LOBSTERING ON THE 'SHITPOKE'
OSGOODVILLE
QUARRY SWIM
QUARRY PICNIC
FIREFLIESToday we’re on another boat - the ferry boat from our home port of Rockland, Me to the island of Vinalhaven. The Maine coast is peppered with islands, of which Vinalhaven is the largest. Vinalhaven is home to lobster fishing. As the ferry pulls into Carver's Harbor, we are overtaken by the ‘Shitpoke’ a typical lobster boat, operated by two burly men in orange pants and tee shirts.
“Why do lobstermen wear orange pants?” I inquire to no particular purpose.
“Perhaps, their red ones are in the wash.” suggests my equally speculative spouse.
Lobsters, it seems, were not always a luxury item.
In the 19th century, lobsters were considered poor peoples’ food. They were what Mainers ate when they were on their uppers and couldn’t afford beef, fowl or even fish. In Portsmouth, NH in 1857 the prisoners at the local jail went on a hunger strike to protest being fed lobster six days a week. (On Sundays they got salt beef.) De gustibus non est disputandum.
Before lobsters became valuable - rocks were the principle product of Vinalhaven
About 10,000 years ago a mile high glacier descended from Canada and scraped the coast of Maine down to bedrock. Bedrock on Vinalhaven happens to be a very fine grained and very hard pink-grey granite which is perfect for county seats, federal courthouses and commercial buildings. So in the 1840's quarrymen from Europe were imported to harvest this granite from Vinalhaven‘s exposed geologic substrate. At one time, over 3000 workers were employed in the quarries.
When lobster became a luxury food, the quarrymen all became lobster fisherman, lobsters being much easier to harvest than bedrock. The quarries themselves have filled with water and make excellent swimming holes.
It’s over 90 degrees today and I am inclined to go for my first and earliest swim of the season. Rena and I rent single-speed bikes at the Tidewater Motel, which is the most happening place in downtown Vinalhaven.
After some hard peddling (there are hills), we pass through Osgoodville (pop.50) and pull off the road at Booth Quarry Town Park. The park is fairly basic. One abandoned quarry, three picnic tables and an orange life preserver with no rope attached. I pick up the life preserver.
“Safety first!” I reassure Rena and as I toss the circular safety apparatus into the quarry.
It actually floats!
Rena acknowledges that the bright orange ring will probably keep my head above water long enough for help to arrive, and I strip down to my shorts and dive in. The water is not exactly balmy but it’s not freezing cold either. I’m able to swim a few strokes before returning to the quarry lip and crawling out on the warm rocks.
I towel off and Rena breaks out the hard-boiled eggs, trail mix, celery and carrot sticks.
We spend some time lazing on sun-baked granite, and then clamber back on the bikes for our return trip.
All in all, it’s a relaxing way to spend a day. The sun is setting as we arrive back in Rockland. We split a dinner at the The Boat House Restaurant. Poached salmon slathered with cream cheese and chives, wrapped in puff pastry and baked-- Yum!
At night I take a hike on the golf course that surrounds our resort. The moon is almost full. I enter a small dale, where dozens of fireflies are winking a welcome. Their green/white fairy lights are a sure sign of summer! New England’s best feature is surely the slow progression of her four seasons --Spring-Summer-Fall-Winter -- each more beautiful than the next. Truly we are blessed.
Tomorrow we leave Maine for Cape Cod.
“Why do lobstermen wear orange pants?” I inquire to no particular purpose.
“Perhaps, their red ones are in the wash.” suggests my equally speculative spouse.
Lobsters, it seems, were not always a luxury item.
In the 19th century, lobsters were considered poor peoples’ food. They were what Mainers ate when they were on their uppers and couldn’t afford beef, fowl or even fish. In Portsmouth, NH in 1857 the prisoners at the local jail went on a hunger strike to protest being fed lobster six days a week. (On Sundays they got salt beef.) De gustibus non est disputandum.
Before lobsters became valuable - rocks were the principle product of Vinalhaven
About 10,000 years ago a mile high glacier descended from Canada and scraped the coast of Maine down to bedrock. Bedrock on Vinalhaven happens to be a very fine grained and very hard pink-grey granite which is perfect for county seats, federal courthouses and commercial buildings. So in the 1840's quarrymen from Europe were imported to harvest this granite from Vinalhaven‘s exposed geologic substrate. At one time, over 3000 workers were employed in the quarries.
When lobster became a luxury food, the quarrymen all became lobster fisherman, lobsters being much easier to harvest than bedrock. The quarries themselves have filled with water and make excellent swimming holes.
It’s over 90 degrees today and I am inclined to go for my first and earliest swim of the season. Rena and I rent single-speed bikes at the Tidewater Motel, which is the most happening place in downtown Vinalhaven.
After some hard peddling (there are hills), we pass through Osgoodville (pop.50) and pull off the road at Booth Quarry Town Park. The park is fairly basic. One abandoned quarry, three picnic tables and an orange life preserver with no rope attached. I pick up the life preserver.
“Safety first!” I reassure Rena and as I toss the circular safety apparatus into the quarry.
It actually floats!
Rena acknowledges that the bright orange ring will probably keep my head above water long enough for help to arrive, and I strip down to my shorts and dive in. The water is not exactly balmy but it’s not freezing cold either. I’m able to swim a few strokes before returning to the quarry lip and crawling out on the warm rocks.
I towel off and Rena breaks out the hard-boiled eggs, trail mix, celery and carrot sticks.
We spend some time lazing on sun-baked granite, and then clamber back on the bikes for our return trip.
All in all, it’s a relaxing way to spend a day. The sun is setting as we arrive back in Rockland. We split a dinner at the The Boat House Restaurant. Poached salmon slathered with cream cheese and chives, wrapped in puff pastry and baked-- Yum!
At night I take a hike on the golf course that surrounds our resort. The moon is almost full. I enter a small dale, where dozens of fireflies are winking a welcome. Their green/white fairy lights are a sure sign of summer! New England’s best feature is surely the slow progression of her four seasons --Spring-Summer-Fall-Winter -- each more beautiful than the next. Truly we are blessed.
Tomorrow we leave Maine for Cape Cod.
DAKTARI
