Dozens of boats zipped across Casco Bay during the Maine Lobster Boat Races on Saturday. Only one had a purple bottom.
That boat, a 32-footer with a powerful diesel engine, belonged to Jeremy Beal, 45, a large, soft-spoken man who comes from a long line of boat builders and lobstermen.
“See, I grew up right in it,” he said between drags of a cigarette while leaning against the rail of his boat on the evening before the big race.
For decades, Mr. Beal’s father, Wayne Beal, and an uncle, Calvin Beal, have built boats used by commercial fishers up and down the Maine coast. After years spent learning the family trade, Jeremy took over his dad’s business, Wayne Beal’s Boat Shop, in Jonesport, a seaside town more than 200 miles northeast of Portland.
“I bought the boat off my father,” Mr. Beal said. “It was his last power boat. He’s retired out of the boat shop. I won’t sell the boat unless I have to. Just for the fact that it was my dad’s.”
To pay off the boat, Mr. Beal has returned part-time to lobster fishing, something he first started doing at age 6. This summer he has been helped by his 14-year-old daughter, Mariena Beal, who will enter ninth grade at Jonesport-Beals High School next month.
Together, father and daughter have been dropping 250 traps into the Gulf of Maine to catch thousands of the large lobsters prized around the world for their meat. They split whatever money is left after paying for the bait (herring, mostly), fuel and the monthly boat bill.
Mr. Beal said he hoped the experience would teach his daughter both financial responsibility and the family’s way of life on the water. But Mariena didn’t quite get her way when it came to the color of the boat.
“She wanted a pink bottom, but I wouldn’t let that fly,” he said.
The pair hit on purple as a compromise. And Mariena got to name the boat — My Turn, she called it.
When they are not hauling up traps, Mr. Beal and his daughter have been competing on the lobster boat racing circuit, an annual series of summertime competitions along the Maine coast. The events, run by the Maine Lobster Boat Racing Association, are essentially drag races — the fastest boat wins.
“I’ve always been a competitor,” Mr. Beal said.
He summarized his racing strategy: “Point it and punch it!”
Race Prep
Two days before the recent race, Mr. Beal unloaded the buckets of herring he keeps on deck. He lugged out the lobster crates and the 55-gallon plastic drums that store the catch. Finally, he took a scrub brush and washed down the deck with Dawn dish soap.
On Friday morning, after waking early and packing sandwiches for lunch, Mr. Beal charted a scenic southwesterly course south from Jonesport. Alone on deck, he took in the sight of the rocky coastline and marine life, including porpoises. His wife and daughters, including Mariena, drove the 200 miles separately in a car.
It took Mr. Beal just under five hours to sail to Long Island, one of Maine’s Casco Bay islands that lie a few miles from Portland. Many of its 230 residents work on boats or own one.
A crowd had gathered for a cookout at the old boathouse on Wharf Street when Mr. Beal moored his vessel. Men and women were eating hamburgers, drinking beer and lining up to buy race merchandise from Lisa Kimball, an islander who co-chairs the race. The proceeds were going toward a scholarship fund for children on the island.
Mr. Beal made the rounds. Several of the partygoers had bought their boats from him or his father. The price of lobsters was solid this year, everyone agreed, though the catch varied from “good” to “horrible,” depending on who you asked.
Adam Kimball, Ms. Kimball’s husband, planned to race the next day. He works on an oil tanker in Alaska, but you don’t need a commercial fishing license to compete — so long as you have a typical lobster boat, which he does.
“It’s a lot of money to spend for not a lot of return,” Mr. Kimball, 46, said with a laugh.
He was referring to the modest prize money, usually a few hundred dollars, and to the way some boat owners invest thousands to gain horsepower and perhaps a knot or two in speed.
“They call it ‘gooning up’ the engine,” Mr. Kimball said. “There are some risks to that. Like you blow it up.”
Mr. Beal spotted one of the modern legends of the lobster boat racing.
“Stevie Johnson,” he said. “Now there’s a real character.”
Mr. Johnson, the proprietor of Johnson’s Boatyard on Long Island, is known for building unusual boats, some with automobiles mounted on the hulls. One of them, the “Vette-Boat,” features a 1984 Corvette on a 28-foot hull. Mr. Johnson has won his share of races on his tricked-out vessels over the years, but their main purpose is “to cause a scene,” he likes to say.
Dressed in a blue Hawaiian-print shirt, blue board shorts and Crocs, and nursing Canadian Club whiskey and ginger ale in a red plastic cup, Mr. Johnson, who is in his 70s, was trailed by a small entourage at the cookout.
It was getting late. Mr. Beal untied his boat and sailed over to Portland, where a friend was letting him dock while in town.
Mariena had missed the cookout — she was at the Maine Mall, the largest shopping plaza in the state, doing some back-to-school shopping with her mother. The next day, she would be at the wheel of My Turn.
“She’s like me,” Mr. Beal said. “She likes to go fast.”
And the Winner Is …
She also likes to shop. Mariena and her family members missed the noonish start time of the races on Saturday because they had gotten stuck in traffic after spending the morning back at the mall.
Mr. Beal stood at the wheel of My Turn, engine idling, listening to an announcer call the first few races over a marine radio.
At quarter to one, Mariena came bounding down the dock and onto the boat. She wore black shorts, a white North Face long-sleeved top and leather sandals. Her toenails were painted purple, matching the color of her nose ring and the bottom of My Turn.
Like her father, Mariena was reserved. Asked what she liked about racing lobster boats, she replied, “Everything.”
She was joined on the boat by her mother, Maria Beal; her boyfriend, Caleb Geel; her older sister, Caitlin Childers; and Caitlin’s boyfriend, Nick Guptill.
Mr. Beal gunned the throttle and sped toward Long Island. By now, dozens of pleasure crafts and lobster boats were on the water. A crowd of spectators stood at the ferry dock.
Mr. Beal pulled up to the large boat where officials kept watch over the day’s races through binoculars. His passengers disembarked, leaving My Turn for the so-called committee boat.
Then Mr. Beal and Mariena motored toward the starting line, which was nearly a mile north. Once they were among the other boats in their race category — the G classification race, for boats from 28 to 35 feet in length with diesel engines — Mariena took the wheel.
The committee boat was like a floating party, with coolers of food and drinks. Jon Johansen, the bearded president of Maine Lobster Racing, and the publisher of Maine Coastal News, which covers the races, used a telephoto lens to call out the action.
On board, Maria Beal told a story.
Well into the time she was pregnant with Mariena, she said, she had done a lot of lobstering with her husband. That meant hauling up heavy traps to the point that she ruptured her placenta. The doctors thought she would lose the baby.
”But I went to bed for two weeks and it healed up,” Maria said. “And that’s why we named her Mariena — it means ‘lover of the sea.’”
It was now time for the G classification race.
The lead boat was a speck on the water. As it came closer, you could make out its purple bottom leaving a white-capped wake and all the other boats behind it.
Mariena had won, easily. The Beal contingent whooped and cheered.
“She doesn’t have much fear,” her mother said. “Never has. She’s been looking for speed since she was born.”
My Turn sidled up to the committee boat. Amy Tierney, a race co-chair, handed over an envelope of prize money. Mariena was $200 richer.
What did she plan to do with her winnings?
She smiled.
“Shop.”
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