The Fishing and Culture of Lobster

We are the only boat that sets to work before thebody.
sun has come over the mountains. Only the pale greyAnyone who has caught a fish knows what this
beginnings of a day are at our backs as we slip pastwithdrawal looks and feels like, and how quickly it
the white-washed walls of the harbour and therealises itself. Once on land, or on deck, the mercurial
lighthouse with its sweeping light. Though the bay ismottle green of the cod, or even the subtle glisten of
pincered between two fingers of land the water isthe dun brown, much- maligned Pollack, fades in
rough, slapping against the sides of the boat, sendingmoments to the, in comparison, earthly familiarity of a
spray into our faces. Our boat is uncovered, a small,dead fish. Only just before the fish leaves its medium
open punt, because we are after the lobster pots thatis the vivid life seen to be believed. With a line cast
fringe the shallower waters close in to the land. Onlyfrom the shore in late summer when the mackerel
that we have a small boat and the skipper an expertcome in to feed, the cut and thrust of three or four of
at manoeuvring her through the difficult waters, canthose muscular bodies pulling on the line is enough to
we get in so close, like between the two tall stackssuggest something potent. Just before they are hauled,
that lie to the north where he lay two strings the dayhopefully, clear of the water, the glint of silver and
before yesterday.green as they dart in the same direction, like a flock of
I stand at the starboard side and hook the buoy in.birds swarming, is the closest we can come to
Once strung onto the hauler the pots come in regulargrasping the spirit of these creatures.
and the process is quick: he empties the pots, whiskingCooked on a plate lobsters appear skinned, but even in
the catch into one box and keeping what's good forthe tanks, meandering slowly and depressingly around
bait (conger, dogfish, wrasse); I take them and re-baitother lobsters they despise, their claws bound so as to
them, mostly with the mackerel halves that he salts allprevent them doing what they would otherwise do-
year in a disused freezer on the quay. The bait smellsfight each other to death, possibly even eat each
sweet and sour; the lobsters like that. I carry the potsother, cannibalism being one of their traits- they have
to the back of the boat and stack them ready tonone of their natural pied- beauty, that which Manley
shoot when we take off again after the next string.Hopkins described as 'all things counter, original, spare,
We're lucky to get a single lobster from a string ofstrange'. And there is no doubt lobsters are 'counter'.
twenty pots. There are plenty more crabs thrownSolitary to the point of violence, an asceticism that is
without care into fish boxes. They move slowly anddistressing for fishermen as one rarely finds two
awkwardly, like robots with dying batteries. Even whenlobsters in the same pot, lobsters are never easy to
a claw tears loose there is no sign from the dull crabfind. For a long time now scientists have been
that anything untoward has happened. In your hand hisfrustrated by the fact that for one stage in their life
delicate legs tread the air and his tiny tongue strikescycle, a stage when the juvenile lobster is the size of a
from a terrifying mouth in quick, darting movements.baby finger, they disappear. They don't know where
When a lobster is first sighted in a pot there is alwaysthey go or why they go, only that for a short period
a remark ('There he is'). The blue-black is the deadthey are undetectable, that they become 'cryptic'.
give-away. It was only as a twelve year old boy, in aThere are records, now so much a part of popular
sea front restaurant, that I discovered that garish pinkhistory that it is hard to tell fact from fiction, which tell
was not the lobster's natural colour. I had wanderedof such a plenitude of lobsters on the East coast of
away from the table while the adults talked to the tankAmerica that they were fed to prisoners. An old map
near the entrance. I had thought it was decorative butfrom the 16th century showing features of the new
found instead a dozen of more lobsters piled on top ofland depicts ranks of lobsters crowded along the
one another. As I stared from behind a small palm treecoast from Rhode Island to Boston and accounts
I saw a lady with high heels and presumably herreport of three and four pound lobsters emerging from
husband approach the tank with an immaculatelythe sea like a scourge. A hundred or more years later,
dressed waiter. They laughed and smiled as theyas European cities grew, painters took to portraying
pointed at the different lobsters. The waiter rolled upthe lobster as a favoured subject in still lifes. Alongside
one of his sleeves and drew out two sedate lobsters.skulls, hour-glasses and candles, symbols of the
He placed them in small, stainless steel pot and carriedephemeral, and pepper, citrus fruits and nutmeg,
them out of the dining room with his sleeve still rolledsymbols of burgeoning global trade and power, the
up. The lady kissed the man on the lips and giggled. Ilobster, always fresh cooked and pink, took his place. It
didn't realise how brutal all this was at the time butis not immediately clear, as with the other symbols,
something certainly felt odd. Why it is that lobsterswhat the lobster represented. Even now the lobster is
escape the type of sentiment we apply to othera rare, expensive item and access to fresh sea food,
animals? Ten years later I had supper with aespecially in the cities, must have ensured a high price
Norwegian fisherman and his friends. He had keptthree hundred years ago. But it is difficult to imagine
aside ten lobsters over the past few weeks for athat they were so sought after- in Ireland only fifty
lobster feast, one of three or four occasions he, or hisyears ago they fished with open, French barrels,
friends, host during lobster season, which lasts fromallowing the lobsters come and go as they pleased so
the beginning of October to New Year's Eve. We ateplentiful were they. Perhaps then it was temporality;
two lobsters a person and drank aquavite from ourthe thought that soon the lobster will be consumed, like
glasses with the antennae of those very samefruit or flowers at the height of their bloom, holding in
lobsters. A photograph taken towards the end of thethat zenith point the inevitability of decline. But unlike
evening shows five red, hysterical faces after thefruit or flowers the lobster is never known at its height,
gorging.never blue-black and barnacled.
Lobsters are adapted to hide amongst the weed andWhen they are taken from the pots the slick process
rock so their tones and textures, not obliterated by theof hauling, baiting and stacking is momentarily disturbed
boiling water, are much more various and revealing.because the lobsters must be put somewhere safe.
Bio-technology wants to realise the ingenuity andUnlike the crabs, tossed helter skelter in the fish boxes,
potency of these kinds of natural quality. With his wellworking on each other with little malice, the lobsters
evolved colouring for camouflage, his fitted armour andhave to be kept away from everything. Mostly they
ferocious claws, for both cutting and crushing, I canare passive and immobile, abdomen hanging loose,
well imagine the lobster being used as a prototype forclaws unwieldy and useless, like wrenches in the hands
some sub-marine weapon in the future. Even nowof young boys, as they are placed on an old net, a
there is something peculiarly technical and mechanicalbarrel, or even in the cabin window if the other places
about the lobster, as if he was run on hydraulics andare taken. Now and again, from fury or fear, or both,
intricate internal mechanisms. This apparent lack ofthe lobster flexes his whole body like a spring, rapidly
vulnerability is not just a fancy. There is a very strongpulling the fan at the end of his tail in towards his head.
suggestion that lobsters can live forever. Scientists callThe noise is unworldly. From somewhere inside there
this remarkable trait 'negligible senescence'. It is thoughtis a creaking, something mechanical, or what you might
that their slow pace of growth places them in a kind ofimagine alien communication to sound like; a series of
parallel time in which years are experienced more likejust perceptible squeaks and blips, and obviously not
minutes, not abstractly of course but at the level ofhappy.
their very flesh. Either way by tarrying with time theyIn those moments after being rushed from one world
live for an as yet undefined period, a thought whichto another the lobster's shell reflects and refracts
immediately conjures up the image of cow-sizedevery blue you can imagine. From lightest aquamarine
lobsters roaming the deep sea floor, feeding on whaleon the underside, almost yellow tinged, to the darkest,
carcasses and ruined ships that take days to simpermost mysterious blue-blacks on top. Some think that
down from the surface.the mysterious blue dyes found in certain rare fabrics
Like most marine life the lobster instantly desiccates onin the Far East originate from the processed shell of
being removed from the sea. Through an intensethe lobster, a process we have now lost, or, possibly, a
expenditure of energy, at fright and sudden violence,colour so rare in the lobster itself that we fail to notice
he retracts from the world and loses in the meantimeit. There is a quality of unsettling transience in the just
the force of his peculiar lustre and shimmer. Perhaps acaught lobster, the same that makes the sea so
rough comparison can be made when the reversetantalising. This is the closest we can get to the tide
happens to humans. As flesh hits the cold water therechange, when flow turns to ebb, the point that
is a tightening, a withdrawal, and, left long enough, aseventeenth century painters from Haarlem, if indeed
gradual disintegration of colour, texture and form asset on illustrating the transience of life, might better
the salt and cold work on unthreading a once vibranthave found if they had set to sea for lobsters.