To the outports, in search of fish!

Fortune, Newfoundland. After exploring the capital for a few days, and after gathering up as much of the current fishing news as possible, I’ve now made my way to the southern coast. I’m looking to check out the fisheries in the town of Fortune, population roughly 2,000, located just south of the town of Grand Bank and on the tip of the Burin Peninsula. A beautiful little town here. Local fisheries are well developed for cod, snow crab, lobster, capelin, whelk, and squid. Other fish, including haddock and pollock are frequently delivered as bycatch. Boats in the harbor range form 16 to 70 feet, although it seems that most of the boats around at this time of year are between 34 and 45 feet.

In a town this size a newcomer can’t simply slip in unnoticed. Small town affairs avoid the eyes of few. The first couple of nights I’ve slept under the stars, definitely pushing the limits of my sleeping bag’s thermal capabilities. This, due to stubborn and foolish tendencies, is nothing new for me. Weather around these parts is variable this time of year, but wind is frequent, and sub-freezing temps are not uncommon. Luckily, no rain so far, and days have been packed with checking out boats and “fish talk”, which to my delight, every resident seems as keen to do. Lots of valuable insight offered up for those who want to listen, filter, and salt. And everybody I speak with seems to know where I’ve slept the past few nights, and any other information I’ve passed up to others in town. I’d better keep my stories consistent…

Some of the boats have wrapped fishing up for the season, but the boats remaining are primarily rigged to fish cod with bottom gillnets. This is a method I’ve never seen before, and I’ll describe in more detail later. It seems that many of the boats fish any and all palatable weather and shift through a variety of fisheries: snow crab with pots in April, lobstering with traps in June or so, whelk fishing with pots all summer, then fishing cod with longline or gillnet gear in the fall. This is different in some ways from Maine and Alaskan fisheries, which seem to be outfitted and dedicated for one or a couple of fisheries, but seldom four.

The Newfoundland accent, especially once out of St. John’s, is truly noteworthy. I was born and raised in a state known for it’s distinctive, thick coastal accent, but this is an entirely new ballgame. When talking with folks, there are often entire sentences where I can’t make out a word. Hard to believe that we’re speaking a common language, with the exception of a few catch phrases I’ve picked up on. This is mainly that almost every sentence ends with a mutation of the words “boy” or “buddy”…although it’s more like “yis b’y” and “g’d bidy” to my ears. The accent is great, but I’m having a heck of a time not nodding in affirmation to a completely unknown question. Who knows what I’m committing to…

Greetings from Newfoundland!

A hearty hello from St. John’s, Newfoundland. The rugged island of Newfoundland rises proudly out into the stormy north Atlantic and has a legendary fishing history, tracing back to John Cabot in the late1400’s, and likely before. Newfoundland is certainly one of the most historic commercial fishing areas in North America. Bountiful cod attracted early visitors to “cling to the rock”, as the locals say, and it still plays an important role, immediately apparent to any newcomer. Up here, the role of fisheries minister is a very high-level and controversial political position, and is taken very seriously- probably equally as that of minister of the economy- and it seems every Newfoundlander is versed in current fisheries issues, and happy to yarn on about them.

I first arrived in the capital of St. John’s, a city which is home to roughly half of Newfoundland’s half million residents. The rest of the population is scattered in the “outports” (everywhere else on island). Similarities with both Maine and Alaska abound, but the terrain surrounding St. John’s is uniquely rugged, and the downtown feels much older, and rightly so. The harbo(u)r is a thing of awe- one of the best imaginable deep water natural harbor. Beyond the mouth of the harbor 20 footers were rolling in with force, sending spray a thousand yards inland from the high tide mark.

Fishing directly out of St. John’s this time of year is slow. Perhaps these days it often is, as it seems that while St. John’s relies on the urban portfolio to keep it afloat, the heat and soul of provincial fisheries lie in the scattered outports. This is why I’m keen to get out of the city and into one of these fishing-dependent communities. I’ve arrived past the peak, and well past the season for predictable fair weather for the north coast and east coasts of the island. A walk through the boats showed little activity, with the exception of a swordfish boat (I believe the sister ship to the Andrea Gail of Perfect Storm fame) taking on bait and food for a long trip in the Grand Banks. From talk it seems that the shrimp industry is now perhaps the preeminent fishery on the island as of late, at least on the north shore.

A few things have become quickly apparent. The legendary hospitality of Newfoundlanders is in no way exaggerated. It’s fairly uncanny just how happy the average islander is to chat it up or to offer a hand. In just a day or two upon arriving, I’ve been offered rides, drinks, and tours aplenty. One kindly gent offered up, “everything but the kitchen sink, and that if you really needs it.” Uncanny generosity. I’ve learned that when pronouncing Newfoundland, the accent is on the LAND- it rhymes with understand. Saying it any other way is a sure way to raise a few eyebrows. Using the abbreviation “Newfie” isn’t advised either- some take strong offense to it, although Newfoundlanders have a keen sense of humor and are especially willing to poke fun at themselves.