THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Wednesday, February 15, 1995 TAG: 9502150141
SECTION: ISLE OF WIGHT CITIZEN PAGE: 06 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Cover Story
SOURCE: BY LINDA MCNATT, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: ISLE OF WIGHT COUNTY LENGTH: Long : 195 lines
BLUSTERY WINTER WINDS blew outside John Johnson's modest home near Tyler's Beach last week. But unlike some men his age, Johnson, 80, couldn't sit by the fire and enjoy the warmth.
He couldn't even sit still. ``Capt. John'' to his friends and neighbors, and to the waterman who have worked with him for years, was restless and bored.
Since the age of 12, Johnson has been doing one thing during the dead of winter: rising before dawn and, for most of the day, tonging oysters from the floor of the James River.
This year is different.
``I worked in December, and I got a ticket,'' Johnson grumbled. ``I haven't worked since. They make you measure oysters. We're working for nothing. You can't suit the state man. It ain't enough even to make you want to go out there and get an oyster.''
John Johnson isn't alone - not in his predicament, not in the way he feels.
As the problems pile one on top of the other, more and more watermen each year are giving up the life they love.
If it isn't the weather, it's the law. If not the law, it's pollution. Disease. Poor market. Increased expenses.
And the most controversial topic this oyster season: Just how many of the mollusks are out there?
Virginia marine officials say oysters are scarce throughout the state due to overharvesting. And those that are there, they say, are diseased.
But local waterman say no way, that there are plenty of healthy oysters, at least in the James. And signs of life - strikes, infant oysters attaching themselves to mature shells - are as abundant as they have ever seen, the James watermen say.
``This ain't no life for a young man,'' said Oliver J. Crockett as he sprawled across a counter at Dock Side Seafood in Battery Park and sighed. ``It's nothing in it for nobody except somebody who don't know any better.''
Ice on the Eastern Shore last week kept seed, or ``rough cull,'' oysters from being transplanted from the James into tributaries of the Potomac. High winds and colder-than-normal temperatures kept oystermen seeking ``clean cull,'' or ready-to-eat oysters, off the river.
Workboats at Tyler's Beach near Rushmere were frozen into the harbor. Boats at Rescue Marina, near Smithfield, sat lifeless at the docks, encircled by ice crystals.
And the grumblings of the watermen - battling time, natural elements, state regulations, enforcement officers and their own souls to try to hang on to the only life they know - created a crescendo above the choppy James River.
``We used to go out there and make a decent living by 12 o'clock,'' said Dale Townsell as he stared across sun-lit Jones Creek in Rescue. ``Now, we work all day long, and we can't make nothing. Restrictions! Buyers!''
James Firman, who was repairing his boat, ``Freedom,'' nodded and agreed with whatever Townsell said.
``I've been to meetings and been to meetings,'' Firman said. ``The state boys have done made their decisions before they ever come. Working on the water is all I've ever done. I don't know nothing else, and I'd rather tong oysters than anything I know of.
``But, well, it's just getting so it ain't worth it.''
Many of the watermen's problems started with the kepone disaster, when the pesticide from a Hopewell chemical plant spilled into the James River and state officials banned catching five species of fish in the river for 13 years. Then there were storms, floods and multiple sewage spills, all causing the James to be closed to commercial fishing for various periods of time.
The two diseases, dermo and msx, appeared in the state's oyster population, believed caused by high salt content in the water due to below-normal rainfall.
Three years ago, the state began requiring watermen to buy a $150 commercial fishing license before any other licenses for oystering, crabbing or fishing could be purchased.
Last year, the season was shortened by at least two months because of what state officials say they fear is a decline in the oyster population caused by overfishing.
And beginning this year, daily time limits were put on the oystermen, and the size of legal clean-cull oysters was increased from 2 1/2 inches to 3.
``They are really policing it this year,'' said W.R. ``Sonny'' Gay Jr. ``We don't get any breaks.''
Because of the concern about spreading disease, no rough-cull oysters may be shipped out of state. That keeps the price down on the seeds. The watermen are getting $2 a bushel this year compared to $4 or $5 just a couple of years ago.
James River oystermen are lucky in one respect, though.
The state granted a limited season this year for only the James and seaside Eastern Shore. Oystering isn't allowed anywhere else on public grounds.
Dr. James Wesson, chief of conservation and replenishment for the Virginia Marine Resources Commission, said that's because there simply are few oysters left in any of the state's rivers, including the James.
The James, however, is the state's ``nest egg,'' Wesson said, its future in the oyster industry.
``The state's production is miniscule,'' he said. ``We've taken less than 10,000 bushels of marketable oysters from the whole state this year, and at least three-fourths of them are from that little area of the James.''
The area in the James worked by most local oystermen has always been relatively free of disease because of its low salinity. But the disease is there, even though it may be dormant, Wesson said.
``It's kind of like the difference between a cold and pneumonia. We've had two years in a row with a little better-than-normal rainfall, and that has definitely helped. But if those oysters are moved into waters with a high salinity rate, they won't mature.''
Then why not catch them now, local oystermen want to know, while they're still healthy?
Wilford Kale, the Marine Resources Commission's chief of public affairs, believes he has the answer.
``We know there's not a great resource this year. The oysters are simply not out there. There are places showing indications of turning around, but the diseases are still here, and we have over-harvested.''
Rubbish, say the oystermen.
``There are plenty of oysters out there, and they are steady growing,'' waterman Townsell said about the James River. ``There are no dead ones whatsoever.''
Joe Melzer at Dock Side Seafood, a Battery Park packing house that ships Virginia oysters as far away as California and Hawaii, agreed.
``We're buying and boxing up and selling,'' he said. ``The oysters are doing great. I've been on the water for 35 years, and I ain't never seen anything like it. I've seen as many as 150 bushels on a single boat.''
Melzer might have a hard time convincing Dr. Roger Mann, a professor of marine science and head of oyster research at the Virginia Institute of Marine Science, that there are plenty of oysters.
``The oyster population in Virginia waters is continuing in miserable status,'' Mann said. ``If there were lots of healthy oysters and no disease, we wouldn't have the problems we have at the moment. Our fishery is at one-tenth of 1 percent of its historical highs.''
Both Mann and Wesson go back in history to support their claims. Oysters, when left undisturbed, can grow up to 15 inches long and 3 inches across, Mann said. Three-inch oysters, he said, are ``barely adolescent'' in human terms.
And history tells us, Wesson said, that natural oyster rocks in the James River once protruded from the water - and that is what he's basing his replenishment program on.
By piling shells onto the natural rocks, Wesson hopes to build them up in the water, hoping that oysters growing closer to the surface may be more disease resistant.
Wishey Melzer, who has a little history of his own with more than a half century of experience on the river, calls that theory ``hogwash,'' and he calls Wesson - well, the marine commission official has few fans among the watermen.
``I never heard of such a thing, piling shells on top of live oysters,'' Melzer said. ``He's misleading everybody about this river. Ain't Jim Wesson or nobody else going to control this river. The good Lord's going to do that.''
Ronnie Bevans, who buys local seed oysters to replant in tributaries of the Potomac, sympathizes with the watermen.
``The watermen are tough, hard men,'' Bevans said. ``They are looking for every way to survive in a grueling job.''
But the buyer understands Wesson's position, too.
``I believe Jim is doing everything in his power to bring oysters back in this state,'' Bevans said. ``But the watermen don't agree with a lot he does. It really is a touchy situation.''
Some local watermen think the state's position is simply a plot to get federal grants, and they think it's a conspiracy to drive the small businessman out of business on the James River.
``Capt. John'' Johnson said he thinks that once the state has the watermen where they want them, it will begin allowing dredging of oysters in the James. Others agree that could be exactly where all of it eventually will lead.
But not without a fight.
``If I hadn't of come off the water, I would have killed somebody,'' said one former waterman who called it quits just a couple of years ago. ``Between fighting with the state men and people stealing your equipment, it was something every day. I loved it, but I couldn't put up with it.''
A look of sadness crosses Johnson's face when he talks about his love for the river. He's never known any other life.
``I love oystering,'' he said, a slight smile turning the corners of his mouth. ``You get paid every day, sit and rest when you want to. Used to be, the harder you worked, the more you could make. But you can't suit nobody no more.
``This is the toughest year I've ever seen.'' ILLUSTRATION: Staff photos by JOHN H. SHEALLY II
Oyster boats at Rescue Marina, near Smithfield, sit lifeless at the
docks, encircled by ice crystals.
State regulations are posted at the docks where oyster boats sit
idle.
A waterman measures the size of an oyster pulled from the James
River.
``Ain't . . . nobody else going to control this river. The good
Lord's going to do that.''
- Wishey Melzer
``This ain't no life for a young man. It's nothing in it for
nobody except somebody who don't know any better.
- Oliver J. Crockett
ON THE COVER
TREADING WATER
Joe Melzer, owner of Dock Side Seafood, measures oysters in a staff
photograph by John H. Sheally II.
by CNB