Regional Storyteller

By Laurent d'Entremont



Happily, I can report that, however humble my role in the 1960s, I did earn my living as the hired hand aboard lobster boats of the period.

While this may have been the closest I ever came to working, I can still remember my first “dumping day� aboard the Rita E. with Delphis (Fish) d’Eon and his brother Maxime sailing out of “Le Rocher� in Yarmouth County.

A stiff wind blew from the northwest as we loaded the trap boat (a 30-ft boat used to get herring from the fish trap). This was towed behind the big boat, as it did not have a motor.

It did not take very long for me to know whether I would be seasick or not. Very soon my dinner and most of my inside went over the railings of the trap boat. That was no fun at all. It took me three days to get over my seasickness. The only reason I did not quit in disgrace was because I would never have been able to face my grandfather who had gone to sea at 13.

When I got my sea legs, I was gaffing buoys and operating the old-fashion pot hauler. The float along the buoy-line was made of glass and often it would get tangled with the rope or slap against the exhaust pipe and break. The captain took a dim view of this.

The next spring (1962) a fisherman who was well past the retirement age asked me to fish with him and his son, as their hired man could not go. They fished near Mud and Round Island. (Tusket Island group). At Round Island the tide made an eddy and the current would flow in two directions at the same time.

In April and May, lots of lambs were born on those islands. It was fun to watch them get their strength on wobbly legs as they prepared for the rugged life that lay ahead of them.

On days when the fog was as thick as pea soup, the veteran lobsterman would sail with nothing more than a compass, a kitchen clock to measure time, and by allowing for the running of the tide he would find all his buoys with no problems at all. This amazed me to no end. I wonder how many captains could find their buoys this way now?

The most fun I had as the hired man was sailing with my grandfather’s brother, Charles J. d’Entremont (Charlie Muir), one spring aboard the “Laurent & Remi�, a 40-foot boat built in 1943 for my grandfather and his brother. It was named for my brother and me.

Now the boat was over 20-years-old and “Uncle Charlie� was near 70, so there was no need to hurry. Charlie, an easygoing person, who had been married and widowed three times during his lifetime, never gossip or said a mean word about anyone. Few can claim those virtues.

This was likely his last year of fishing. We had 200 traps and we went out only in fine weather. This was not fishing but more like pleasure cruising.

At noon, we stopped to eat our dinner, most often cooked without any ingredients on the old cuddy stove. When we came to the wharf there was usually a “distributor� there with “refreshments�. For 50 cents we could get two ounces of the good stuff. This did not offend the old time fishermen at all as it capped the day’s work. Since I had not signed the pledge I was soon contributing my half dollars to the cause as well.

One windy day, Charles d’Entremont, who had been captain of the swordfishing vessels Muir and Strickland Brothers, expressed a wish to visit his old friend and former employer, Laurence Sweeney of Yarmouth and I drove him there in my old pickup truck.

It was good to see the old captain and the Yarmouth fish dealer reminisce about days gone by. I had never seen Sweeney and was surprised to see that he was a small man. Somehow I had heard so much about him from the fishermen that I expected the fleet owner to be giant in stature. In some ways, I guess he was.

Before my hired hand days came to a close, I went one month in the fall for several years with the colorful character named Elisee Slue and his brother Alphee. Elisee was a professional at his chosen trade and knew exactly what he was doing, yet he always had time to spin a good story. He was equally good at that too and they were both fun to sail with.

laudent@hotmail.com