Shucks Maine Lobster

At Owls Head Lobster, the scent of salt water and salted herring permeates the air. The wharf bustles daily with activity, as lobstermen leave with the sunrise and dock again in the afternoons to sell that day’s catch. Meanwhile, those at the wharf are busy unloading truckloads of bait and monitoring the lobster pound, where lobsters are kept so they can be sold year-round.
But out in the open water on Total Eclipse, the noise of the wharf has faded into the hum of the boat’s engine, the whir of the pulley that yanks the traps from the ocean floor, the slap of the water against the hull, combining to create the distinctive concerto of the Maine lobsterman life.

Scott Herrick, captain of the 37-foot MDI, hooks one of his orange- and blue-colored buoys and pulls up a trap. He picks off the seaweed, tosses the bait-pilfering rock crabs back into the water and removes the lobsters gently from the trap.

“When they’re soft, you have to handle them like eggs,” he says.

The lobsters don’t usually reciprocate this consideration. Scott remembers how one disgruntled lobster stuck its claw through the trap and pinched his stomach. “Didn’t that hurt—it was brutal,” he says.

Scott was born in nearby Rockland, but, unlike most Maine lobstermen, he wasn’t born into the business; rather, he married into it. His father-in-law taught him the ropes of the business, and though he never imagined growing up to be a lobsterman, he enjoyed lobstering so much that he decided to make it his career.

“I just love being out on the water,” he says.

Now, with 12 years of lobstering under his belt, he and his brother, his sternman, pull in forty- to fifty-thousand pounds of lobster a year. His experience has taught him how to expertly adapt to the elements from weather to other wildlife, like developing ways to keep seals from breaking into the traps and eating the bait. Though many lobstering skills are handed down the generations, each individual must devise his or her own methods for success. And, like superstar athletes, when lobstermen find a trick that seems to work, they stick to it religiously.

“One hundred different people will have 100 different stories about traps, what works, what doesn’t,” Scott says.

After hauling seven traps, he has caught 11 lobsters, most chicken lobsters or “chix,” which average about a pound. He measures each to make sure it meets the size requirements, checks to see if any are breeding females that must be thrown back, and then bands their claws. As he navigates the boat back into the bay, the radio crackles with the voices of his fellow lobstermen as they make jokes.

“We like to have fun while we’re out here,” he says. “We work hard, but we like to enjoy ourselves as well.

“The best thing is that it’s never the same thing—you never have two days the same,” he continues. “You never know what to expect. And I love being outdoors,” he adds. “You see a lot of amazing things. The sunrises are great.”

The Ocean Farmers

At another jut of land called Spruce Head, in a three-story home with windows overlooking the ocean, John and Lynn Post are so passionate about lobstering that they often interrupt each other in a rush to describe their experiences.

“The biggest challenge is that the water is always moving,” says John. “I’ve taken many people out hauling in my day, and some people don’t have any motion problems, and some people do. That’s what makes you nuts after 20 years.”

“It’s wild,” says Lynn, who had never seen a lobster trap before she went out with her husband. “There’s nothing like it that you could do to make a living, and you don’t get it unless you were born here and you’ve lived it.”

And lived it they have. John’s father is a 25-year veteran of the lobster business, so John practically took his first steps while at sea. “I’ve been fishing ever since I could stand up on a boat,” he says.

He’s been lobstering off Metinic Island, south of Spruce Head, on his own for 14 years now, having spent six years as his father’s sternman. His cousin, Ryan Post, also lobsters off the same island.

Their pride for their lobstering heritage is evident, as the Post house is full of nautical relics—old wooden lobster traps, framed charts of the area, and painted models of lobster boats and sailboats. And, of course, images of the Maine lobster are everywhere—on the dish towel, as plush toys perched on the couch and lamps, and as an elegant silver decoration over the front door. A photo of John’s boat, the Kingfisher, holds the prominent spot over the fireplace mantle.

“I was thinking about buying a new one,” John says, studying the still image of the boat’s bow cutting through the water, “but it’s hard. I’m too loyal to it.”

John doesn’t equate loyalty with superstition in the way that others might stick with a certain trap color in a belief that one hue over another attracts more lobsters.

“Some people swear by Pepto Bismol pink or lime green, but it’s just a way to mark your gear and be different—break up the monotony,” he says. “I doubt very highly that the color of the trap affects anything else.”

The list of lobstermen lore is extensive and sometimes bizarre: If a lobsterman finds a lumpfish in his trap, he must kiss it and throw it over his left shoulder, à la spilled salt, for good luck. A hatch cover can never be put on upside down and the word “pig” can never be uttered on a boat, for both spell disaster.

“I’m not too superstitious,” John says. “If I gotta haul, I gotta haul, even if it’s Friday the 13th. I just might be a little more cautious.”

This “gotta-haul” attitude has not kept John from developing a respect and an almost philosophical awe for the crustacean that provides him his livelihood.

“We all have theories, but the truth is that the lobster is still somewhat mysterious,” he says. “It’s like that saying, ‘The more you go, the less you know.’ They defy our way of thinking, and we’re always changing how we do things from year to year.”

Though this unpredictability makes the lobster business exciting, it also adds a frustration felt by only those people who depend on the earth or ocean to make a living.

“It’s stressful,” John says. “You have to make your living in a short amount of time. If you get sick or hurt, or you have boat trouble, it’s very costly. We’re farmers, period. We face the same challenges: economy, price. We’re at the mercy of a lot of obstacles.”

He may be one of the top haulers in the area, but John takes nothing for granted. Despite all the hard, dirty work, he realizes how lucky he is to experience life on the water.

“It’s a way of life for us,” he says. “Some people don’t have the opportunity to do this, so it makes us unique.”

The Best Lobsters in the World

Both Scott and John exemplify the Maine lobstering tradition, and there are many more like them, rising each day with the sun and going out onto the Atlantic Ocean, in rain, fog, wind and cold. They harvest their lobsters in some of the best lobster grounds in the world, earning Rockland the title of “Lobster Capital of the World” and enticing lobster lovers everywhere to the annual Maine Lobster Festival to sample these lobsters themselves.

Their passion for their way of life means that they are always working to harvest the best Maine lobsters in a way that is sustainable and effective. Their respect for the lobster industry and their dedication to their communities equate to high-quality lobsters found nowhere else. When you buy Shucks Maine Lobster, you know you’re supporting hard-working, innovative and dedicated lobstermen and women like Scott and John.

What They Say About Shucks Maine Lobster
Scott: “It was really good, and a lot juicier and plumper than the traditional way,” he says.

John: “It’s a healthy alternative for the industry. It’s convenient and there’s no mess. That’s the biggest thing to me, because cooking lobsters is a mess.” He suggests using Shucks Maine Lobster to make Maine Lobster pizza.