BLESS THIS FLEET

A longtime tradition will unfold along the banks of the Cooper River in the coastal South Carolina town of Mount Pleasant this Sunday. And, I plan to be there among the crowd of thousands enjoying an afternoon of shagging (South Carolina’s official state dance) to beach music, admiring local artisan work, and enjoying shrimp eating contests. But the highlight, the heart of this festival, is blessing the local shrimping fleet.

Together we will bow our heads as a local minister makes a public prayer for each freshly painted shrimp boat chugging by on the river. I’m sure that I won’t be the only one in the crowd whispering my own personal prayer for this year’s season to be a bountiful one for our local shrimping families, where every boat trip ends with a safe return to the docks and full nets dripping with plump, wild-caught shrimp.

While the Annual Blessing of the Fleet has swelled in popularity over the last 23 years, the coastal business it celebrates has experienced just the opposite. The Shem Creek boat docks in Mount Pleasant, once boomed with shrimp boats, busily unloading their day’s haul. But today, the number of people in the shrimping business has dwindled so low that this type of lifestyle is threatened. Competition from overseas farm-raised shrimp has been the biggest threat, but the price of diesel fuel to keep the vessels trawling has skyrocketed. So, many of them have left the business in search of land jobs that provide a steady paycheck for their families.

A shrimper’s life is far from a fairytale. However, they will be treated like kings of the waterway this Sunday! With more than 10,000 people attending the annual event, the Blessing of the Fleet has outgrown its usual backyard location of Alhambra Hall and will be held this year at the newly built Memorial Waterfront Park at the foot of the Ravenel Bridge.

On Sunday, when we stand together waving and smiling at our diminishing fleet of shrimp boats, my prayer for them will be that the tide changes in the shrimpers favor. May their nets not only overflow with succulent shrimp, but may they also receive a fair price for their catch. May the tens of thousands of seafood lovers in this coastal community and every city across the country ask for wild, American caught shrimp. May they make their demands known to their local grocers and restaurants.

See you at the Annual Blessing of the Fleet on Sunday, April 25th at Mt. Pleasant Memorial Waterfront Park!

SHRIMP LOVERS TO THE RESCUE

The shrimp were plump, pink. A side of crunchy, creamy coleslaw rounded out this perfect Southern meal served earlier this month at a local fundraising event down the road from my house. It was a great opportunity to help one of the Lowcountry’s beloved shrimpers and the crowds turned out on that warm, sunny Sunday afternoon. Hundreds of well wishers from across the Charleston area came out in support.

Captain Donnie Brown is no stranger to tough times. As a longtime shrimp boat captain at Shem Creek, he and his family have had to ride out the storms that come along with his line of work. The latest storm to strike—a fire on board shrimping vessel, the Miss Karen—destroyed his trawler. His source of livelihood was gone and another shrimp boat lost to the area.

Even on the best of days, American shrimpers have a hard time making ends meet. A flood of farm-raised, flavorless (in my opinion) imported shrimp sold on the cheap has undercut the local market. But the shrimpers have hung on. So imagine the toll it takes on a shrimper’s family when your business literally goes up in smoke.

This is a fire that affects more than just one local family. It affects the shrimping community, which dwindles each year as folks look for land jobs that promise a steady paycheck. It affects me, my neighbors, our local restaurants and the U.S. industry.

So as I filled my tummy with shrimp on that particular Sunday, my heart was filled as well to see hundreds of people enjoying the shrimp boil at Goldbug Island, right next to Sullivan’s Island. Great food, good drinks, toe-tapping music and a lot of smiling faces. No smile seemed to shine quite as bright though as those of Captain Donnie Brown and his wife, Karen, for whom the lost boat was named.

My hope is this flood of community support is exactly what Captain Brown needs to make sure the Miss Karen is a common sight along the Atlantic Coast horizon when the shrimping season begins this spring. See you at the Blessing of the Fleet at Shem Creek on April …..

“The REAL Last Light over Carolina”

I can’t say I was shocked when I heard the news, but my heart was still saddened by the truth. The real-life vessel that sparked the name of the shrimp boat in my latest book “Last Light over Carolina” is no longer trawling the waters for shrimp off the Carolina coast.

Captain Wayne Magwood, a lifelong Shem Creek shrimper, who graces the pages of the story, told a Charleston news station that his nephew Rocky Magwood is quitting the family business and selling his shrimp boat, the Carolina, because he can’t make a living off of his catch.

Wayne Magwood told the reporter, “With him not having a boat, it hurts him and hurts me too.” He went on to say, “I know how much he loves it and he wants to be in this business. It is in his blood.”

This story playing out in the local media is nothing unique in any coastal community. The forces have been building against our shrimpers for quite some time—the glut of cheaper, imported shrimp, the high cost of diesel fuel, and the disappearing docks.

“Back then they felt like kings of their world. And for a shining moment, they were. Today they were paupers. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how many hours, he couldn’t make it. He was sick of the boat, sick of the shrimp, and sick of scraping by.” (pg. 52, “Last Light over Carolina”)

In my novel, shrimp boat captain Bud Morrison was a fourth generation shrimper, like Rocky Magwood. His tale, and that of his family, reflects the challenges, struggles and commitments of shrimping families past and present.

“For three generations, the pull of the tides drew Morrison men to the sea. Attuned to the moon, they rose before first light to board wooden shrimp boats and head slowly out across black water, the heavy green nets poised like folded wings. Tales of the sea were whispered to them in their mothers’ laps, they earned their sea legs as they learned to walk, and they labored on the boats soon after. Shrimping was all they knew or ever wanted to know. It was in their blood.” (pg. 1, "Last Light over Carolina")

I hope people not only fall in love with the story of Bud Morrison and his wife, Carolina, but also gain an understanding of the shrimping communities all along the southeastern coast.

What can you do to prevent the last light of day from permanently falling upon other shrimps boats like the Carolina? If you live on the coast, like I do, buy your fresh, local catch straight from the fishermen’s docks. It’s cheaper! And, no matter where you live, ask your restaurants and grocery stores for Wild American shrimp. If you do, I’m guessing Rocky will be back on the water with Wayne Magwood and the other captains along our coast.

Learn more from the Wild American Shrimp organization. http://www.wildamericanshrimp.com/.

Also, thanks to Barbara Bergwerf, a talented photographer and dear friend who provided this photo. 

Friends Don't Let Friends Eat Imported Shrimp

Spotted on shirts and bumper stickers throughout the Lowcountry, is the common phrase, “Friends don’t let friends eat imported shrimp.” It’s a mission statement that hardly a crustacean-loving soul seems to be against. Yet, as the number of those bumper stickers swell on the backside of vehicles, our American shrimping industry is quickly vanishing; a real problem conveyed my latest novel, Last Light over Carolina.

The protagonist Bud Morrison thought to himself while on his family shrimp boat, "One thing he knew for sure, though, was that sitting on board the Miss Ann that day with the best damn captain on the southeastern sea and the boast's belly full of booty, the men had felt proud. They were the hunters returning with their kill. Thousands of little critters were nestled on ice. Back then, they'd felt like kings of their world. And for a shining moment, they were."

If we choose to live out the slogan "friends don't let friends eat imported shrimp," our simple actions could help in the fight to save the livelihoods of shrimpers families by living out the bumper sticker message.

So what can you do? Read more at: www.wildamericanshrimp.com