"Another haul of nothing"

There’s an art to water hauls.

You change the topic – otherwise they’ll drive you mad, or drive you West.

So when N.L. fisherman Dennis Hedderson was getting ready to check a mackerel trap he expected to be empty and found a reporter on his wharf, he seemed relieved to talk about anything besides fish.

“If you take a picture now, everyone will be calling the Noddy Bay crowd lazy.”

It’s hard to get a straight answer from any of the seven Hedderson brothers – every answer is a joke carrying a wink. They always defer conversation to the newcomer’s life, teasing them and welcoming the same in return.

But this isn’t just a game – it’s an art of survival. For the wells of frustration in the small boat fishery are so deep, that wise fishermen avoid looking down them. It keeps them from getting bitter.

The Heddersons’ two longliners and one trapskiff tied up to the Noddy Bay wharf are surrounded by frustration’s gear. There’s lobster traps that came with Carl Hedderson’s enterprise – he’s not allowed to use his lobster licence in Noddy Bay because it was bought in Norris Point. And he’s not allowed to fish the traps in Norris Point because his boat is registered in Noddy Bay. There are piles of toad crab pots – an attempted fishery for which a buyer couldn’t be found.

“It seems like we’ll just do it anyway,” says Dennis of fishing despite small quotas, constraining regulations and high fuel costs. Five of the seven Hedderson brothers fish – as the family has done for over 100 years since Jacob Hedderson settled in Noddy Bay. Baxter, Hubert, Dennis and Wilfred are teamed up for mackerel.

“It seemed like the thing to get into when we were young and now it’s just what we know.”

Yet, in spite of the troubles, the brothers are jovial as they arrive at the wharf. Two younger fellows, Shane Hedderson and Brandon Eddison, soon arrive on a motorcycle wearing rubber clothes.

The trapskiff, Cresty Wave, rumbles into life, leaves the wharf and rocks gently as it heads towards the trap. Shane and Brandon, meanwhile, roar across Noddy Bay in a speedboat, skipping along the water about the trapskiff.

The two boats meet inside the trap – a huge submerged box made of netting with a leader to direct the fish swimming along the shore into the trap’s entrance. Once inside the trap, the netted floor is hauled up along one side of the Cresty Wave. The fishermen set to work hauling the floor up evenly, an oft repeated ritual that required no directions – each took their place and kept an even pace.

“Another haul of nothing,” says Baxter Hedderson as the trap floor comes near the surface and the water churns with herring.

It’s been a bad year for the Noddy Bay crew.

Due to this spring’s ice cover in the Strait of Belle Isle, they couldn’t get a longliner out into the seal herds and were only able to get 30 from a small boat. When the capelin season opened, their trap filled with mackerel, which they couldn’t sell because that season hadn’t opened yet. When mackerel opened, their trap filled with capelin, which they couldn’t sell because the season had closed. And now they find herring in their trap, which they set free because no one is buying it.

“It’s regulated to death – you can’t move or fish when you want to,” says Baxter. “If we’ve got fish we should be allowed to sell it. With a trap you can only catch what’s in your area at the time – the fish don’t care what season is open.”

The Department of Fisheries and Oceans manages the groundfishery based upon a competitive quota system, rather than an individual quota system, which would give fishermen a certain amount to catch when they chose. The opening and closing dates are set in consultation with the Fish, Food and Allied Workers’ (FFAW) union. But the FFAW represents fishermen of many gear types – those fishing mackerel with mobile gear from longliners want different dates than those working traps. As well, different species run at different times in different areas, meaning what’s a good season for Noddy Bay may not be a good time for Raleigh.

“Got any mackerel?” hollers Carl Hedderson from the Mary Beneta as he passed by on his way to chase the same fish.

“About as many as you had last night,” replies Shane.

The crew lets the net drop back to the harbour floor and heads back to the wharf a little less jovial than on the way out.

Surveying their catch, they count 33 squid and 24 mackerel – enough to fill a small dip net.

Back at the wharf, the brothers stand around their boat not talking, all looking away from the dip net.

Then, remembering their hospitality, they offer the entire catch to the reporter.

He doesn’t like mackerel so he kindly refuses.