Sunrise over Portland Harbor

Work starts early on the docks... 4:00 AM. Yesterday it rained and blew... hard. Couldn't even see Pipeline Pier 2 across Casco Bay. But the boats still went out. This morning the sunrise lit up the sky down east and the boats lined up trying to capitalize on a rare day of good weather. It's been a rainy spring and summer so far.

On Monday we moved 220 barrels of bait, a record... herring, pogies, red fish, skate, mackerel. The mix and quality of bait is part of the art of lobster fishing I am told. Lobstermen (95% males... only 4 woman to date) are a unique bunch. Very secretive, wary, leathery skin, hard hands. It's tough work.

They looked at me, the new guy. cautiously... curious. I was taking notes on my pocket pad trying to make sense of the operation and one of them yelled at me, "What are you writing?". I replied "Boat names and numbers." "Why" he bellowed. "Trying to learn" I said. "You don't make any sense", he huffed. The next day he barked "Who are you?" I said "I'm with the IRS".and then laughed at the look of horror on is face. That took the wind out of his sails.

The 7 man crew in the bait shop were also pretty warry of me, one openly hostile. They knew I was the bosses cousin and thought I was there for an easy job. But there are no easy jobs on the dock. I kept my mouth shut and watched the flow of work. Filling boat orders is priority one. Everyone drops whatever job they are on when the call goes out "BOAT!". And between boats there is fish and salt to unload off the trucks, barrels to fill. move to the coolers. wash and stack the empties, totes to drag, slips to fill out and money/checks to collect. It is a fast paced, orchestrated circus of activity with rusted, brakeless fork trucks whizzing around at full throttle, people yelling for this or that, forking fish out of plastic barrels, working the winch up and down, up and down.

I ran an errand to the marine supply shop, picked up a dozen gloves and my "skins" and boots. First set is on the company. Rip 'em or lose 'em and you buy replacements. When I got back I suited up, punched in and pitched in shoveling herring off the floor around the conveyor. After a few days, the guys began to see that I was here to work and warmed up a bit.

They didn't want to know much about me except if I drank beer and how I felt about legalizing marijuana. I told them that I drank and enjoyed an occasional brownie. I told them I worked in a paper mill and had been driving around the US for a couple years. That seemed to satisfy them. And I stay busy.

I'm impressed with the way they work, staying one step ahead, anticipating, jumping into the heaviest, dirtiest jobs without hesitation or waiting for the next guy to take it on. I won't name names here. In the off chance someone read this blog, they wouldn't like it. And cousin or not, I'd likely end up in the harbor. Suffice it to say, they are Mainers, native sons who earn their living by the bend of their backs and skills learned on the docks, not in some ivy covered hall. Hard living and hard working. Proud. And I'm proud to be among them. I'll learn a lot. And it will get me back in shape... for sure.

The Boss called me after the first day of work, concerned that I might be unhappy with the work, giving me his blessing to back away. I told him I was happy to be there and thanked him for the job. He said "Well, some people don't like the dirty work, covered in blood and guts, the smell of dead fish." I laughed and said "I worked in Maine politics for six years. Compared to that sewer in Augusta, shoveling dead fish is clean, honest work. I'm staying."

Who has more fun than people...