Alewife, a species of river herring native to Eastern North America, has been harvested at Maine’s Damariscotta Mills fish ladder since the early 1800s. Two hundred years later, the ladder was falling apart and the numbers of fish making their way upstream to spawn had dwindled. So a group of local residents started raising money to rebuild it. They decided to start a festival devoted to this little fish with a funny name. But would anyone come?

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Damariscotta Mills Fish Ladder Restoration

Alewife, a fish with a funny name, lives in the ocean and swims upstream to spawn in lakes along the east coast of North America. Historically, their vast populations fed everything from eagles to whales. But human-made obstructions like dams have blocked some of their largest migration routes for centuries. This is the story of how a group of determined citizens cleared one stream in Maine—and waited for the fish to return.

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Maine Rivers

Additional Music Credits

"Our Only Lark" by Blue Dot Sessions

On the tiny Caribbean island of Dominica, a remote beach serves as an ideal place for sea turtles to lay their eggs. The Dominica Sea Turtle Conservation Organization (DomSeTCO) keeps watch over the turtles when they come ashore and protects them from poachers. But after the devastation of Hurricane Maria, DomSeTCO’s organizers knew they needed more than shoestring grants to stay solvent — they needed a business plan. Marine biologist Jake Levenson had an idea that drew on the island’s agricultural strengths: why not try making rum?

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Dominica Sea Turtle Conservation Organization

GoFundMe for the Rosalie Conservation Center

After a shark scare when she was a teenager, Pat Gallant-Charette never liked wading past her waist. So when she decided in her 40s to compete in a 2.4-mile ocean swim, she had to suppress her fears. Now an internationally decorated marathon swimmer, Pat still wrestles with anxiety on every swim. And she has seen sharks. But she tells herself: “stay focused, and swim.”

Researchers have found that ocean noise is a big problem for underwater life. Human activities like shipping, naval exercises, and oil exploration pump the oceans full of loud noises that marine species haven’t adapted to. So when the global economy ground to a halt due to COVID-19, did the ocean quiet down?

Links

Dugald J. M. Thomson and David Barclay. “Real-time observations of the impact of COVID-19 on underwater noise.” The Journal of the Acoustical Society of America 147: 3390 (2020).

Rosalind M. Rolland, et al. “Evidence that ship noise increases stress in right whales.” Proc. R. Soc. B. 279: 2363–2368 (2012).

As the pandemic rages, we’re all staying home. That has cut many of us off from the places we go to find solace in normal times. Coupled with the endless stream of terrible news washing over us, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. So where do you turn to calm down when you can’t pull your eyes away from your computer screen? Filmmaker Jessica Ellis has a suggestion: aquarium webcams. Watching some swaying kelp or undulating jellies helps her restore mental balance. And she’s not alone. According to the Monterey Bay Aquarium’s Ken Peterson, their web traffic is up ten-fold since the start of the lockdown.

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Monterey Bay Aquarium web cams

“What Lies West”

Hub & Spoke

Music

“Kelp Forest” by Douglas Morton

Michael Gorman looked up to his older brother Kevin. Kevin was smart, independent, rebellious. He became a commercial fisherman, despite the fact that fishing jobs were drying up. But along the way Kevin developed a heroin addiction that took over his life, and he died of an overdose. Michael’s response to his brother’s death was to write a series of plays that make parallels between Melville’s “Moby Dick” and opiate addiction in the fishing industry. Gorman has brought his plays to venues like the Portland Fish Exchange in Portland, Maine, and the Fisherman’s Co-op in Vinalhaven, where they become part teach-in, part community catharsis. His latest play, “Chasing the New White Whale,” runs at LaMama theater in New York through December 9, 2018.

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http://lamama.org/new_white_whale/

Music

“Flaked Paint” by Blue Dot Sessions

Conservation-minded regulations have cut New England’s groundfishing fleet in half. But have they improved the health of the ecosystem? Some fish stocks are recovering, while others - like cod - have continued to decline. And the quota system designed to protect those species creates a perverse incentive: fishermen are throwing dead fish overboard rather than landing them, further damaging the health of the stocks.

Tim Rider loves to fish, and he does it well: the fish he catches bring top dollar at high-end restaurants in Maine, Vermont, and New Hampshire for their quality. But even though his operation is a model of ecological stewardship, regulations designed to help rebuild depleted fish stocks in New England are making it hard for small-scale fishermen like Tim to make a living.

Every spring, fishermen in Maine put out nets to catch baby eels - also known as elvers - as they make their way up streams from the ocean. They don’t look like much, but the 2-inch-long eels are worth up to $2,500 per pound, making them about 500 times more valuable by weight than lobster. That’s because aquaculture operations in Asia will raise the wild-caught eels to full size, then sell them for their meat. And while populations in Europe and Asia have collapsed, Maine and South Carolina are the only states that allow fishermen to catch the baby eels. The result? Huge profits for the few fishermen who have permits to catch them. Darrell Young, co-director and founder of the Maine Elver Fishermen’s Association, explains the business and takes us to check his nets outside Ellsworth, Maine.