UNTITLED

For my father, naming his boat Dad’s Wish was soft centered. My grandfather’s wish before he passed was to purchase a new boat. He didn’t get the chance to do so, but the legacy of Dad’s Wish lives on. 

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My childhood was spent by the sea, the ocean breeze imitating my youthful innocence, boundless and plentiful. My father is a lobster fisherman who endures cold and early mornings to support my mom, two brothers and me. I remember my mother’s anxiety spilling out like an overflowed coffee cup when it came time for my father to go to work and we were getting ready for school. My older brother Luke wanted to be like his dad. He did everything he could to learn the ins and outs of fishing and when he turned seventeen, my dad took him on as a deckhand for a few years. After that he was on share, as is my younger brother Paul, who is named after his grandfather Paul McGowan.  

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Being on share is not something you are given without experience. Especially for a teenager. You must work your way up to show you are a team player, hard worker, and deserving of a portion of the vessel’s profit. Crew share is how most offshore workers are paid. A percentage of how much the vessel makes is divided among the crew after the deduction of fuel, food, and equipment and the captain’s share. 

I am not on share, but sometimes I took the trip out with them to set traps. I remember my childhood bed creaking and shaking as my brother’s dog changed positions. The frigidity of the frost outside spread through my bedroom walls like a virus. My body draped in layers, I drank a glass of water and waited for the others. After sharing some yawns, we began packing up the RAV4 with a box of new gloves, food, and drinks to fuel us throughout the day.  

I was trapped in the chilly November morning air. Upon our arrival in the harbour, it was a hive of activity. Cars lined the road, the parking lot a maze. Setting day is an event. Families and spectators gather as a sign of good luck and safety. I remember being woken by the soft shake of my mom’s grasp as a kid. “How about we go watch dad leave,” she would say. While I was not a morning person as a little girl, the warm embrace of my zebra print sheets would soon be left alone. We knew we would see him at suppertime, but it was bittersweet to see him go. Anything could happen out there.  

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 I held box of gloves from my brother as he approached the Point Lepreau team members as they poured hot Tim Hortons coffee into free mugs. This kind gesture is an annual tradition over the last few years; and symbolizes support for the community and wishing of a safe and plentiful season. My feet carried me down the slippery ramp as my right hand grasped the railing. Crews were already aboard their vessels, wishing us a good morning and safe sail as we walked past. 

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 My left leg anchored on deck, giving momentum to my right. The first task was to situate the fluorescent balloons alongside the boat as it sparkled under the indigo sky. Vibrations ran through my extremities as the engine roared. It’s something you get used to. At 6:45 a.m., we untied and set off.  

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Photo by NB Power (2023) on Facebook.  

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The fall lobster season begins on the second Tuesday in November every year for LFA 36; the inshore lobster fishery assigned to the Dipper Harbour area. In short, LFA stands for “lobster fishing area” and is a way to distinguish the various areas in which fishers can work in the Bay of Fundy. The areas come with different restrictions such as licenses and trap limits. For example, FLA 33 has a trap limit of 250, compared to LFA 38 with a limit of 375 and LFA with a limit of 300. Preparation for setting day occurs long before, sometimes many months. It is not just the labour-intensive offshore work once the season starts. This also means sacrificing the last clear and sultry days of the year braiding rope, mending holes, replacing twine, attaching tags, and attending to any problems with the vessel itself beforehand to avoid any setbacks.  

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The tide pulled us through the calm morning mirror of the ocean – a reflection from the peeking sun on the horizon. As heavy traffic turned the corner, we were met with other optimistic crews. In a line we stood at the head of the wharf entrance. It was calm, colder if anything as the temperature was below zero. We gathered in the wheelhouse as we sailed to our first setting spot an hour away. Side to side we swept, a motion that makes some people sick just by the thought. By 8:30, the rocking got worse. 

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My eyes were mesmerized by the cotton candy sky peeking over the horizon like a child peeking up over their blankets at their fear of the dark. “It can’t get much nicer than this,” Paul said. I could not agree more with him. This sight alone mended my queasy stomach – I just had to keep my mind from it. Not many people get to see the sun rise from the middle of the ocean. It certainly is a privilege I do not take for granted.

 

As we sat, we reminisced on past setting days. I had joined them back in 2021. As they would say, I brought the good weather – so they were hoping I would do the same this year. I think I did a pretty good job. Measurable anticipation leading up to setting day focuses on the weather. The forecast can make or break a trip offshore and sometimes delays the beginning of the season. 

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Breaking the brief silence, Paul spoke up about how he saw white sided dolphins last year. As he was landing traps, he saw them launch themselves from the swells. Unlike the common experience of seeing porpoises, these white sided dolphins were a sight worth seeing. The Bay of Fundy is heavily populated with porpoises, extending into waters in Maine. The bay is also the main breeding ground for the harbour porpoise, giving you a likely chance to see at least one when offshore. 

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Another time, they saw a whale breaching alongside the boat. “It just came out like nothing you’ve ever seen, like the coolest thing you could see at work,” my father said. Not only is it mesmerizing to see at work, but also from your front deck. He also saw many whale sightings in the Dipper Harbour and Maces Bay area during summer 2023. “All you can do it sit and watch because you’re scared you’ll miss something.”   

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The strategy is to set with the tide and haul against. By about 10 a.m. it was getting hard for my father to find places to set because the tide was “out and in” so balloons were scattered instead of placed orderly. Four boats to my left, and a few others looked like they were floating on the horizon. By 11:30 we were 44 degrees North and 66 degrees West in the middle of the bay. Grand Manan and Digby were on either side of us. Two hundred traps had been set so far, but the day was far from over. 

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Dad’s Wish’s category A license allowed the boys to head back to shore in the afternoon to pick up one hundred more traps. In a sense, lobster fishing is embedded in the fact that you must be at the right place at the right time. The beginning of the season is a perpetually stressful and anticipatory time. Most fishermen choose the placement

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Paige McGowan 

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of their traps in a particular way. Most times they reflect on their experiences in past years based on how long it took to get there and how many lobsters they previously caught in the area. 

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For my father, his preferred spot was always in a zone closer to Grand Manan in LFA 35 that was shared with fishers from the island. However, recent disputes have argued who has the right to the area because of its proximity to both zones. Thus, he no longer has access to that zone. A minuscule red line on his navigation system determines where he can and cannot go, and he must work around the divide. 

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The ocean is the epidemy of uncertainty. Its hypnotic motion and lapping waves give it God like features you must trust. It is not uncommon for accidents to happen. When they do, they happen swiftly, and it is easy to succumb to fight or flight and overlook vital decision-making processes. Everything was going smoothly until one close call happened while setting the last trawl. Every trawl is connected on a rope, so it is crucial that you attach the balloon and buoy at the end before the anchor is dropped so nothing gets lost. 

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With anticipation for the sail home, they lost the line for a brief period. Despite a lot of money on the line, I watched as my father and Luke telepathically communicated with a brief period of eye contact. My father reversed the boat, positioning it beside the buoy in the water as Paul held tension on the line. Luke grabbed the gaff and pushed his weight overboard, grabbing the line and throwing it aboard. They resituated, attaching the balloon as necessary before dropping the anchor. In times of high stress, the crew often turn to the captain to see what he thinks is the best idea. In terms of emergency, it is up to the crew to do what they can to resolve the situation while informing the captain; if further intervention is required, he will step in.  

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From the end of June to the beginning of November in LFA 36, harbours and wharfs hibernate quietly. Not only are the fishermen anxious to get the boats on the water again, but the community anticipates seeing the awakening of the lively harbour. I have the privilege of coming from generations of lobster fishermen; watching them work tirelessly because the water is their passion. While it is nice to make a buck, the livelihoods of fishermen are driven by the sentiment and memories they have on the water. For others, they are driven by the drive to let legacies of fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers live on through their work.  

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Luckily, I can choose when I want to endure the bitter winter air in the middle of the ocean. For my dad and brothers, they do not get the choice. Surely, they could get a different job. But this one is special. They get to spend time with one another – bonding, experiencing hardship, teaching, learning, and persevering together. I like to think Mother Nature has their best intentions in mind. I still pray they make it home safe the same way I did as a little girl.