Day Of Rest

In the world of lobstering, Sundays will always be known as a day of rest. Hauling traps will commence early Monday morning, but come Sunday, a boat and her occupants will most certainly not be found on the water. Any fisherman worth his salt, will usually spend his off day repairing traps, or tending to his gear, with some choosing instead to drink beer and watch the Red Sox game. These Sundays offer a great chance for a photographer to poke around a lobster pound, without having to worry about getting in the way of anyone. I stopped down to Atwood's Lobster Pound yesterday to explore the old wooden docks and check out the many different boats that operate out of this old weathered wharf. The weather was downright gorgeous! The temperature must have been in the upper 70's and there was not a cloud in the sky. The water was that classic deep blue that you get when summer rolls around on the coast of Maine, and the air was dry as a bone. The tall grass that grows on the side of old buildings like Atwood's, swayed in the afternoon breeze. Lobster traps were thrown about every which way you looked. Ropes, gloves, and plastic containers lined the main dock, where six old wooden skiffs sat, just waiting for their owners to ride off in them the following morning. Out in the bay, a dozen lobster boats rocked back in forth on their moorings. The white of their hulls glimmered in the late afternoon sun, as the green spruce trees towered beyond them in the distance. I snapped my faithful Nikon, walking the docks and exploring the old structure. Like most seaside business' in Maine, the Atwood's building had seen it's better days. Grey paint peeled off the sides of the doors, and dirt was everywhere. The smell of lobster filled the air, and it's a good thing that I don't mind the smell of Lobster! Old wooden traps were stacked up against the backside of the building, along with all sorts of rubbish. I spotted a washing machine, old beach chairs, an old ironing board, and strangely enough, rows and rows of old hubcaps. It was obvious that Atwood's had become more than just a place to buy and sell lobsters. The business and it's surrounding environs had seemed to morph into one giant town dump, where pretty much anything could be found, if one looked hard enough. There is something so fascinating about he clear and not so subtle juxtaposition of the the beautiful rocky Maine coastline, and the old beat up structures that hold fort on it's shores. The ocean appears untouched, but the shore seems to have been trampled on by the harsh hands of time. The past is always present on the coast of Maine, you just have to search for it sometimes. My search led me down a dusty old road in Tenants Harbor, where an old Lobster Pound was still running after all these years, just not on Sundays of course.