PORTRAIT OF A LOBSTERMAN 



Most problems in lobstering have to do with people. 

 Hence, this picture of a lobsterman is placed at the begin- 

 ning of this book. 



Lobstermen are often a breed apart, as anyone might 

 be who worked alone most of the day with only the expanse 

 of the sea and his own thoughts to keep him company. The 

 interest of his job lies in the repeated anticipation of what 

 catch will be in the next pot he hauls; and if it is empty, 

 hope and interest are revived for the succeeding haul. It is 

 a lonely job, requiring getting up before dawn, and can be 

 cold and wet and discouraging. The result is a distinctive 

 personality, as described by a salesman of lobster plugs. 



Two brothers, young fellers, maybe thirty years 

 old, run a well-found marine store. It is well up on 

 the ledge and is reached by a sandy, two-rut road that 

 seems to lead nowhere. But it does arrive at the shore- 

 front in a clearing with several summer cottages, many 

 of them overhanging the rocks. 



The two brothers are interested in plugs; they are 

 courteous and on their toes. They think the plugs are 

 good, but they want " Hen-ray's " opinion ( Hen-ray 

 being mentioned with deference as though he were the 

 last word in lobstering ) . 



Fine. The three of them will go and tell the story 

 to Hen-ray. They troop down a gravelly path, zig-zag- 

 ging through the blueberry bushes and ending in a 

 gangway spanning the water to a float. 



Hen-ray's vessel is the only one tied up, and is a 

 fine craft— a 36-footer with a high stem, a handsome 

 sheer and a square transom, painted white. Her port 

 side is scarred, in spite of the horizontal strips of wood 

 to protect against the banging of lobster pots. A cock- 

 pit takes up three-quarters of her length, and at present 



