Pendleton Island and Sardine Fishing 100 years ago

Eastward across Passamaquoddy Bay laid an island which was also part of Canada. It snuggled next to Deer Island , a larger and longer island which borders the southeastern side of Passamaquoddy Bay. We anchored offshore this island, Pendleton Island, and went ashore to see what we could see. (Just like the proverbial bear....a main theme in my life to this day) Mom and Dad found the salt water pool which warms up as the tide seeps in over the warm rocks. With a Bay of Fundy tide fall of 29 feet, this does not take too long. We were too early for any measurable water so the four of us kids left Mom & Dad to wait it out while we hiked around the hills and found a plethora of wild blueberries. Every pocket and bag was filled as well as our mouths, continually. We were intrepid explorers as well as pickers. Our poking around finally brought us back to the salt water pond in which we found Mom & Dad skinny dipping in luxury. Pam had the presence of mind to document this event with her Brownie camera, and it is a mainstay of laughs in the Harris book, our large family photo album started by Nana. My favorite quote about life on Pendleton for children was this from Hazel Pendleton, " Living on Pendleton's Island made the children very self-reliant. They could entertain themselves, learned to be useful around the place and to take care of themselves on land and water. They learned early to handle a dinghy and understand the tides and the best route to follow across the passage to suit the time of tide. None of them ever learned to swim. " The Harris kids were much like this but we all could swim like fish.

Historically, Pendleton Island was occupied by the what else, Pendleton family at the turn of the 19th to 20th century. A good perspective is documented in “Life on Pendleton” by Hazel Pendleton. The following brief description of sardine fishing in the early days is recollected after reading hazel’s account:

To get an idea of the area from Pendleton Island to Lubec,ME see NOAA chart 13398 or the Google map * displaying from South to North, Lubec and Eastport, ME, to Pendleton Island, New Brunswick. Historically, the sardine fishery occurred by American law from April 15 to December 1st but Hazel’s grandfather said that the first sardines came into Passamaquoddy Bay on or about April 15th anyway. In the early 1900’s, the population of Eastport reached 10,000 in sardine season. There were many sardine factories and one can company, American Can, which supplied the stock to the canneries. Entire families migrated from Deer Island to Eastport for the season. The Petit Manaan gang went to Lubec instead. The canneries gave each family a one room cabin next to the harbor with an outhouse which hung over the water. All the amenities like stoves and bedding were brought from home. Everyone over 10 worked all day and sometimes into the night until the job was done. Kids younger than 10 gathered wood on the beach and tended the little kids and babies. When the season was over, everyone packed their things and went home to Deer Island or Pendleton and the kids started school again. The money earned in the sardine plants would have to last till next April.

The sardine boats were not too big. The sardines were trapped in weirs and then scooped into open tenders or later were seined by larger boats. These boats had no wheelhouse, just a wheel and sometimes a crate on its end for a seat. In rough weather the skipper often had to tie himself in. The fish were carried in hogsheads and sold anywhere from $3.00 to $10.00 per barrel depending on the quality.

Later on the seiners filled their holds with larger amounts of sardines. One particular Eastport character was Captain Guilford Mitchell who was the boss of several factories and boats. He had ample lungpower and could holler down the channel “how many hogsheads?” to which the approaching skipper would hold up his fingers. Captain Mitchell would then direct him to the particular cannery he wanted him to go.
The seiners all hired a “scooper” who donned hip boots and oilskins. He worked in the hold, netting the sardines into barrels. These were hoisted out of the hold up into the pickling shed. He was paid by the skipper and seemed to have the glory job.
Many of the skippers were Canadians from Deer Island and Pettit Manaan but the boats were registered in America. No one cared much because the islanders went back and forth from the mainland to the islands with impunity.

One area to be avoided on a big tide was a whirlpool known as Old Sow. Almost everyone in the area had a near escape from the clutches of this dangerous phenomenon.
Dad avoided it but we were hoping to glimpse the vortex in the innards of Old Sow.

* Click the "up" arrow in the upper left hand corner to scroll to Lamberts Cove which is directly south of Pendleton Island.

We Cruise Way Down East

Difficult as it was, we pulled anchor and headed NE, or down Maine, past the Libby Islands which have the second most vocal fog horn on the Eastern Coast of the US, honking for close to 36 days and nights per year. Only the West Quoddy Head moaned longer (941 hours a year). We ran along the shoreline in deep water until we came to this very same lighthouse marking the entrance to Quoddy Narrows. It wasn’t foggy or we would have been blasted by the horn when rounding the head.

Our older sisters had recently joined us after a summer at Camp Wabunakee.
They taught John and me all the camp songs.”A Cannibal King with the Big Nose Ring,” “Peace I ask of Thee oh River,” and others in unknown dialects. My sister Lee reminded me that she and Pam were not interested in out of the way islands and wild coasts after roughing it at camp. Give them the sociable harbors like Northeast Harbor. Lee was in 7th and Pam in 9th grade, and they liked civilization. The dynamics of our family life changed as did the sleeping arrangements. All four kids slept on air mattresses in the cockpit under the steering shelter. Mosquito netting hung down to keep the buggers out. In this era, you had to blow up your mattress every night. We raced and almost passed out. We pulled the plug on anyone being a brat.

NW of Quoddy Narrows (what is a quoddy?) is the fishing town of Lubec. Where there’s fishing there’s seagulls galore and gunky water too. We continued up Lubec Narrows to Eastport. Both towns claim to be the easternmost town in the US. Mom’s practical notes about Eastport remarked of an A&P and an excellent meat market, but no ice. We had an old ice box requiring a diet of two blocks every three days. Eastport was good for an ice cream cone. Sardine canneries dominated the harbor. Our boat, the Phyllis, was too clean to be a bona fide fishing boat around Eastport and Lubec. My Mom and sisters voted in a block for more civilization so we were forced to go north again to St Andrews.

St Andrews by the Sea ought to tell you something about the nature of the place. We anchored off a pier which looked hopefully close to the mercantile area. The extreme tides of 29 ft. rise and fall worry a conscientious skipper. Dad let out “tremendous amount of scope on the anchor line” according to Mom’s notes. She also remarked that there were “two wonderful china shops with all the English patterns; two tweed shops, plus many gift shops with delightful people.” Lee said we all bought wool hats, probably at the tweed shop. John and I could do without the delightful people. I begged for maple sugar of course. I still crave it. Lee, Pam, and Mom traipsed around the stores and we younger ones succeeded in conning all into ice cream cones. We slurped them all the way to the pier. We all exclaimed at once how much the tide had dropped.

At first we didn’t see the rowboat. Upon further inspection, we gazed at the spectacle of a high and dry rowboat dangling from its painter. Dad picked his way down the slimy ladder and lowered her down. It was the gooiest ladder in all of New Brunswick. We had our ice and some fresh groceries and a tummy full of ice cream. Mom had her culture, Pam and Lee saw people. Now we were headed for a deserted island in the morning. St Andrews was Canada, a foreign country, with lots of English stuff. Pendleton Island, across Passamaquoddy Bay, was uninhabited and had a special little swimming cove we desired to explore. We were to find much more.