Spring
By early
April the first diatom bloom occurs, and millions of microscopic green
glittering primary producers briefly turn the navy-blue waters of winter green,
only to bust by a combination of being grazed upon by zooplankton and depleting
the nutrients in the water themselves.
Then
knotted wrack or rockweed, Ascophyllum
nodosum, "goes spawny" along the rocky shoreline's intertidal
zone. During this roughly month-long process, which usually begins in
mid-to-late March, the algae's olive-colored fronds turn a slimy brown, and
their tips' yellow receptacles first swell up and then break away, soon
releasing gametes for the future generations.
Animal
harbingers catch my eye, too. Late March is announced by the white specks of
once-planktonic barnacle larvae suddenly settling on new fixed and floating
homes--especially buoys, traps and rocks.
Suddenly
catching good numbers of two- to five-inch-long rock eels and cunners in the
traps again also tell me it's spring. These fish then move inshore and become
active again....A bottom water temperature above fifty degrees Fahrenheit,
often felt in May, seems to trigger the cunner movements. Usually the spring
lobster run is not too far away.
The final
spring harbinger, the April departure of most of those cute but pesky and
pilfering harbor, grey and hooded seas to more northern waters, is welcomed by
Cape Ann lobstermen. Some three hundred seals winter on the Big and Little
Salvages, the rocky outcroppings and ledges about three miles off of Rockport.
Summer
Much
happens between this season's June arrival and September departure. The marine
ecosystem's productivity machine makes hay while the sun shines under ideal
conditions of abundant light, food and warmth. Flora and fauna grow, build up
their body reserves, and multiply as new generations hatch and old ones die.
Other
lobstermen, along with recreational fishermen and boaters' activities on the
crowded inshore grounds, cause tension, too. You often then get set over by
other lobstermen's gear, making it hard to pull up your traps. Fishing inside
this time of year can get to be downright "seagull," as everyone vies
for the tight inshore grounds, much like seagulls diving for food on the beach.
Another
late summer biological occurrence, the shoreline, coves and harbors teeming
with huge schools of migrating two-to-three-inch-long menhaden or
pogies....These silvery fry hug the shallows, sometimes swimming amongst the rockweed
at high tide, in a vain attempt to escape predators like voracious pollock, mackerel,
bass and bluefish.
Fall
Early
fall's high activity slows down dramatically by its official December 21 end.
The surface water temperature often drops to the mid-fifties by the end of
October, and the forties by December. The thermocline in the water column gets
closer to the bottom as the cold works its way down....The fall shoreline often
thunders with pummeling surf and waves.
The
dinoflagellates bloom in the fall and fire up the dark ocean. The movements of
swimming fish and passing boats agitate these top-shaped single-cell
microscopic organisms to luminesce.
The
catching of warm-water fishes--triggerfish, filefish, sea horses and scup--in
lobster traps signals early fall. Offshore storms and hurricanes usually drive
thee Cape Ann rarities into northern waters either from the Gulf Stream or up
from the south.
Early
fall's inshore waters become "very active" with bluefish and striped
bass as they feed, fatten and group up in preparation for their imminent
southward migration. Most of the time, these fish leave Cape Ann waters in
early October.
The skies
becoming peppered with vacillating flocks of migratory eiders, old squaws and
scoters is a traditional September through November harbinger. These birds fly
head on in great numbers, often just above the waves when the wind blows
northeast. Majestic gannets move south about the same time, then are frequently
seen dropping out of the sky, plunging into the ocean's surface like arrows
after fall-fattened mackerel.
Winter
Winter ends
the annual seasonal cycle. The water, like the creatures that live within it,
usually rests; just surviving is now the name of the game. Except when agitated
by waves, the ocean water becomes very clear, sometimes down to a depth of over
fifty feet. It also becomes uniformly cold or isothermal from the surface to
the bottom, often hitting thirty-four to thirty-six degrees Fahrenheit. The
lowest light levels and (usually) the coldest air and water temperatures slow
down nature's production machine to a near halt except for the spawning
activities of cod, winter flounder, herring and northern shrimp.
By early
winter the lobsterman's mind is working on relaxation despite being enveloped
by this season's early-on gloom and doom ambiance created by the short days and
dark mornings. I still feel pressured to earn as much as I can then, knowing
the holidays and tax time are just around the corner, and every little bit
helps.
"Do I go, or don't I go?"
I make this decision at home by first listening to the weather reports and then
looking at my weather instruments. If there's further doubt, I'll step
outdoors, glance at the tree branch movements and listen to the sound of the
ocean before going to the wharf. Most of the time I'll go, preferring to get my
work done early. If the ocean is too rough, you can always turn around and come
home. Many other lobstermen make their last-minute decisions from their warm
pickup trucks at their favorite ocean observation spots. The truck heater feels
awful good on questionable days.
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