The herring boat arrived with the dawn, with the sea gulls and with the seals, and another day unfolded on the wharf. The weather continues to be generally mild, but some mornings, before the sun blasts over the horizon, the mornings are cold and damp. On those days, the men dress in warm clothes and hooded sweatshirts, as we stumble around in the early morning darkness looking like ancient monks trudging to Lauds.
Harbor Seals are supposed to be reclusive. Guess these guys didn't get the memo. The 200-300 pound marine mammals spin and twirl, breach the water, sit up and beg like dogs for the fresh herring that the men toss into the water from the loading dock.The waterfront is a place of extremes. It is a place of the profound and the mundane, of breathtaking beauty and dark dysfunction. From the sights, sounds and smells of this place to the unique characters of the fishermen and the waterfront workers, their lifestyles and attitudes... extreme.
The gigantic, 15 story glistening white cruise ships arrive every day or two, shepherded to the dock at the State Pier by the small, but powerful tugboats. Today the Queen Victoria steamed in. Incredible. We watch the tourists standing on the outside balconies of their staterooms, watching us. The crew marvels at the deck top waterslides, the 30 foot, poolside TV screen, the glitz of the casinos and the showrooms clearly visible through the ship windows with our binoculars. The stark contrast between these luxury vessels and their privileged passengers and the lives and living/work conditions of the men on this dock, the unprivileged, is another extreme.
The tourists pour off the ships and wander around Commercial Street, wallets in hand, seeking additional stimulation. The intrepid few who walk down the potholed cobblestones of Custom House Wharf to the end, invariably stop in bewilderment to look into the door of the bait shop at the men dressed in orange skins, black boots and blue rubber gloves, shoveling fish, driving fork trucks, loading boats and flatbeds. Some hold their noses, others gag at the smell. Most are curious and would like to engage, but the men are not about it, with a few exceptions. The other day a tall professional man walked by dressed in an expensive suit, placing his Gucci'ed feet carefully to avoid the gore. Ricky was carrying a stinking, fly covered trash bin filled with blood soaked cardboard to the dumpster and spoke to the man who was clearly alarmed by his approach. "Wanna swap suits?" Ricky grinned. "What?" said the anxious man. End of conversation.
The idea hatched one day as we sat on the dock watching the cruise ship, the tourists and the seals. These tourists would pay good money to feed the seals herring and watch them do their thing, we figured. I roughed out a quick business plan based upon the number of cruise ships and average number of passengers, a conservative 5% participation rate and a $10 profit margin per head. The numbers were impressive so I took the next step and called the Maine Department of Marine Resources and Portland City Hall to speak with the business licensing division. The Marine Warden at DMR was encouraging. The self important woman on the end of the phone at Portland City Hall was dismissive and unhelpful.
When she eventually returned my call, after speaking with her legal department, she informed me that this business concept would not be licensed by the city. I asked her to explain the issues and concerns and, with a huff, she began. "There are several. What will you do about the trash generated?" Trash barrels, I suggested. "And what about parking?" The customers walk from the cruise ship, I explained. "Well, there is the matter of sea gulls attacking the tourists for the fish," she continued. Ah... good point I conceded... and maybe even pooping on them, heaven forbid... Yes, a tent would be needed. "And then there is the matter of their hands getting all icky from touching those fish. What will you do about that?" Hmmm... here's an idea. How about a hand washing station?
She was on her high horse now. Who was this insignificant dolt on the end of the phone talking about generating revenues and jobs on the waterfront. Didn't he know that she was important and that her time was valuable. She saved her best argument for last and she delivered it with a slippery contempt dripping from her words.
"No, this is never going to work. Besides, we don't know if we even want harbor seals in our harbor! "...
I thanked her for her time and said I would get back to her after developing the business plan further. I did not suggest that she and the politicians pass local regulations to prohibit seagulls from pooping and seals from swimming in the harbor. I wanted to. Instead, I further researched the concept and learned about the Federal Laws prohibiting human contact of any kind with marine mammals. The seals that eat from the hands of the fishermen, that swim to the dock and beg for fish obviously didn't get that memo either. The United States Marine Mammals Protection Act of 1972 specifically requires seals and humans to remain a minimum distance of 164 feet from each other under penalty of severe fines and possible imprisonment.
The next day I informed the boys that feeding seals was a federal offense. They are all ex-cons and their reaction was predictable. They laughed cynically, suggested the politicians perform impossible anatomical acts upon themselves, filled their buckets with fish and provided the seals with so much herring in the water that a feeding frenzy occurred.
There ought to be a law pertaining to any public servant or politician elected to serve the people of Portland. They should be required to work for a month on the waterfront. To sweat with the taxpayers who work in the kitchens, on the boats and in the bait shops who provide their salaries, in order to better understand the day to day issues of their homeless, illiterate, hopeless constituents. And to recognize that seals and seagulls appear to have rights too and that no bureaucrat is going to outlaw them in Portland Harbor. After all, it's our harbor, too.
Bureaucrats... extreme arrogance.
