Just One More Moment of Summer (Holbrooks)

It's been pretty warm in Maine, even during most of October.  Still shorts weather, still sitting on the porch eating dinner weather, still walking on the beach weather.  It's spectacular -- crystal clear air, warm sunshine, and not too many tourists.  But there are hints of what's to come.  The leaves start to turn; just a little at first.  The days grow shorter, with sunset arriving earlier and earlier.  And eventually, there's a hint of frost on the leaves in the early morning.  Summer ends, fall begins, and Mainers start to think about finding the snow shovels, maybe buying a new pair of boots, and breaking out the skis and snow shoes.

An ocean lover knows winter isn't a kind season for exploring beaches and tidepools.  I still have plenty of collecting to do for this semester's marine bio class, but I know soon it'll get too cold to reach a hand into the Gulf of Maine with anything but a grimace, and eventually the trails down to the water will ice over.  So I have to make the most of every moment in the fall -- hit one more beach; drive to one more lighthouse; lie on more dock and gaze over the edge to see who's living on the piers. 

One of the things I feel driven to do in fall is stuff all the lobster rolls I can into my face sample just a few more lobster rolls before the seasonal shacks close down.  Many of the best spots for seafood in Maine are only open in the warm months, so it's important to get your fill of rolls before these shacks close for the season.  One of my favorites is pretty close to home, and luckily, it's right on the way to some of my best collecting spots.  Why not kill two birds with one stone, and stop for a lobster roll on the way to my field work?

HOLBROOKS:  I love Holbrooks.  Tucked up at the end of Cundy's Harbor, you can't get more Maine than this.  Lobster boats?  Check.  Beaten up working pickups?  Check.  Old Maine homes built too close to a twisty-turny road?  Check.  Spectacular sunsets, and foggy days, and the smell of bait?  Check.

We're lucky we still have Holbrooks.  Like so much of Maine's working waterfront, it was threatened by private development back in 2005.  What had for years been a spot devoted to commercial fishing was up for sale, and everybody feared it would turn into a private home, or worse yet -- condos.  So a group of local residents formed the Holbrook Community Foundation; raised money, bought the place, and today is devoted to keeping the coast clear for local fishermen and tourists.  Their snack bar, located on the wharf, is found at one of the prettiest spots in the country, and lobster has never tasted so good.

GETTING THERE:  From US1 in Brunswick, take Rt 24 south and go 5 1/2 miles south.  Turn left onto Cundy's Harbor Road, and go 4 1/2 miles; Holbrooks will be on the left.  BYOB, or better yet, support the local economy by getting a bottle of wine at the General Store just in front of the snack bar.

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.

Celebrating Working Waterfront

Dinghies in Cundy's Harbor

 The heritage of Maine is it's natural resources, including the sea.  For generations, people have carved a living from the Gulf of Maine; moving ice, timber, and stone; fishing, lobstering, clamming; bringing in the "rusticators" for the summer.  Today, still, the people of Maine and the US share our oceans; they are a public resource.  Unfortunately, the land around them is not, and like so many places, it's getting harder and harder to access the ocean in the Pinetree State.

This is an inconvenience for most of us.  For others, it's a matter of life and death -- or at least making a decent living.  Imagine having no way to get from your home to your office  -- leaving your house one morning to find all the roads to your work place were suddenly "private", "no trespassing", "residents only".  That's more and more common in coastal communities.  In Maine, where there are ~5,300 miles of coastline, only about 20 continue to be available as working waterfront.  Only 81 points represent truly great working waterfront -- with fuel available, all-tide access, and adequate parking, and of those, only 62 directly support commercial activities.  Working waterfront is in short order.

So let's celebrate the working waterfront we have!  It's one of the things that makes Maine unique.  This amazing state was built on places like Stonington and Portland and Port Clyde.  To do my part, I'm sharing some of my favorite working waterfront photos from last year.  If you want more information on working waterfront, I recommend Mapping Maine's Working Waterfront, from the Island Institute, or check out Maine Sea Grant's website.  

This peaceful afternoon made photographing boats in Wiscasset a pleasure.  Angelina is ready to set her pots.

Sunrise in Lamoine; burning off the fog at Lamoine State Park.

This old wooden boat really caught my fancy in Ogunquit.  Lucky Lizzie!

This is a favorite of mine.  A dead-still day in Boothbay, after a thunderstorm, brought me Two Cousins.

Nestled at the dinghy dock, this plywood green boat is all utility.

For those with long "commutes" to their moorings, a Johnson (old or new) does the trick.

This pot buoy in Southport brought some color to the grey day.

Just think what came out of this old boat shed in Camden.

Everything a boater could need in Castine.

Mooring pennants were being put away here on a fall day.

Sunset in Five Islands

Molds await the boat builder in Lamoine.

Working waterfront comes in many forms, including this huge boat building facility in East Boothbay.

A foggy morning at New Harbor.

I imagine this is what working waterfront must have looked like a century ago.

*Local* Seafood in Maine

Earlier this fall, we went out to dinner with some visitors from Florida.  We were in Castine and the season was ending, so there weren't a lot of choices on where to go.  We found an open waterfront restaurant and ordered drinks. We were looking at the menu, when one of our Floridian friends asked "So, what's local?"

My husband and I looked at each other, looked again at the menu, and replied "Well . . . ."

Amazingly, the answer was "not much".  I'm sure there was a lobster dish of some kind (it is Maine), but other than that, we couldn't guarantee anything else was "local".  Maybe local as in, it came from the North Atlantic, but not local as in, it came from Maine.

It got me thinking about what local seafood is readily available in Maine.  The Gulf of Maine has changed enormously in the past 20 years, and the groundfish stocks that once supported huge fishing fleets have shrunk to a fraction of their former size.  Lobster is the only fishery reliably left in Maine, and if anything happens to it (as happened in 2012, the year of the great lobster glut) many fishing families will be in trouble.

Last weekend we stopped at one of our favorite fish markets, Harbor Fish Market in Portland, to find some local seafood.  Harbor Fish is what all fish markets should be.  It's right on the water, in the working waterfront portion of Portland, and boats pull right up behind the storefront to unload at times.  The place is spotlessly clean, smells nothing like fish, and it's packed, ensuring high turnover and fresh fish They're got it all, and they're happy to help you figure out what you need.  If anyone has local fish, surely they're the ones.

So what's local?  

Probably local.  From May-December Atlantic mackerel are commonly fished in the Gulf of Maine.  Most of it is exported because American's dislike its strong flavor.

Canadian; regional.  Smelt can be found in Maine's estuaries in winter and spring, and ice fishermen in our area love them.

Not local.  Despite what this signs says, most scup is caught south of the Gulf of Maine.

Regional.  A squid fishery is emerging in Maine, and may be aided by warming waters.  However, most squid is caught south of here.

Local.  Atlantic herring probably isn't what our visitor from Florida would have wanted though, as it's very strong in flavor.

Local (except for the ones from Wellfleet).  There's a lot of oysters available in Maine, both wild and cultured.  I hope to get up to the Damariscotta Oyster Festival to get a taste of them all! 

Not local.  Probably from the Chesapeake.

Local, but often from Prince Edward Island, and almost always cultured.

Local.  Mahogany clams are harvested in Maine.  They are very long lived (like 500 years) and reproduce slowly, which makes me reluctant to eat them.  You should never eat anything older than your grandmother.

Local, local, local.  Live lobster in the US is almost always from Maine.  Frozen lobster, like the lobster tails sold in chain restaurants and groceries, may be from Canada or may be US lobsters processed in Canada and re-imported.

Where's the fun in this?

Probably local.  Haddock stocks have recovered from low levels in the 1990's, and major stocks are located in the Gulf of Maine and George's Bank.

Maybe local.  Cod stocks are in trouble and the quota was drastically slashed this year.  Much of the cod sold in the US now is from Iceland, but since this is fresh not previously frozen, it might be local.

Maybe local.  In federal waters, halibut can only be landed incidentally, and only in small amounts.  Maine has a small experimental fishery in state waters but it isn't open in winter.

Not local.  In summer, maybe from Maine, but in winter, these are further south.

Local.  Seaweed culture and harvesting is a growing business in Maine.

Local.  Salmon aquaculture is expanding in Maine, and is well-established in Canadian waters.

We just tried some of this salmon bacon.  Pretty good!  However, it's from Miami.  Yes, Miami.

An empty shelf is all we can expect for Maine shrimp in 2014, and probably beyond that.  The fishery was closed due to low recruitment last year.  Very sad; they are a favorite of ours.

Local!  You're gonna want some dessert after that seafood, right?

A good source for basic information about fisheries is Fish Watch.  If you're interested in conservation biology, and which fish are sustainably harvested, I recommend Seafood Watch or a similar program.

Saturday we stopped by Harbor Fish and got ready for yesterday's snow storm.  As the snow came down, Damon, Dory, and I sat by the fire enjoying a nice big pot of paella, with mussels and haddock.  It was a great way to enjoy a winter's day.