Breakfast on the Bay

The time between leaving the mooring and making it to the first trap is one of the best parts of the day- once I've baited up about a box worth of bait bags, it is just commute time.  Nothing much for me to do but look out the window; except, in my case there's no window, there's the stern platform.  I finish my coffee, check out what sort of sunrise is happening (fishermen become sunrise connoiseurs), look out over the water.

Lately, this last bit has been fairly captivating.  On days we are fishing down the west side of Isle au Haut, we're steaming over a broad expanse of open water.  The mornings have been what is referred to as "flat ass calm" and the water has been alive with schools of herring- rippling silver out of the surface of the water.  Where there's small fish, there's soon the animals that break their fast on small fish.

The sparkle of sardines on the water draws the terns, with their rilling "pew, pew, pew, pew!" and gliding dives.  Soon the seals are circling and harbor porpoises are making their measured dives; a few degrees of sun light later, the puffins are buzzing in from Seal Island flying for all the world like bombers.  On the second day of the schooling herring, far off the starboard side, I saw not a porpoise.  It was dark and finned, but much longer, and even more leisurely in its dive than a porpoise.  There was just- more body to deal with.  Surely I had seen a whale.  I voiced the sighting to Dave, and by and by, he saw it, and affirmed I had not lost my mind, but had in fact noted a minke whale.  Which is not a harbor porpoise.

That was my first identification win of the week.  A few days later, I noted another not-quite-porpoise that was far lighter in color than any self-respecting harbor porpoise, and was downright jaunty in its dive.  "Um, are there... dolphins around here?"  "Yep, Atlantic White-Sided Dolphins."

I WIN!  AGAIN!  I can officially tell when something is (probably) not a harbor porpoise.

So while I watch the various marine creatures snack on the herring, which must also in turn be snacking on something else- I am typically drinking coffee (at this point lukewarm), and wishing I was having breakfast too.  Recently, a friend brought pickled herring while staying at the house with us, and while I am of 25% Swedish extraction, I don't watch herring school and crave that particular cultural offering.  It would totally fit in my reduced-carb diet, but I am much more Mainer than 3rd generation Swedish-American.  Give me a freaking doughnut.  Or poutine.  Is the low-carb version of poutine just melted cheese and gravy?

Happily, before I get too hungry, we are full tilt into the fishing day.  The day before yesterday, the weather had turned on us, and the smorgasboard on the bay was not so ebulliantly on display.  The sky had turned grim, and the wind over the water had picked up.

Exhibit A: Conditions go all broody
.  Very Swedish.

The past few nights have been "super moon" nights where the moon is full and particularly close to earth, which means super tides- 13 footers.  We'd made it down to our traps off the south end of Isle au Haut- deep water, with a ripping tide will suck down the gear, making buoys vanish and reappear like Houdini.


As we neared the first pair of one string, we saw the left-overs of someone's breakfast, snagged in the line and buoy.  It was half a harbor seal.  Go a link up the food chain beyond seals consuming herring, and you have sharks consuming seals.

This particular shark was not very frugal in its use of its food, and certainly did not think to re-purpose the pelt to make superior-quality cold weather wear.  Fucking sharks.  In this case probably a Mako, because we suspect that the Great Whites which have been hunting in our waters with increasing frequency would have done a greater job at cleaning up.

We pulled the remains free of the line, and hauled the traps- only to have the tide carry the body directly to our next pair of traps.  Another day on the bay.