Still, this fishery persists, an anachronism in the modern world of horsepower, fish finders, satellite-guided navigation, and mechanized harvesting. With skiff now in tow, Eldredge wedged a rusty knife between the console and a loose throttle of his trap boat to keep it at speed. He locates the weirs without satellites or radar, using landmarks such as steeples, water towers and trees. Once they enter the weir, the diesel is shut off and the net is hauled by hand. For fishermen used to shouting over the constant blatt of a diesel, the slap of wave against boat and the quiet hauling of a net transforms fishing to something more humane than just a job harvesting fish.
Crewmen return year after year.
It's part of the trapping environment that keeps the crew coming back. The sun squeezed through slits in ice blue clouds. A fog boiled off the headlands. Pulling slowly and deliberately, the crew of six men, standing shoulder to shoulder along one gunwale, hauled the net in the first trap hand over hand, literally pulling the boat across the weir. Pursing the net, they trapped whatever fish were there in a progressively smaller bowl.