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You can tell whether a lobster is male or female by turning it upside down and looking at the underside of its stomach (which most people call the tail). The first pair of pleopods or swimmerets on a male lobster are hard, whereas on a female lobster they are soft and feathery. (Females store fertilized eggs on the underside of the stomach until they are released.) Fishermen who bring up a female lobster that is carrying eggs cut a V-shaped notch in the end of her tail and throw her back in the water to protect her and her eggs until they hatch: others who catch her later will recognize the notch and also set her free. The notch identifies her as a“breeder,”and her return promotes lobster conservation for now and the future. In The Secret Life of Lobsters, Trevor Corson tells a story about the time one of the lobstermen he wrote about hauled up his trap to discover a lobster dressed in a Barbie-doll outfit, including high-heeled sandals. In order to find out if she was a breeder, he had to lift her skirt to see the notch. About a week later another lobsterman brought her up again. She had, Corson reports, walked three miles in her high heels (though he doesn’t say how many—high heels, that is).1 That is one example of a lobsterman’s sense of humor. Here is another. Ellen Ruppel Shell, a correspondent for the Atlantic magazine wrote a personal essay for the New York Times about a kayak trip thatalmostendedbadly.Sheandherhusbandwentoutforapaddle on a“gorgeous” November Saturday morning. They were not surprised to be the only small craft heading out because, as she knows (and as the promotional ads point out),“Maine is a state of mind,” and they were in good spirits. But the weather quickly changed, and a gust of wind dumped Shell head first in forty-seven-degree water. The hypothermia countdown gave her about forty minutes The Bartender and the Lobster 148 , i , l o b s t e r before her body temperature would fall below the critical ninetyfive degrees Fahrenheit,resulting in probable heart and respiratory failure and death. Her husband managed to help her back into her kayak and handed her the water pump. But he lost his paddle in the process. And they were being blown out to sea. Either calculating or panicking, Shell got back into the water to swim to an island she figured was a hundred yards away. Then recalculating —not the distance, but the decision—she chose not to leave her husband, who wasn’t a swimmer.“And then I heard a motor,” she reports.2 It was a skiff with five lobstermen, who had been out hunting, lobster fishing season being over. There was a deer in the bottom of the boat, and Mr. and Ms. Shell soon joined it there. She continues: One guy laughed—my shivers, he said, were strong enough to power the boat, which was good because they were almost out of fuel. Another guy, also laughing, said,“We’ve got enough to get these fools home.” A joint was lighted, and offered, as were bottles of Twisted Tea.3 Both stories have a pedagogic punch line, the first having to do with conservation (a good fisherman will respect what he finds under a lady lobster’s skirt) and the second with caution (as in discretion is the better part of valor). Both stories are contenders for being added to the Maine folklore chronicles. Those chronicles were launched in 1956, when Richard Dorson took a tape recorder large enough to need transportation by car to the northern Maine coastal town of Jonesport and nearby Beals Island—a fifteen-minute ride on a ferry that could carry four autos. Dorson collected narratives and anecdotes from the residents ,“pure-bred Yankee fishermen” who made their living mainly from catching lobsters, clams, and herring.4 The stories ranged from ghost tales to the exploits of a renowned hometown giant, who took shelter from a storm in a blacksmith’s shop. There, fearful that the metal of a plough would attract lightning, he picked the five- or six-hundred-pound machine up by the handle, swung it around his head a few times, and threw it a safe distance away. Dorson heard about several local séances, or“calling the spirits.” [18.218.61.16] Project MUSE (2024-04-24 03:25 GMT...

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