Tag: shrimping

The November Guests

November is not the cruelest month on Mobile Bay; in fact, it may be the best time of year. The weekend before Thanksgiving, my girlfriend and I kayaked and fished on the Blakeley River and around the marsh islands of the upper Bay. We’d never had much luck fishing the area in the funkier months of summer, but this time was different. We launched at Hooked Up by the Bay and paddled south on a cool midmorning, moving out past the Causeway and Bayway, mooring for a bit on the marsh islands that were dotted with heron and other waterfowl I could not name. In the distance to the West stood the RSA Tower and the container cranes of the Port that stretched across the skyline like great Mesozoic birds. From her kayak near the marshes Aryn harvested Rangia clams — also known as Cajun or cocktail clams — a muddy-tasting bivalve that never really caught on as a food source here and one that I would not be eating that night. We only had one fishing rod between us that day so we passed it among the kayaks and took turns casting, catching a bounty of redfish and flounder and baby croaker with miniscule live shrimp. And though the fish were not quite legal size — this part of the Bay is a nursery, after all — it was nice to see the Bay so alive with activity after so many bereft outings in the warmer months. When the fish are biting the hours dissolve into liquid and time is of no consequence. So eventually it’s not the clock that brings you in but a gnawing hunger and subsequent visions of Conecuh sausage and gumbo.

The water in the Bay now is clearer than it’s looked in years, the locals say. There’s been a drought this season, and while the water is generally less turbid in the winter months, the pause in dredging since August (to be picked back up this April) has likely contributed to greater water clarity. It’s a great time to be outside. And if fishing is not your thing, I recommend traversing the beaches of Dauphin Island in the early winter mornings and embracing your inner snowbird. Take your dogs to the Audubon Trail on the East End and let them cavort off-leash and swim in the Gulf if you’re alone. Like us they have nothing to lose but their chains. Dauphin Island is, of course, a bird sanctuary, and while the sightings were few during our trip there in late November there are still great opportunities for birding in the winter months. The cover story for this issue looks at the work of coastal biologist Olivia Morpeth with the Alabama Coastal Bird Stewardship Program, and what the organization is doing to preserve aviary habitats that are so critical to nesting, reproduction, and migration.

“These birds play an important role as indicator species for our coastal habitats” Olivia tells writer Sam K. Wilkes in his in-depth piece. “The presence of these birds, or lack thereof, can signal potential health issues in local coastal ecosystems … Monitoring these health factors is not only important for our local wildlife, but also for the people who live here and recreate in these waters.”

Not only are the birds important bellwethers of ecological health, they also drive ecotourism on the island, with some 400 species wending their way through this little spit of land in the spring and fall, making the island a sort of “ATL Delta hub” for our feathered friends. And with that come the visiting birders with their binoculars and a more focused attention on habitat preservation.

Indeed, everyone (fish, fowl, beast, or man) plays a part in our area’s ecological health, so if you’re not yet a member of Mobile Baykeeper, we ask that you consider joining this winter season, and becoming part of something bigger than yourself.

They Call Him Droopy

Every Delta fisherman knows Droopy Williams. Or at least knows of him. You’ve probably seen him as you’ve zoomed along the Causeway – a sort of roving landmark, sometimes in the waters above the highway, sometimes below. 

For nearly six decades he has been a shrimper for the bait shops along that raised ground between Spanish Fort and the city. I say shops. Once there were a dozen or more, but now there is only one. 

Droopy Williams grew up in the Delta in a cabin on the Tensaw River at Cloverleaf Landing. He was raised by his grandparents. Since he was a kid he has been called by that name. He says most folks don’t know his real name (don’t expect to get it here) but there is one who does – his aunt is Lucy “Pie” Hollings, proprietress of the Cloverleaf boat launch and a local Delta legend. The family lived off the land and water when he was growing up; crabbing, running trotlines, and raising hogs and cows on Gravine Island just across the river. They were different days indeed.

These days, driving into Mobile in the early morning hours you might catch him working the Blakeley River in his 24-foot trawler, the words LIVE BAIT painted in bold red lettering on the side. It’s a reassuring sight. For all the change behind us and all that lies ahead, no matter what comes you can rest assured that the sun rises, the sun goes down, and that Droopy is out there catching shrimp.

At age thirteen he went to work for Autrey’s Fish Camp, as soon as school let out for summer, and it was during those summer months that he first lived on the Causeway with Billy and Queenie Wright, who ran the shop. It was the mid-1960s and everybody fished. In those days you could rent boats by the hour at Autrey’s or Stauter Boat Works, and try your luck for redfish or trout on your lunch break. It was a sort of Golden Age, but of course all that changed in ’69 when Camille showed up like a woman scorned and let everyone know the party was over.

In his years on the water, Droopy has seen all manner of change. There has been sustained development, increased dredging operations, and an oil spill, to name just a few of the things that have left their mark. These days the shrimp are smaller and the fish are less plentiful. There are more gators and bald eagles, but less snakes. The hogs his family once raised on Gravine Island are no more, but their progeny now run wild and roam the woods of the upper Delta. There is only one bait shop left standing on the Causeway, for which he still supplies shrimp, and as Williams is a bait shrimper, not a licensed commercial operator, he can only sell directly to bait shops.

Droopy is the only Black shrimper on the local scene — a fact he seems to take pride in. He’s tried to take on numerous deckhands, but it’s tough work and most can’t cut it, so these days he prefers to work solo. He says he doesn’t mind going it alone though: every changing wind and tide is like a greeting from an old friend.   

Today he lives on Cloverleaf Landing, just up the road from where he grew up, shrimping in the morning and fishing for bream most afternoons, and he says there is no better place on earth to live.

We met up with him one cold, January morning at Cloverleaf when the tide was low. We couldn’t launch the boat, so we stood on the bank and heard his many tales of a life on the water.

— Read the rest in CURRENTS.

Salty pirates

Michael Williams and Kerry Mitchell were tired of not being heard. So they decided to do something about it. In February 2023, the husband-and-wife duo who runs Salty Pirates Seafood formed the Alabama Commercial Fishermen Association, a non-profit that represents the interests of fishermen, oystermen, shrimpers, and anyone else who works to put Gulf seafood on our table.

“One of the reasons we started this organization is so the fishermen can have a voice and know what’s going on in the commercial fishing community,” Kerry Mitchell tells me from the Salty Pirate dock in Dauphin Island. “If any resources do come down – grants, floodwater money, funds, things [seafood workers] never qualify for – we want an honest way to get this money out to fishermen.”

According to Mitchell, there has been disaster relief money floating around the past few years that local fishermen didn’t qualify for and should have, including COVID-relief and floodwater spillway disaster funds.

“A lot of the paperwork is so difficult, fishermen can’t fill it out,” Mitchell says. “For the COVID-funds, you had to show a loss for three years and the [oyster season] wasn’t open in 2018, so it was impossible to show a loss.”

Together, this husband and wife team works by day at Salty Pirates Seafood, a shrimping and wild oystering operation that sells directly from the dock, just off DeSoto Avenue near the Dauphin Island bridge. They are just one couple that works in Alabama’s seafood industry, but they could be any outfit that shrimps or fishes the waters of the Gulf and Mobile Bay.

Read more from Mobile Bayekeeper’s CURRENTS.

Born on the Bayou: Generational Shrimpers Say Industry is Facing Existential Threat

It’s Saturday morning in Bayou La Batre and the crew from SeaHarvest Shrimp is busy.

It’s Saturday morning in Bayou La Batre and the crew from SeaHarvest Shrimp is busy. Perseverance, the company’s 63-foot shrimp boat, has just returned from a three-day trip in early July, shrimping the night waters of the Bay and Gulf. Within hours of mooring they begin selling their catch to the public — straight off the boat, directly into buckets and coolers for three dollars a pound. In a matter of hours, the entire catch will be gone.  

“You find some more fresh than this, you let me know where you got ‘em,” says James Hunter. By the way he says it, he knows one cannot. A resident of nearby Irvington, he is a devoted customer, and now he is watching on as Perseverance crew member Jaylen Hall, a mid-twenty-something who grew up in the trade, shovels several pounds of brown shrimp into his ice-filled cooler. One hopes this will be enough shrimp to tide him over for the week. A former restaurant worker, he knows his way around the kitchen, especially when it comes to shrimp. Boiled, fried, prepared à la scampi, simmered in a gumbo, you name it, he can cook it.  

Fresh seafood, of course, is essential to the culture of Coastal Alabama. It’s part of our way of life. Yet this piece of our heritage is quickly slipping away. For the last two decades, the production of farmed shrimp in the Asia-Pacific region has grown at a staggering rate of 20 to 30 percent per year and the United States is one of the largest markets for this new supply. With the surge of imported shrimp our own shrimping business has come under existential threat, particularly in the past decade. In this new scenario, it is customers like James who are keeping the Hall family in the shrimping business.

SeaHarvest is a family-run business, operated by shrimper Reed Hall and his wife, Tammy. They started their retail operation back in 2020, not long after Covid dealt its first blows to so many businesses of every kind. The family bought the lot by the drawbridge in Bayou La Batre in August of that year, after most of the shrimp boats in town had shut down. They started selling directly to the public as a way to stay in business and keep the home fires burning. “Covid really blessed us in a way,” says Tammy, who runs the business side of things for SeaHarvest, “because it caused us to have to take a whole different route.”

Before that, they were selling directly to the processors and factories in town for less than the three-dollar retail price, which is no longer sustainable. Financial viability is a problem for shrimpers in Alabama and the Gulf Coast. Studies vary, but some reports put the percentage of shrimp imported into this country as high as 90 percent of the total supply. These imports drive down the price of wild-caught, domestic shrimp. 

The situation has grown so dire the city of Bayou La Batre issued a Declaration of Disaster for the town’s shrimping industry back in August. Henry Barnes, the town’s mayor, says the Seafood Capital of Alabama is in danger of becoming a ghost town due to the moribund state of the shrimping industry. He wants the federal government to put an end to the high volume of imported shrimp that are “dumped” — or sold at less than fair-market value — into the U.S. market. He’d also like the government to subsidize fuel for shrimpers. 

Eighty-five percent of the wild-caught shrimp in Alabama come out of Bayou La Batre alone, and more than 300 fishing and shrimping vessels are licensed to operate out of the Bayou. But the economics tell a different story. Barnes says shrimpers are now getting a dollar a pound for shrimp, compared to the rate of $6.50 for a pound in 1980. 

“We are not looking for a handout,” Barnes says. “We are looking for a way to make a living … this is one of the oldest professions in the world.”

There are other challenges as well. The industry took a big hit with the financial crisis of 2008 and there hasn’t been a big rebound, says Scott Bannon, director of the Alabama Marine Resources Division for the Alabama Department of Conservation and Natural Resources. “And all the costs associated with shrimping are going up,” he adds. “Price of fuel, price of equipment. And maintaining a boat is extremely expensive.”

Starting in June when the shrimp season opens, the Perseverance can be found every Saturday docked next to the drawbridge. By 10 a.m., the company’s band of devoted customers begin to arrive. These are folks who know good shrimp when they find them. Some of the shrimp were swimming as recently as the night before, so the only way to experience a fresher catch would be to work on the boat itself and cook them on deck. You see orders of ten pounds, twenty pounds, even thirty pounds on Saturday mornings. Customers come from as far as Atlanta and Memphis. There’s even a couple from Michigan that makes the drive down every year and hauls them back up to the north country. “I just tell them to stop half-way to drain the water and swap out fresh ice,” Tammy says.

In Alabama, there have been marketing efforts by the state to help drive up the price for domestics. “We can’t produce enough from the wild harvest to meet the demand,” says Chris Blankenship, commissioner of the Alabama Department of Conservation and Natural Resources. “What we’ve tried to with the ten percent of shrimp that are wild-caught is to create a premium brand for that [in Alabama], so people will play a little more for domestic quality shrimp.”

History of the Bayou

Shrimping is the heart of Bayou La Batre, the Seafood Capital of Alabama. Not far from Dauphin Island, the town boasts a long and storied history that begins with its founding in 1786 when the French-born Joseph Bouzage was awarded a Spanish land grant in what is now south Mobile County. In the early twentieth-century the town began to make its name as a fishing village, not long after the hurricane of 1906 devastated the area and killed an estimated 150 people in south Mobile County alone. Almost ninety years later, Bayou La Batre would be imprinted upon the mind of global pop culture when Hollywood immortalized the richness of Bayou La Batre’s coastal heritage. As the hometown of Forrest Gump’s bosom war buddy, Bubba, whose dream of owning a shrimping boat inspired the title character to start a shrimping operation, it became the place where Forrest made his first fortune, drawing Lieutenant Dan along the way to the place where he would make his peace with God.

With a population of about 2,200, the Bayou remains a center for shipbuilding and is still home to a number of seafood processors and canneries (an industry also under threat with the current level of import “dumping”). For decades it has known a large Southeast Asian population. In the late 1970s, refugees from Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia settled in Bayou La Batre — as well as other parts of the Gulf Coast — to work in the shrimping and fishing industries. These immigrants had fled the ravages of a war-torn homeland, and the deltas and bays of the Gulf harkened back to the estuarine waters of the old country. Here, they could make a living and raise a family. Some worked on boats, while others worked jobs in the canneries, picking crab meat and keeping the production floor running. Even today, Bayou La Batre remains something of a cultural polyglot. Roughly a quarter of the town’s population is Southeast Asian, though many have gotten out of the seafood industry in the last decade or so.

 Continue reading at MobileBaykeeper.org.

The Boat People

For Americans watching the fall of Saigon on April 30, 1975 — the day that officially marked the end of the Vietnam War — the chaotic scenes from our Embassy rooftop were the closing images of a long and tragic chapter in our history. For many of our South Vietnamese allies, along with scores of others from war-torn Indochina, it was the beginning of another chapter in their American story. 

The story of their flight from Vietnam, and the daring in their undertaking, reads as though it were taken from the pages of one of the great 17th-or 18th- century immigration sagas. On any craft they could find, most of them wooden, many of them hardly sea-worthy, these refugees left by the thousands, risking everything in search of a better life. The ones who fled would come to be known the world over as “the boat people.”

It is estimated that from 1975 to 1995, some 800,000 refugees left Vietnam alone. At sea, they faced storms, disease, and even pirates. The dangers were so great and so common that their exodus became an international crisis. The United Nations reports that somewhere between 200,000 to 400,000 boat people died at sea.   

Many of those who survived settled along the Gulf Coast. The commonality of coastal life with its fishing and shrimping and related industries made it a familiar haven. Since the time of the refugee crisis, Vietnamese-Americans — along with other immigrants from Laos and Cambodia — have been a fixture in the seafood and shrimping industries in Bayou La Batre. It was here they worked on the boats and in the seafood processing plants, playing a critical role in the town’s culture. 

For most of the boat people in the U.S., the challenges of assimilation have been prolonged and acute. It is from this environment that the non-profit Boat People SOS was born.  

Continue reading at MobileBaykeeper.org.