The uncertain future of Maine's largest lobster port

STONINGTON, Maine — In the colder months of the year, a port that bustles with summer vacationers swarming into town for buttery lobster rolls, blueberry ice cream and piercing blue water can instead be found quietly shuttered. When the vacationers leave and seasonal businesses close their doors, it’s easier to remember what people too often forget: this is a working waterfront. In fact, it’s the largest lobster port in the state of Maine.

State and federal waters off the coast of Maine are also feeding grounds and critical habitat areas for the endangered North Atlantic right whale. The Marine Mammal Commission calls the right whale one of the world’s most endangered species of large whale. One cause of death troubling conservation groups is entanglement: a phenomenon where a whale gets caught in a fishing line, often carries it along for some time and eventually dies.

Conservation groups called for changes in the lobster industry. The matter ended up in court, with the two sides focused on a controversial report by NOAA, called a biological opinion, that is created to help protect an endangered species. The one written by NOAA said that the Maine lobster fishery needed to reduce its risk to right whales by 98%. The Maine Lobster Association challenged the biological opinion, and a D.C. Appeals Court overturned it. Circuit Judge Douglas Ginsburg decided that NOAA may not give the “benefit of the doubt” to an endangered species by “relying upon worst-case scenarios,” affirming fears that many had expressed about the inadequacy of data available.

“The environmental groups were wanting to have our industry completely closed,” Captain Nathaniel Lane, lobsterman and resident of Deer Isle, said. “Not one boat, not one trap in the water. Absolutely nothing. That’s terrifying.” He called the right whale conflict the biggest challenge facing the industry today. In Dec. 2022, Congress added a provision into the federal spending bill. This provision – known as a policy rider – was led by Maine’s Republican senator, Susan Collins and effectively blocked stricter federal rules protecting the right whale from entanglement until 2029.

Conservation groups bemoan this six year pause as the potential nail in the coffin for the right whale, while the lobster industry sees it as an opportunity to breathe a sigh of relief. But neither side can predict what the next six years will bring, for the future of the North Atlantic right whale or for the thousands of families and dozens of towns that rely on a healthy lobster industry. In an industry where many feel over-regulated, the demands of conservation groups and the uncertainty of communications coming from NOAA leaves lobstermen and lobsterwomen, and whole towns, wondering if they’ll be able to support themselves come the end of the decade.

Fifield Point and Burnt Cove

The town of Stonington is situated at the bottom of the island of Deer Isle. Moving west, the island juts out into a point, Fifield point, which hugs an inlet called Burnt Cove. On summer evenings, as the golden light of sunset splashes on the water, picnic tables fill up with people enjoying a simple meal: corn on the cob, one whole crab and one iconic Maine lobster. The Burnt Cove Boil is owned and operated by Jake McCarty, a seafood retailer.

McCarty moved to Maine from Boston and spent two years as a lobsterman. “I always considered myself a strong person, but I was shocked at the intensity of the labor and the complexity of the mission,” McCarty said. In deciding where to place traps, “there’s so much more planning and nuance than I ever could have imagined.”

Today, he leaves the lobstering to his partner Travis Fifield, who owns and operates Fifield Lobster Co. “My family has been on Deer Isle since the beginning,” Fifield, whose name appears on the map on the West side of the island, said. His third-great-grandfather started a lobster buying business in the 1930s, which was passed down through generations. Fifield said taking over felt like it was “something I needed to do to keep my family business going.”

His company follows a unique business model, one that McCarty described as a “handshake.” Talking about his partner’s business, McCarty said some 40 fishermen are “being taken care of by the company.” The company provides fuel and other benefits, and the lobstermen sell their lobsters to the company. “The fishermen work for themselves,” he said. “They’re very proud, independent people.”

Burnt Cove Boil provides a unique vantage point on the industry, both literally and figuratively. From their picnic tables, customers might catch a glimpse of the full operation. “People come to Burnt Cove Boil around 5 o’clock,” McCarty said. “They may see a boat come in a little late and unload on the wharf. They may see someone go out, but probably not. They may see someone bait up.”

When McCarty is making sales, he said it’s important for him to remember how much work goes into “each and every lobster that I’m changing hands – incredible amounts of work.” He’s also seen how new regulations can impact lobstermen. One new regulation that caused a stir is ropeless gear, which fishermen are encouraged to use on a trial basis, and provide feedback on their experience to NOAA. “I’m observing an industry that’s often oversimplified, rising to what is being asked of them,” he said.

The gear debate

The proposition of a new, ropeless fishing gear comes after a long line of regulations intended to protect whales from entanglement. In his workshop, Lane pointed out a small hinge on a rope that is designed to break away when faced with a certain amount of pressure. Weaker ropes were adopted for the same reason. Overtime, the industry has become skeptical of new regulations. But conservationists such as Regina Asmutis-Silvia, executive director and senior biologist for Whale and Dolphin Conservation North America, says this time, things are different.

She shares this frustration: “Why provide a false hope to somebody who’s doing the right thing, who went out and bought these weak links and put them on there, and they don’t work? I’ve seen that happen over and over again,” she said. “It doesn’t build trust, it doesn’t fix things, It doesn’t make anything better.”

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Weak links and weak rope may not have worked. But if you take the rope out of the water entirely, it’s impossible for a whale to get entangled. This is why many groups are investing in new, ropeless gear. There are three main proposed models: the pop-up buoy, the inflatable lift bag and the buoyant spool. All involve remote activation, meaning the fisherman will need to send a signal from the boat, likely through an app on his or her phone, to call up the gear.

But some fishermen have concerns about how practical this gear is. NOAA manages a gear library, which Whale and Dolphin Conservation contributes to. Through this program, fishermen can sign up to test the gear. Their website states “We are currently prioritizing loans to commercial fishermen in the greater New England fixed-gear fisheries affected by time-area closures.” Time-area closures occur when whales are known to be feeding in the area. With ropeless gear, fishermen would be able to fish during these periods.

While Lane has not participated in this program, he said he’s heard of issues retrieving the buoys through on-demand technology. “Sometimes it won’t even release, so you’re stuck not getting your traps back at all,” he said. “There’s huge logistical concerns with that kind of fishing.”

Many agree that cost could be a significant barrier. One study found that on-demand fishing gear can cost up to $4000 per unit. “I sure hope you’d never be in a situation where you have ropeless gear in state waters, because it would be so expensive to have that setup for a single trap,” said Lane. “It would put everyone out of business, it would be so expensive.”

“It’s expensive, nobody’s denying that. But imagine trying to buy the first computer,” said Asmutis-Silvia. “Those costs are likely to come down.” She also argues that the high cost comes with the territory: “Fishing is expensive. Spending 100 grand on new engines for your boat, spending $75,000 for your truck is expensive,” she said. “In some respects it’s a cost of doing business, and then you know, you make a decision about whether or not you can afford to stay in business. And I think that’s what we all have to do.”

“There’s a lot of us that are putting our money where our mouth is, saying we want a solution. We don’t want to shut fisheries down,” said Asmutis-Silvia.“We’re trying to figure this out. We will buy this gear for you to use. You, in exchange, give us some data to tell us how to improve it. And then we take that information to NOAA and say ‘Hey, this works.’”

Captain Nate's place

When Lane was around 10 years old, he was walking with his dad by the water on his grandfather’s property. Lane had been just 2 years old when his grandfather passed away. “I didn’t really get to know him in any meaningful way,” Lane said. “But he left behind a lot of equipment, as many people do around here.”

Along the shoreline, Lane and his dad noticed an overturned boat. The pair rolled it over to look at it, and Lane remembers what good condition it was in considering it was likely 40 years old at the time. The pair decided to fix it up. “That was really neat,” he said.

“Then I also knew that my grandfather had some lobster traps that he had left behind too,” Lane said. These were also in usable condition. “I put one and one together and decided I wanted to start lobster fishing. So with the help of my dad, we fixed up that first boat and I got the lobster traps ready.”

Lane’s first year on the water was when he was just 11 years old. He was able to get five traps through a recreational license. “Ever since then I was hooked,” he said. “I just had to keep going.”

Today, 35-year-old Lane has 800 traps on the water and a much bigger boat. He went down to Massachusetts to get a business management degree, which he said helped him build his business. He also has a wife and two daughters: “we have a nice property here on the water and are just doing the best we can.”

Lane said growing up in Deer Isle, it was natural to him to have his community so engaged in the issues facing it. The towns are close-knit communities – “especially in the wintertime,” said Lane. “That’s when the locals can gather, exchange ideas, figure out where we want to go, what we’re doing. Largely we want things left the same.”

While there is resistance to change in the community as Lane explained, these discussions also inspire action. Town meetings and regularly well-attended. In December of last year, the town of Stonington launched a discussion series called “Talk of the Towns,” where residents gathered to discuss the issues facing their home – warming sea waters, storm recovery and more.

But even outside of these spaces, Lane said there are smaller discussions happening. “There’s lots of close knit families that are getting together and talking. There’s lots of fishermen down at the docks, talking in their pickup trucks,” he said.

And this is nothing new. “We have a huge tradition of lobster fishing on the coast of Maine,” Lane emphasized, with some fishing families going back more than five generations. “The consequences of this right whale conservation could end the entire legacy.” He said the repercussions go beyond those felt by fishing families – “A lot of smaller coastal towns would never look the same.”

Lane is a fisherman, but he’s also a father. He said that if you lost around 80% of the fishing community, “the schools would probably take the first hit. A lot of people would have to move away to a better job market, to be perfectly honest.” The real estate property is popular with summer visitors, but it would become harder for locals to sustain a year-round economy. “You could lose grocery stores and healthcare,” Lane said. “It would just really have a domino effect.”

The Port of Stonington

At the helm of the town, Kathleen Billings leads the community in preserving its heritage and guiding its future. Coming from a family that has been on the island since the late 1600s, Billings now works as the Stonington town manager.

“As usual, I put in a lot of time and effort into advocating for our fishing industry, which I really enjoy,” Billings wrote in a 2023 letter to the community, featured in the annual town report. “As our state’s #1 lobster port it is crucial that we have a leadership role in dealing with state and federal regulations.”

In a town the size of Stonington, the title of town manager fails to encompass its holder’s day-to-day duties. Billings also serves as the town’s treasurer, harbor master, tax collector, airport manager and more. She described her job as “putting together a lot of the pieces that a small, aggressive town with many departments has to have.”

Billings can sometimes be found working from a small office on Stonington’s commercial fishing pier. In the winter months, the only evidence of fishing was barnacle-clad traps and ropes. Some old bait lay out on a crate.

“People have a lot of spirit here,” Billings said. This spirit is what she believes enables town residents to live off of the sea and the land around them. At its core, Stonington is a fishing town. She estimated that the fishing economy is worth nearly $70 million. “If we didn’t have that, or it got shut down because of this right whale thing, we just don’t have anything to replace it with,” she said.

Billings assisted in developing an economic resiliency strategy for the town. One aspect of this plan is diversification – which she said is important looking to the future. She said some lobstermen have embraced this, while others have been less cautious. “Probably 60% of the fleet is good with managing their money,” she said.

But of the other 40%, there’s a few “smartening up.” Billings said some in the industry are “realizing they can’t have a second home in Florida.” Those that are attempting to diversify their trade are looking at scalloping or aquaculture opportunities. This includes fisheries like Deer Isle Oyster Company, which has begun farming kelp. “Some are just trimming down their spending and being more reasonable to see which way this shifts,” she added.

Beyond developing economic resiliency, Billings feels that Maine fishermen are being unfairly blamed for right whale deaths. “The poor whale is suffering more from the ship strikes,” she said, “and their feed is moving.” She argued these factors are often ignored, to the expense of the lobstermen. She feels that some of the conservation groups are radicalized. “Where is the middle ground, the middle ground of truth, that everyone can work with?”

“Why just tell the fishermen, you’re the cause of this? I mean bullshit. They are not,” she said.

Inside the 2024 annual Maine Fishermen's Forum

Across Penobscot Bay in Rockport,, many of Stonington and Deer Isle’s residents could be found in early March wandering the halls of the annual state fishermen’s forum. Stalls lined the walls of the Samoset Resort, a coastal getaway with a sweeping golf course along the water. Attendees ranged from members of grassroots organizations to fishing gear salesmen.

The Downeast Lobstermen's Association greeted visitors to their booth with a striking symbol hanging on the wall behind them: a lobsterman, entangled in red rope, with the caption “Who’s endangered now?” Sheila Dassatt, the organization’s executive director, said she was there fighting for her children and grandchildren, “so that they can have a future like we did.”

Throughout the resort, the presence of the Maine Lobstermen’s Association was highly visible, with representatives donning bright yellow shirts. Many of them filled the room for the day’s most highly anticipated event: a panel with representatives from NOAA discussing issues facing the industry, including right whale regulations.

Patrice McCarron, policy director for the MLA, was met with laughs when she stood up to ask a question: “this might come as a shocker, but I’m going to ask about whales.” She wanted to understand the timeline of how NOAA would be developing new regulations and a new biological opinion, or bi-op, gearing up to 2029.

“One of the challenges with the bi-op is we’ve got two conflicting legal opinions that we’ve got to figure out how to reconcile,” responded Michael Pentony, NOAA regional administrator. The crowd murmured, and McCarron pushed back: “I don’t think you do,” she said. It was a decidedly heated moment. “One was overturned and one is still standing.”

McCarron was referring to the biological opinion that required a 98% risk reduction, which was overturned, and a second opinion that decided this opinion was wrongfully giving the benefit of the doubt to the right whale.

“It’s just disappointing, because we work really hard to have our information correct and make sure we’re not giving fishermen misinformation,” said McCarron. “And then somebody in a really powerful position, unless I’m really missing something, is just not up to speed on the state of play.” She said this is one reason why fishermen feel frustrated with the process.

McCarron still remembers the night the first biological opinion dropped. She said it was 1,000 pages, and she decided to read through it. “I started reading and I’m like, holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit.” She had to spring into action to bring a legal team together. “I know what it feels like to be shocked when the bi-op drops,” she said. And she’s hoping not to feel this way in 2029.

Who's to blame?

“At the end of the day, none of us want to kill any whales,” said Lane. “That would be really sad and tragic.” Many in the industry feel that this sentiment gets lost in the increasingly polarizing fight to save the North Atlantic right whale. “We really do have a conservation mind, but we also need to know that we have a future on the ocean.”

“At this moment it feels like we’ve been overtaken by an agenda that is just too extreme and just not reasonable. Because all it considers is the whale and it never considers the human in the equation,” he said.

Ben Grundy, oceans campaigner at the Center for Biological Diversity, also reflected on this balance. The Center for Biological Diversity has been heavily involved in litigation surrounding the issue.

Grundy grew up in Southern California and said that his first interaction with nature was spending time in and near the ocean. “It holds a special place in my heart,” he said. Being able to protect species from deaths caused by humans is rewarding work for him. But he too feels like sometimes the narrative gets confused.

He believes some of this has to do with how information is shared: “there is only so much space for so many words and so many quotes that can be shared from both members of industry, and from agencies.”

Grundy said the problem isn’t one that can be captured in a two sentence quote, and this blurs the diversity of thought that exists among different groups and individuals on both sides of the issue. “Not everyone thinks that fishermen are trying to kill whales, and not everyone thinks that NGOs are trying to end fishing,” he said.

Grundy lives on the West Coast, but despite his distance from Maine, feels that engaging in conversation with stakeholders is crucial to navigating murky waters.“Continuing to keep people engaged so that the correct information is being put out there is one of the most important pieces of the full issue,” he said.

Addressing attendees at the fishing forum, NOAA said that there won’t be much clarity about new regulations until the 2029 deadline nears. As both lobstermen and conservationists await that fateful New Year’s Eve, whales continue to risk entanglement and fishing families continue to worry for their future.

“There needs to be a lot more compromise and balance for a future where we can all exist together,” Lane said. “That’s just what it comes down to.”