It wasn't always this way of course; the run was severely depleted; so recently, they stopped harvesting for a decade, restored the fish ladder, and made conserving the alewife a priority.  One of the things that interests me so much about the alewife is how each town can influence their harvest only through conservation.  Although river herring are squeezed on both ends -- through poor fish passage on rivers and because they are caught as bycatch in offshore fisheries, the actions of each town can greatly influence alewife abundance.  Fish ladder in poor condition, or missing completely?  Overharvest on your run?  No alewives for you.  Fish ladder well designed and maintained?  Harvest just the right amount?  Tons of alewives for you.  Unlike so many fisheries, where the stock is a resource shared by a large amount of people and subject to the "tragedy of the commons", local actions directly influence alewife abundance.  That's why I'm so jazzed about the Damariscotta run.

When we arrived, it was clear the run was, well, overrun.  Below the ladder, fish were massed in giant schools, pushing forward in a mob.  The ladder was completely full, with fish popping over the rungs every second or two.  They were counting fish at the top, and said they have 10 minute counts of 700 fish -- compared to the 200 fish I counted at Nequasset, this is enormous.

Our early arrival allowed us to check out their fish harvest.  This operation is something to see.  Up near the rapids, fish make a choice; go up the ladder (they're the happy fish), or go up the natural waterway, and into the large metal baskets used to harvest.  When the baskets are full, they are tilted into a large funnel; where thousands of fish slide down onto a conveyor belt.  This belt carries them to a flume, and water from the falls carries them down the flume to the collection area.  Fish are put in fish boxes and sold as lobster bait.  (Bait is difficult to get this time of year, so thank an alewife if you come up to Maine for Memorial Day weekend and enjoy a lobster roll.)  It was absolutely worth the early wake up call to see them fishing, and I can tell you, two women showing up at 5 am to learn about fishing?  You get a pretty good reception!  Thanks guys!  But, if you're a late riser, or a guy, you can still check out the ladder -- this weekend is the Alewife Festival.  If I weren't busy packing for Kent Island, I'd make sure to stop by and celebrate the alewife!

These fish turned the wrong way!  Dumping the baskets.

My friend Julie, learning about alewives.  This guy is knee-deep in fish!

Coming down the flume to be collected.

Filling the fish boxes

A good harvest

As usual, plenty of birds were taking advantage of the sea's riches

My final foray into alewives was just around the corner from my house -- at Brunswick Hydro.  This isn't the biggest run around -- I understand the fish ladder leaves much to be desired; therefore many fish can't make it home to breed.  In fact, fish have to be trucked from the ladder upstream, which I find amazing.  Nonetheless, this ladder is worth a visit, because of the unique viewing windows.  The ladder itself can't be easily viewed, but at the top there is a little room (staffed by a knowledgeable interpreter) where you can get a "fish-eye" view of the alewives waiting to trucked to their breeding ground.  Apparently they get around 250,000 fish in a good year, and alewives are joined by shad, white suckers, and even Atlantic salmon (but only a few).

The viewing room

Fish count as of last Saturday

A fish-eye view

Hearing about this run from an expert

They look determined, don't they?

The truck they use to move these fish upstream over the dam.

I'm going to be sad to see alewife season end.  But I'm about to embark on our annual summer adventure -- spending nine weeks up on Kent Island, in the Bay of Fundy.  I'll post when I can (internet, and just about every other modern convenience, is spotty), so look for lots of foggy photos in upcoming weeks.  

Nequasset fish house, today

Some things never change.

GETTING THERE:  

To get the Nequasset fish ladder, from US 1, turn south on Nequasset Road at the Town Hall.  At the bottom, park near the small bridge (DO NOT block the bridge or cross it, the bridge goes to a private residence).  Walk west along the water (~100 feet) and to your left, you will see a gate on a dirt road, with two large concrete blocks on either side.  Follow the dirt road to the ladder; ~100 yards.  

To get to the Damariscotta Mills fish ladder from US1 north, take the Damariscotta exit to business Route 1. Go straight at the stop sign just past the Congregational Church. Take Route 215 north for approximately 1.6 miles. Look for a parking area just past the Austin Road on the left. Or, take the next left into the Fish House parking lot. Follow the path behind the fish house and you are there. Coming south on Route 1, take the Damariscotta exit and take a right on Rt 215 across from the Louis Doe Home Center. The parking lots decribed above are about 1.3 miles on the left.  

To get to the Brunswick Hydro ladder; from US 1, turn onto Maine St in Brunswick. Park at the Ft Andross mill (the large, red brick mill, right on the river) and walk towards the green bridge.  The sign for the ladder is located immediately before the bridge.

Two Fish Ladders -- Nequasset (Woolwich) and Damariscotta Mills (Nobleboro)

They're here. 

Despite a slow start to spring, the alewives have heeded the call of nature, and they're climbing up coastal creeks and rivers all over New York and New England.  And I had a front row seat to the spectacle this week!

I volunteered to count fish at the Nequasset fish ladder.  The Kennebec Estuary Land Trust is working with local authorities to restore the ladder, and is collecting baseline data (before the renovation) to see how many fish are using it.  The first week I was scheduled to count, they contacted us and said "no fish, we're on hold".  Last week, the first full week of May, I went out and counted -- but there were no fish to count.  It's pretty boring staring at the water for ten minutes at a time, when there's nothing to see.  But this week, when I pulled up and parked, I could tell there were going to be fish, because this is what I saw:

Fat and happy gulls, waddling around up on the roof.

And when I arrived at the ladder, it was immediately apparent a switch was flipped, because this image greeted me:

Fish caught in a tidepool at low tide

Fish gathered at the bottom of the ladder.

And when I counted, this is what I counted:

There's a fish!

And there's a fish!

Made it!  Fish pop over the final rung of the ladder, into Nequasset Lake; prime breeding ground.

I had almost 200 in a ten minute period!  Amazing, and not at all boring.  It was a bit hard to concentrate, given the noisy neighbors:

After counting, I simply enjoyed the surroundings:

Downstream; fish house and dam.  Smokehouse to the far left.

The fish ladder.  Note the smoke rising from the smoke house.

Hard won success!  Now, to find a mate.

Of course, I'm a glutton for punishment.  I figure this is a once-a-year event -- why miss a moment of it?  So yesterday I dragged a comrade (and our dogs) on a "marine biology adven-cha", up to Damariscotta Mills.  This is one of the biggest alewife runs, and the ladder is designed so people can get a great view:

A bit of a bigger operation than Nequasset!

I just loved this.

The Damariscotta fish ladder.  Fancy!

Looking down from the top.

Also counting.  Can you see the fish streaming out of the ladder?  Look hard.

This looks something like a theme park!

Waiting for that perfect shot -- an eagle swooping down.  Lots of big lenses were apparent.

At both these ladders, harvest of alewives is allowed.  They're taken for smoking and for lobster bait.  Stay tuned; next week I'll share some photos of the harvest; they only harvest from sunrise Thursdays to sunrise Mondays.  It's time for another adven-cha!

I'll be there!

GETTING THERE:  To get the Nequasset fish ladder, from US 1, turn south on Nequasset Road at the Town Hall.  At the bottom, park near the small bridge (DO NOT block the bridge or cross it, the bridge goes to a private residence).  Walk west along the water (~100 feet) and to your left, you will see a gate on a dirt road, with two large concrete blocks on either side.  Follow the dirt road to the ladder; ~100 yards.  To get to the Damariscotta Mills fish ladder from US1 north, take the Damariscotta exit to business Route 1. Go straight at the stop sign just past the Congregational Church. Take Route 215 north for approximately 1.6 miles. Look for a parking area just past the Austin Road on the left. Or, take the next left into the Fish House parking lot. Follow the path behind the fish house and you are there. Coming south on Route 1, take the Damariscotta exit and take a right on Rt 215 across from the Louis Doe Home Center. The parking lots decribed above are about 1.3 miles on the left.

Alewife Rescue Squad

A proverb:

Under a hot summer sun, the beach is strewn with seastars stranded by the tide.  Soon, they will die from the heat.  A boy starts at one end of the beach, and slowly but surely moves one seastar at a time back to the water.  A man watches him, unimpressed.  As the boy picks up yet another seastar, the man walk up to him and says "Why are you wasting your time, boy?  You can't possibly save all these seastars.  All your work won't make any difference because most of them will die anyways."  The boy, wise beyond his years and still fresh with optimism, replies "Maybe I can't save them all, but to this particular seastar, I'm making all the difference in the world."

In the face of all the environmental problems of our day and age, this is a great lesson to us. Small actions can make a big difference, if we all make good decisions.  And last Saturday, I saw the proverb in action.

We were down in Massachusetts, so Damon could run a road race on Saturday, and I could run my marathon Sunday.  Between the two races, we did a bit of exploring.  Southeastern Mass is near and dear to our hearts, as we both lived there for a time (and in fact met there!).  We were driving through Middleborough, and passed Oliver Mill Park, where long ago I'd seen my first American eel.  It was a gorgeous day; the sun was out; and it felt like the start to a nice warm stretch.  "Wanna check it out?' asked Damon, noting the many cars in the parking lot.

"Sure," I replied. Is he kidding?  Besides, the dog loves a good walk.

The park on the Nemasket River is the site of an old mill, so common in this part of our country.  These mills brought prosperity to New England, but they also devastated the anadromous fish that plied coastal rivers for millenia.  Often, no provision was made for fish to pass upstream and downstream, so they had no way to reproduce and died out quickly.  Some mills put in fish ladders, some of which were successful in making passage possible, some of which were poorly engineered and did little good.

This site has an amazing fish ladder, with water cascading down a series of steps that fish can shoot up and over.  The water's been very cold in Maine, pushing the migration back*, but in Mass, the water was thick with alewives.  We stood transfixed, watching small schools of fish climb each rung.  Once they were over the ladder, they shot upstream.  Below the dam, there were plenty of gulls waiting for a shot at some protein, as is typical at fish ladders up and down the coast.

The fish ladder, which was teeming with alewives.

Gulls below the dam, waiting for a meal.

Along with the fish ladder, the park has the remnants of dams from its industrial past.  These are impassable for fish, but they don't know it.  They gather below the dams, rushing as far as they can upstream, only to be tossed and tumbled in the rapids under the dam.  These are the lost souls of the alewives, who aren't likely to join their counterparts upstream.

Can you see them all in there?  They'd never get over that dam without help!

The day we visited, though, a good Samaritan was watching over some of these lost fish.  Pants rolled up, barefoot, a boy was standing below the dam, searching through the waters with his hands, looking for fish in need of a boost.  It was tough work, and he struggled to keep his foot hold in the rushing water.  But he was successful -- every once in a while, he'd pull out a fish and toss it over the dam.  He had an audience, and with each fish, they'd applaud and cheer.  His enthusiasm was contagious, and soon he had his little brother helping out, and eventually some adults just had to get in and get their hands on some fish.  Maybe they only helped a dozen or so fish.  Not much in the grand scheme of things, it might not seem like much.  But it was enough to make all the difference in the world for those particular fish.

Searching for herring.

The audience waits with baited breath.

Success!  Nice job.

The grownups can't resist.  Notice the fish tumbling in the backwash.

The herring rescue team deploys.

More luck!

Swim little fishies!  Swim if you can -- and they swam and they swam right over the dam!

* I just learned they're here!  Today's my day to go count too!  Woohoo!