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Commercial fisherman Stephen Dahl works his nets from his 18-foot skiff on Lake Superior in this photo taken by his apprentice, Jason Bradley.
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Stephen Dahl
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Stephen returned the photographic favor by taking the picture of Jason.
Don’t Count Out Commercial Fishing on the Inland Sea
There is a 3- to 5-foot sea out here today. The northeast wind is holding steady, for now. But I don’t want to be out here in another hour or two. The seas will probably be over 6-foot by then.
It will be a “following sea” when I head in, increasing the chances of “taking one over the stern” (the end of the boat) or plowing into the back of a wave and overwhelming the bow (or front). Overhead, steel gray clouds scud by. There are bursts of sunshine, then grayness and wind.
This is Lake Superior in late spring. My home port on Minnesota’s North Shore is Knife River, 1 1⁄2 miles to the southwest.
The wind, the sea, the clouds – this is my workplace. I’ve been out alone many times in my 18-foot herring skiff in this type of weather, silently sliding along my nets, picking out the herring. I can “slide” my nets because they are semi-permanent, set with heavy anchors on each end in early April, remaining in the same location until I pull them out in mid-December. So rather than lifting the net completely out of the water each day and resetting it, I just lift up one end, pull it over the bow and slide along to pick off the herring and let the net return to the water.
But today is different for me out on the lake. I have an apprentice. His name is Jason Bradley. He sits in the bow, his back to the incoming seas. This is the sourest weather he has been out in with me, but he seems to be OK.
Commercial fishermen seldom use the word “waves.” Rather, you will hear: “There’s a helluva big sea out here today” or “There was a 4-foot sea yesterday.” When you use a small herring skiff like mine, it’s time to head home when they start approaching 6-foot, especially if they are “sharp,” which is another way of saying the seas are very vertical, straight up and down. I’ve been out in 10-foot seas with my herring skiff; it was fun. But they were big, slow rollers and I just rode smoothly up and over. If they had been sharp, I probably wouldn’t be writing this.
Today I’m standing about 4 feet back from Jason. I pull on the cork line, and he pulls on the lead line. We thump down into the trough of a big sea. I laugh as I try to regain my footing. Jason smirks as he tries to look over his shoulder to ask, “What else is coming at us?”
Still laughing, I answer, “Don’t look, just keep picking.” Then I realize it would be good for Jason to look at what is coming at us. One day he may have his own boat.
“We’re almost halfway through this net,” I say. “Do you want to change places? I wouldn’t mind sitting for awhile.”
“Sure, that would be good.”
“I’ll hold the net down to the deck so you can crawl out of there. If they start coming over the bow, then it is time to head home. But for now, we are fine.”
Jason seems reassured. This world of boats and waves needs some getting used to.
There are 25 commercial fishing licenses for the Minnesota waters of Lake Superior; all of them are filled. To obtain a license, you need to work as an apprentice for two years. It’s a good system, a necessary system. There is much to learn out here – for skill and safety – that can only be accomplished with hands-on doing.
I frequently talk to groups about our commercial fishing industry, and I know the common misperceptions.
Perhaps the most common error is believing “big seas” created by storms most affect us. Really it’s the currents – and, yes, the Lake has currents.
The worst (strongest) currents occur late summer and early fall when the surface water has warmed considerably, as high as 65° F. Deep below the surface, the water remains at 39° F. If a northeaster blows for two or three days, pushing that warm water toward us on the North Shore, the surface water will curl under and meet much colder water. The current this creates is compounded when a strong low-pressure system moves in.
For fishermen, currents that are strong enough can mean anchors start dragging and nets get pulled down or slide a mile or more. Not fun.
I have seen nets only a quarter mile from each other bow in different directions, bent by different currents. My nets are 250 feet long and 14 feet deep. I’ve had as much as 900 pounds of fish in a net. I usually set them 4 fathoms (24 feet) from the surface. Sometimes, when I come up to these nets in the early morning, the current is so strong, they are impossible to lift. The force pushing against them is too great to overcome. I just have to wait until the next morning.
Another misperception I often encounter from non-fishermen is that mine is a “dying industry.”
Two points dispel that myth:
One – our apprentices, people like Jason. Usually two to five people in Minnesota who have completed their two-year commercial fishing apprenticeship are waiting for a master’s license to open.
Not all intend to fish full time, but younger people are coming to this field. I have apprenticed a couple of folks. They accept the difficulties of our occupation: physically demanding work, herring that disappear for weeks … and then there are the storms. The apprentices often come because they want to connect to the natural world through their work, and they are passionate about providing local food. Jason and his wife, Cree, exemplify this idea. Both college educated, they have chosen to start a CSA – a community supported agriculture – farm 8 miles north of Two Harbors. They provide organic produce (and herring) to more than 80 members, who pay an annual fee to support the farm and then share in the harvest. Jason and Cree still get new members.
This leads to my other point indicating the positive future of commercial fishing:
Two – the local food movement, slow-food movement, organic and, in our case, “wild-caught” food movement. These have created a good problem for me: I can’t keep up with my market. I must limit myself to providing fish to only a certain number of businesses, currently that includes New Scenic Café, Kendall’s, Mount Royal Fine Foods, Earthwood Inn, Vanilla Bean and the Super One in Two Harbors. I may be naively optimistic, but demand for local and organic food has increased dramatically in the last decade and continues to do so. I expect the market to be like the northeast wind out here this morning. It is going to blow stronger.
Jason and I have picked the last herring from the net. I drop the end over the bow and ask: “Do you want to run us back to the marina? Looks like you’re doing fine. It would be good for you to experience handling a skiff in a little rougher weather.”
“Sure,” he says as he takes control and we head in.
A good morning – with plenty of fish to fill the day’s orders.
About this issue’s Journal writer: Stephen Dahl has worked in north Norway, studied in Denmark and did graduate work in Scandinavian literature and languages at the University of Minnesota. He has fished commercially in Alaska and, for 25 years, on the North Shore. The author of the award-winning book Knife Island, Circling A Year In A Herring Skiff resides with his wife, Georganne, and two Siberian huskies, near Knife River.