Steve Mason “Bowing to Progress” 8/16/24 We arrived just at twilight. After a long day’s run down the coast, we crossed the bar into Fort Bragg, California, as the light was fading, entering what felt like another world.

Along the narrow waterway that led to the marina, docks were filled with fishermen unloading the day’s catch. The air was a blend of music from honky-tonk bars, barking sea lions, and the raised voices of men exhausted from a long day. The smell of fish was everywhere, and the ocean breeze was still fresh in our ears. It felt like boating through the pages of a Steinbeck novel as we glided along the winding waterway, caught somewhere between a 1930s California fishing scene and a ride on the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland.

The next day, after sleeping like the dead, we walked the docks where our boat was snugly tucked. It was the only non-fishing boat in the marina. I spoke with old-time fishermen who lamented that government fisheries were denying them their livelihoods due to depleted supplies (starting year three for salmon this winter). I also met young fishermen who were driving their catches inland for several hours, bypassing the wholesalers and selling directly to a mailing list of five thousand consumers.

Either way, you slice it, this is sadly a dying trade. There are fewer fish in the sea due to years of over-harvesting, increased demand, and the impact of climate change. The younger guys are exploring new markets and disruptive approaches, but even they understand the challenges ahead.

As we prepared to leave in the morning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this place was on the edge of something—caught between the weight of its storied past and an uncertain future. The vintage trawlers and the men who work them are the last of their kind, holding onto a way of life that is slowly slipping away. But for now, they remain, anchored in the ebb and flow of the tides, telling their stories to those who pass through, reminding us of a world that once was, and maybe a future ahead.