ommercial crabbing in the Chesapeake Bay reveals itself very
slowly to the outsider. Many who cruise the Chesapeake for plea-
sure are unaware that right under their bows, so to speak, a major
national fishery quietly goes about its business. I cannot say exactly
why this is so. In the autumn we both notice and celebrate the
return of America s only commercial sailing vessels, or the elegant
skipjacks that start to dredge for oysters during the first week of
Novembcr. Similarly, we marvel at the labor of the tongers, who
spend long cold hours in smaller boats in search of the same prize.
But, come late spring and summer, we tend to ignore the crabber.
Perhaps it is because his early hours are not our hours. Or the
waters he works are for the most part marshy, buggy, and far
removed from our choice cruising grounds. We do not much really
think of him, in fact, unless by chance we have to steer through a
forest of bobbing pot buoys. We curse gently, pray that we will not
pick up a warp in our propellers, and continue on our way.
It comes as a surprise, therefore, to learn in time that the Chesa-
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