Sea Folk

by Jim Wellman

  Carol Penton, publisher of the former Fogo Island Flame, hooked a rug depicting her interpretation of the inshore sealers tragedy (Photo courtesy of Carol Penton)

  Family is More Important Than Money

  His name is Alcide.

  If you are asking anyone in the Prince Edward Island fishing industry about him, that’s all you need. Everyone will know exactly who you are asking for because, on PEI, Alcide Arsenault from Port Egmont is a household name.

  No, he’s not famous or high-profiled in media; Alcide (pronounced Al-sid) is just known for his long involvement in and commitment to the fishing industry. He is also known for his common-sense wisdom, his generosity, and desire to help others make better lives for themselves in the fishery.

  Alcide chatting with a colleague attending the annual PEI fishermen’s conference in Charlottetown, 2011

  (Jim Wellman photo)

  He’s also the epitome of consistency. Born to French Acadian parents eighty-one years ago, Alcide still lives just a few feet away from the old family homestead where he grew up. He started fishing in 1944 when he was in school. Sixty-eight years later, he is still a full-time fisherman and enterprise owner and still fishing the same grounds. He started his career fishing mainly lobster, and that’s the way it is today. His son Kenneth joined him in the business about thirty years ago, and when Alcide retires, Kenneth will pick up from where his dad finishes. But Kenneth may have to wait a while yet—Alcide shows no signs of slowing down.

  When Alcide started lobster fishing in the 1940s with his uncle, they had a small boat powered by a little five-horsepower engine. “We could only go about three or four miles an hour in those little boats,” he says. Unlike today, lobster fishermen on PEI set their traps in long strings back then. “We’d have something like eighty to a hundred traps all tied together on a line with the traps about ten fathoms apart.” Alcide explains that setting their traps in such long strings took some ingenuity, because the small, twenty-four-foot boats could only carry about a dozen traps at a time. He says the day before season opening, the fishermen would be out “stretching” their lines to have them ready for setting. On setting day, they would set a dozen traps and tie a buoy at the end of the rope and go back to port for another load. “On the next trip you would start at that buoy and continue until all the eighty traps were all tied together and set them. When they were all done, we used to have two big buoys, one at each end—it was hard work and took a long time,” he explains in his French Acadian accent.

  The technology was different back then, too. “We didn’t have nylon twine or anything like that, and every year it would take you a month and a half or so just to get ready.” And of course there were no hydraulic haulers on boats back then either—traps were hauled by hand. There were no trap limits, but most fishermen in Alcide’s area on the southwest area of the island, in the Northumberland Strait, used to work about 400 traps per crew. He says some crews on the other side (north side) fished as many as 1,500 lobster traps. Alcide remembers that catch rates were much better years ago than they are today. He says 400 traps would yield about 800 pounds of lobster a day in the first few weeks of the season. He also remembers that prices were around sixteen cents a pound, rising only to thirty-two cents in the early 1960s. He also fished herring and mackerel in his early years. “That was in the days when there were herring to catch; now the big seiners have it all.”

  Reliability is also one of Alcide’s trademarks. He’s been a member of the PEI fisheries association since it was established. The association’s thirty-second annual general meeting was held in 2011 and Alcide was one of the first people at the door. He has never missed a single AGM. He has also been a consistent participant at regular meetings and has always been the “voice of reason” for the membership. “You are never too old to learn,” he says, adding that he is not always the one with all the knowledge. “A lot of young people are very smart these days—I can learn a lot from them, too.”

  Alcide doing what he loves best—at the helm of his lobster boat (Submitted photo courtesy of the Arsenault family)

  One of his biggest concerns these days is globalization or modernization of his industry. “It looks like the government favours big business and is going to allow the large companies to swallow up all of us little guys—and if that happens, it will be a sad day for us all,” he opines.

  Alcide has often been asked why he hasn’t sold his enterprise and retired to enjoy his “golden years.” At eighty-one, the father of three sons and one daughter has had opportunities to sell on several occasions, including through government-run license buyback schemes in recent years. But Alcide is not interested. “Family is more important than money,” he states firmly. “And my son has fished with me for many years and it is important that I do what’s best for him—but not only that, fishing is my life.”

  Fishing has indeed been Alcide Arsenault’s life for sixty-eight years and it will be his raison d’être to the day he can no longer stand up in a boat. “I can’t wait to get up in the morning, especially when it’s fishing season,” he says.

  It doesn’t bother him that the life he chose hasn’t offered big financial rewards. The virtues of family and a life of contentment made more sense to Alcide. “We never took big vacations and had things like that, because when the children were young it took everything to survive, and then times got harder,” he says, explaining that catch rates have been very poor in recent years. “In 2004 we only landed 2,400 pounds of lobster. At $4 a pound, that was hardly enough to pay expenses.” Alcide and Kenneth operate a forty-five-foot fibreglass vessel. He says that there has been some increase in catch rates in the past couple of years, adding that some fishermen sold their licenses and that leaves a higher quota for those remaining.

  Norm Peters has known Alcide for years. Norm, a fellow fisherman from North Rustico, PEI, describes his friend as a man who has always been an elder statesman who was wise, steadfast in his beliefs, but always knew when compromise was the prudent option. Norm says Alcide also embraced new technology and change as vehicles of opportunity and improvement.

  But a chat about Alcide always comes back to his outgoing and easy demeanour. “Every time you talk to Alcide, he lifts you up—he makes you feel good,” Norm says with a smile, adding one last point. “And he loves a good game of cards and chocolate cake.”

  Practice, Practice, Practice!

  The Newfoundland crab fishery was late starting in the spring of 2011 due to a price dispute, and when the two sides eventually reached agreement, it was with a great sense of relief for everyone in the business. For fishermen it was all about salvaging what was left of the most lucrative part of the all-important crab fishing season. On the east coast of Newfoundland, snow crab quality is at its best early in spring, and fishermen and processors alike want to land as much as they can while it is at peak value. Snow crabs begin their annual moult in summer and, during that process, they develop something called “soft-shell.” When that happens, DFO closes the fishery in the area.

  As soon as fishermen and processors agreed on a price for crab, hundreds of vessels were ready to untie and head for the fishing grounds. One of them was the Marine Clipper II in Harbour Grace on Newfoundland’s east coast, located about an hour’s drive northwest of St. John’s. Captain Paul Caines and his four-man crew sailed out from the harbour just after 2:00 a.m. on Friday, May 4, heading to a crab fishing area east of St. John’s.

  For the first few hours it was fairly smooth sailing, but after rounding Cape St. Francis the Marine Clipper II faced a brisk southeasterly wind and ten- to twelve-foot seas. While those conditions were not ideal, especially as they were heading straight into the winds, there was no need to change plans or consider going into a nearby port, because the Clipper was a sturdy, seaworthy boat that had shrugged off seas far worse than that. Built by Vernon Petten, a highly respected boat build
er from Port de Grave, the fifty-five-foot fibreglass fishing vessel was comfortable in those conditions.

  After leaving Harbour Grace, there was only one man on watch at any given time, because the crew were all intent on getting as much sleep as possible. Once they reached the crab grounds, rest would become an elusive thing.

  Shawn Hughes from Bartlett’s Harbour on the west coast of Newfoundland started his watch at 7:00 a.m. Aside from the captain, Shawn was the most experienced crew member on the vessel, having fished on various types of vessels. The other three crewmen were Steve Hickey, who was making his first ever trip as a fisherman, Steve Coombs, and Yves Marshesseau.

  The two Steves were known to the others on the boat as Little Steve and Big Steve. Steve Coombs was a big guy weighing 250 pounds or more. Yves, originally from Quebec, was called Frenchie.

  Shawn says everything was going fine for the first two hours of his watch despite rough seas. It was overcast and about seven degrees Celsius, but visibility was good. “I was steering the boat in a bit of a zigzag fashion to avoid punching straight into the wind and seas—sort of like tacking a sailboat,” he says.

  Because of the seas, Shawn wasn’t very concerned when he saw an alarm light come on in the wheelhouse at 9:00 a.m. Thinking that the heaving and pitching of the vessel might have caused some things to shift, triggering a censor to react, he didn’t pay a lot of attention to the light for a few seconds. “We had 480 crab pots, five or six thousand pounds of bait, miles of ropes, a load of fuel, and a lot of groceries and everything on board, because we were planning on being out for nearly a week, so I just thought it might have been a bit of water around the bilge or something and that a sensor might have been responding to all that weight,” Shawn explains.

  But Shawn Hughes is not a person to ignore a safety alarm for long. He admits to having had a bit of a cavalier attitude about safety issues years ago, but he said he worked on the oil sands projects in Alberta for several years, where safety practices on the job were drilled into workers constantly and, eventually, he became a total convert. When Shawn came back home to Newfoundland and went back fishing, he preached safety like a religion. “Safety is not silly,” he explains to anyone who will listen, and “practice, practice, practice” has been proven so many times to save lives. “I always worked with new guys on board, showing them how to put on their survival suits and all that stuff,” he says. On this day, practice and his ingrained safety “culture” probably saved his life and the lives of his fellow crewmen.

  Looking around the vessel from the vantage point of the wheelhouse didn’t indicate that anything was wrong, but, again, Shawn’s intuition from years of experience told him to check the engine room.

  “I couldn’t believe it! I opened the door to the engine room and everything was dark. The light in the engine room is always on, so at first I didn’t know what to think. I reached in and, sure enough, the light switch was in the ‘on’ position, so I thought the light must be burnt out or whatever. And then, all of a sudden, it hit me—it was smoke and it was pitch-black, I couldn’t see a single thing,” Shawn remembers.

  As adrenaline started pumping, Shawn recalls yelling “FIRE!” as loud as he could while standing near the entrance to the galley area where the rest of the crew were sleeping. “Little Steve was the first up—came up in his underwear. I said, ‘Get your survival suit, we got to get off this boat.’” Normally it’s the captain’s decision to abandon ship, but Shawn knew there was no time for protocol. “I kept thinking about movies I’d seen on TV when there was a lot of smoke and suddenly there was an explosion and everything bursts into flames. I was thinking that if an explosion happens here, we need to be away from this boat.” Right behind Little Steve, Captain Paul Caines scrambled up the steps and headed straight for the engine room. “I think he had it in his mind that he was going to try and put the fire out. He reached across the door to get the fire extinguisher, and I don’t know what he hit or touched or whatever, but he must have touched off something, because he seems to have gotten burnt. He stepped back and looked like he was going to try again, but it was too hot to chance it, so he closed the door to the engine room, but by then the engine room door had been open long enough that a lot of smoke had escaped from the engine room into the galley.

  Marine Clipper II ablaze at sea off St. John’s

  When Captain Paul Caines closed the door to the engine room, it was obvious there was nothing the crew could do except to prepare to abandon ship. Shawn Hughes was more than ever in the mindset that where there’s billowing black smoke, flame is not far behind, and when there is flame on board a fishing vessel, an explosion is probably close at hand.

  “Boys, we need to get our survival suits on and get off the boat,” Shawn remembers yelling. As Paul closed the engine room door, he also called for everyone to get survival suits on as he ran to the wheelhouse to issue a mayday. By then the wheelhouse was filled with smoke and flames, and Paul received some minor burns. He grabbed the microphone and called, “Mayday!” but he wasn’t sure whether the SOS had actually transmitted, because he thought that the equipment may have already burned out.

  Shawn Hughes recalls the events as they unfolded, but he says the time frames are totally distorted. “What seemed like five or ten minutes was probably just a few seconds, and what was in fact was a minute or two seemed like hours—you just can’t tell—everything is so unreal,” he says.

  Little Steve (Hickey) was the first up to the wheelhouse. Although this was his first-ever fishing trip, he remembered the safety drills and was the first one suited up and ready for the next move. While Paul, Big Steve (Coombs), and Yves were getting their suits on, Shawn told Little Steve to get up on the wheelhouse and get the life raft ready. Seeing that Little Steve was having some difficulty with freeing the raft, Shawn realized that this was the first time the young man had ever had to free a raft, so he climbed up to give the rookie fisherman a hand.

  While Shawn and Little Steve worked on the raft, Paul was getting things prepared on deck, but Big Steve was having trouble getting into his suit. And, in the chaos, he was a little overwhelmed and probably had forgotten the procedures.

  With the raft finally in the water, it was time to get off the burning vessel. It was about then that Paul and Shawn realized that Yves was not on deck. Just as the others were beginning to fear the worst, Yves appeared from the galley through the back door. Apparently he went back to try and find his wallet. Breathing a sigh of relief that all were at least safe on deck, the men started boarding the life raft. Paul yelled for Shawn to get the Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacon (EPIRB) while he was figuring out the best way to deal with Big Steve. The big man was still not in a survival suit and time had run out. With flames growing bigger and getting closer, the men had to go over the side.

  Fortunately, the wind and the seas had pushed the life raft tight against the side of the Marine Clipper II, taking some of the dangers out of getting into it.

  Because Big Steve didn’t have a survival suit, the captain decided that the big crewman would be the first to go. They tied a rope around him and all four lowered their shipmate down into the small, six-man rubber raft. The other four all successfully made it to the raft without getting wet.

  With the seas and wind continuing to push the raft against the large boat in what was a positive manner a few minutes earlier, it had now turned into a negative. Trying to paddle the raft away from the burning vessel was extremely difficult, and even after they managed to get about twenty feet away, they found themselves directly on top of an underwater stabilizer, a triangular sheet of metal known as a “fish.” With the boat heaving from side to side, bringing the stabilizer fish up underneath the raft, the men risked being tipped upside down, but moving farther away seemed impossible for a few minutes. Eventually, they realized that if they paddled the raft parallel to the Clipper and not directly into the wind, they w
ould get out of harm’s way.

  The next worry was dealing with Big Steve. Clad only in light clothing, the cold air temperature had started taking its toll and he was showing signs of hypothermia, including drowsiness. Paul and Shawn knew that falling asleep could mean death when one is hypothermic. Shawn, the most extroverted and animated of the lot, was determined that Steve was not going to doze. “I had a flare in my hand and I said, ‘You can’t go to sleep—you can jump, you can talk, you can sing as loud as you want, but you can’t go to sleep, and if you try, I’ll hit you with this flare’—he looked at me and he laughed.”

  To help keep Steve as warm and dry as possible, the crew wrapped him in a sea anchor covering.

  Once Big Steve was taken care of, the crew sat in the small raft bobbing around in twelve-foot seas and wondering if Paul’s mayday was heard and whether the EPIRB worked. “We just sat there, bobbing away, and I was saying we were all safe and everyone was going to be okay. I was just hoping that the emergency beacon had worked, because you never really know if they’re going to work—if they’re going to send their little signal into the sky.”

  Not only had the emergency beacon worked, but a vessel in the area heard the mayday and was racing toward them.

  Paul thought he could hear a noise, like the sound of an engine or ship, but in the high and noisy seas they couldn’t be certain. Shawn looked up through the canopy opening and, sure enough, he saw a mast on the horizon. At first Shawn worried that it might be nothing—he’d heard about people imagining things in times like this—but after another look he decided it was real. “That’s when I let off the rocket flare,” he says.