The fishy tale of Newport’s dory fleet

“Shrimp boats a comin’, their sails are in sight. Shrimp boats a

comin’, there’s dancin’ tonight.”

Who sang that? Almost everyone with vocal cords in the 1950’s, but

the most famous version was by Jo Stafford. Who was Jo Stafford? She

was a Big Band vocalist in the ‘40s and a big deal pop singer in the

‘50s -- singing “Shrimp Boats,” “Jambalaya” and “Tennessee Waltz,”

long before Patti Page.

Is there a point to any of this, or am I just babbling? Both. One,

I’m always babbling. Two, I wanted to talk about the dories, but I

couldn’t find a song about dory boats. All I could think of was

“Shrimp boats a comin’.” At least they’re both boats.

As you may have noticed, I get cranky and out of sorts when people

tamper with tradition. Last month, Newport’s long-standing fleet of

dory boats was almost wiped out by our friends from the District of

Columbia. It was one more example of the 10 most frightening words in

the English language: “Hello. We’re from Washington, and we’re here

to help you.”

Actually, they were trying to help the rockfish. Do you know what

rockfish is? Neither did I.

If you think people are confusing, try fish. There are thousands

of species and sub-species and sub-sub-species. The feds were

fretting (they do that a lot) that certain species of rockfish, like

thornyhead and sablefish, were being fished out. They were especially

concerned about one type called boccacio.

What makes boccacio so desirable is that it is one type of what

you non-fishermen call “red snapper,” which is of course peddled in

restaurants and markets by the megaton.

There is a more sinister version of that briny impersonation, by

the way. In certain restaurants that do not have good values, when

you order “red snapper” or “scallops” or “sand dabs,” Neptune only

knows what you’re getting. What you think are scallops might be a

filet of white fish that’s been cut into rounds with a cookie cutter.

Sad, but true.

When the feds -- in the form of the National Marine Fisheries

Service -- put these bans in place, their real target was big-time

commercial fishing. Huge boats with an army of people in heavy rubber

gloves and aprons, tossing the little fish into giant freezers.

Zillions of fish caught in one fell swoop.

The last thing the fish feds had in mind was six or eight dory

boats pounding through the surf and into open water before dawn,

catching a few fish, then plowing their way back to shore and selling

their modest catch right on the beach. Fortunately, at the urging of

the City of Newport Beach and Mayor Tod Ridgeway -- a very

accomplished fisherman himself -- the feds said “All right already.

Go. Fish. Sell. Be happy.” Those weren’t the exact words, but that

was it, more or less. No more thornyhead ban. No more size

restrictions on sablefish caught south of Point Sur. Very good news,

I think.

Dory boats are a great American tradition, long predating the

country itself. They are the descendants of a small but sturdy,

flat-bottomed “bateau” that French explorers and trappers used to ply

the lakes of rivers of the New World.

In coastal areas, dealing with the surf called for a few

modifications, most notably the dory’s distinctive, V-shaped hull,

which was designed by a shipwright named Simeon Lowell.

By and large, the design has changed little over the last 200

years. If a New England dory man from 1820 were transported to

Newport Beach today, the only things he’d recognize are the ocean and

the dory boats. And, in a way, that’s my point.

Yes, there are only a handful of individuals and families that

make their living from the dories. But the dory fleet and the

lifestyle it represents have been entrusted to all of us. It’s a

little reminder of who we are and where we came from that’s been left

in our care.

And what a great symbol for the American experience! Rugged

individuals, carving out a living however they can, without anyone’s

help. Of course, for landlubbers like me, there’s the whole seafaring

thing: “Ahoy, matey,” the Gorton’s seafood guy, all that stuff.

Fascinating.

So that’s the deal. It was touch and go for a while, but two

thumbs up for Newport Beach and the fish feds. Now get down to the

Pier and buy some boccacio. It’s good for the dory men, good for you

and good for America. I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached via e-mail at PtrB4@aol.com.