The reflections of the lights of fishing boats offshore stretch towards me across the blackening waters and glistening sands. Distant headlands disappear into the mist as dusk falls. The beach is empty now and the tide ebbs, as if the ocean is retiring for the night.

The thin sound of four-stroke motors echoes across the beach as more and more of the old wooden vessels head out to sea. Men stand in the water acting as anchors against the waves as they push out past the surf. A perilous job, I can’t help but think, but, as I am told, the rewards can be immense. Just a few years ago, a single boat could haul in over a million juvenile lobsters in a single night, enough to buy a car. Now, due to over-fishing, they are lucky to get a hundred.