Sky Graham is busy splitting alewives as fast as their headless bodies are handed to her. She has been cutting fish for years: “I learned it from my grandfather,” she explains. Graham and the rest of her eighth-grade class are smoking alewives in order to raise money for their graduation trip to Boston and, at the same time, raising awareness of a former springtime ritual on the East Machias River in Washington County.
A few generations ago, 20 alewife stands were dotted along the short stretch of river from the Route 1 bridge to the Bangor Hydro powerhouse. Stan Dennison remembers using a conveyor belt to load fish and truck them off to the pet food factory in Lubec. Many of the fish were used as lobster bait and some were smoked for human consumption. Stan’s father, Ralph “Suz” Dennison, ran one of the three smokehouses on the river. It is at his old smokehouse at the base of the bridge where these young people are processing fish.
Smoking fish is a specialized skill. “You don’t realize how much work goes into it,” says Bucket Davis of Elm Street School, who is working with the students to carry on the tradition. From picking the good days (not too hot), to mixing the brine (not too salty) and tending the fire (again, not too hot), it is a step-by-step process that follows rules passed down through generations in an area where some of these students’ families run deep.
Graham says her eagerness to participate was “knowing that my ancestors have done this before and carrying on the past.” Her great-grandfather, Harold Sprague, owned one of the many dipping stands. Working across from her on the cutting board is Stormy Dennison.
The split fish are smoked as kippers. The rest are strung whole on sticks. They are all loaded in the upper reaches of the smokehouse and a fire is set. The fish are smoked a batch at a time and take a few days to cure.
Davis fires up a grill to cook some of the finished fish for the students to sample. Most prefer the kippers. Davis likes the whole fish, known as “bloaters,” “because they are more moist and contain the spawn.” Some just find them “way too boney.”
Alewives are anadromous fish that spawn in a river’s freshwater upper reaches before returning to sea. The young leave in late summer or early fall to mature for three to five years before returning to complete the cycle. An important food source for many species, in part because of their high fat content, they have been historically cited as the most abundant migratory fish. Restriction of passage on the rivers and degradation of water quality have been blamed for a decrease in numbers, but 2012 has been a good year.
“I have heard from a lot of people that this was an outstanding year, way above average,” said Gail Wippelhauser, a scientist with the Department of Marine Resources (DMR). “What happened four years ago may tell us why. A great deal of rain in late summer and early fall may have helped the downstream migration.” Lew Flagg, consultant to DMR as an alewife specialist, credits good ocean survival, which also supported high returns of blueback herring and shad.
“Thick enough to walk across” is not too much of an exaggeration voiced by those who watched the upstream migration near Chase Mill Dam on the river above the bridge. Students helped collect the alewives as they were dipped by classmate Kayla Stevens’ parents, Tammy and Hollis Stevens. Most of the fish they dip go for lobster and halibut bait, but several buckets made their way to the smokehouse.
Once the fish were processed and hung, the fire was left smoking and students headed back to class. Notes on the smokehouse door welcomed a steady stream of old-timers and newly curious to help themselves and invited them to leave a donation. One note cautioned that the fish are not fully cooked (such notification is required by state statute to sell alewives that are not free of viscera). Another explained the details of the Elm Street program, while an old coffee can labeled for donations was filled tight with approximately $1,200. “This was a great fundraiser,” Davis said of the proceeds.
“It is part of their diet,” he added, saying people were thrilled to have the “treat” of smoked alewives back. As the students headed off to Boston for museum visits and a Red Sox game, the smokehouse sign read, “See you next spring.”
Coverage of Washington County is made possible by a grant from the Eaton Foundation.
Leslie Bowman is a freelance writer and photographer living in Trescott, Maine.