James was born and raised in the picturesque town of South Lubec, Maine, and his lineage as a lobster fisherman is as long as the rocky coastline of the state in which he lives. All his progenitors, as far back as time can recall, had fished for the elusive lobster. That dark greenish, chitinous, scavenging, arthropod that once boiled for twelve minutes and dipped in melted butter becomes the delectable red shelled meal enjoyed by so many.

The love of the sea was deeply infused in James while he was still in his mothers womb and is as boundless as the love of baseball was to the great immortal Babe Ruth.

Lobster fishing is a malodorous job and even after his clothes have been washed in water nearly as hot as that required to cause a chamelonic change in his lobsters (and dried in slightly perfumed air) always present is the faint odor of the putrefied bait he uses to lure the lobsters into his traps.

As a lobster man he is always slave to the inconstant climatic elements. Bitter cold that sometimes stretches beyond that description and fringes into the Freon stage. Early morning fog so thick birds swim rather than face the moisture laden mist, and a brilliant blazing summer sun that scorches the skin with direct rays and then decorates the flesh with watery blisters from the salt water reflected rays.

Ever present are the lonely solitary mornings spent in preparation for the day's work and long tedious working hours filled with despair or exuberance depending on how well nature has endowed his lobster traps. Late evenings in preparation for the next day's back breaking work are also mandatory to bless him with the rewards of his labor. Still, if he had a magic wand that would enable him to choose any profession on earth he couldn't conjure up anything he'd rather do. This is a truly an inbred labor of love. An honest daily chore that makes him his own man and master of his fate. He's royal monarch over a hundred wooden traps he deploys with the cunning of a general to ensnare his decapod prey.

It was a brisk, breezy, Friday morning--rounding the corner to eight o'clock--when he dropped in on his father who had recently been forced to abandon his search for lobsters. Far too many early mornings and excruciatingly long days had finally taken their toll. His mother had risen early and was already laboring away in Pike’s sardine factory so Doug was there alone in his solitude.

"Dad, I've got something pretty exciting I need to discuss with you. I think it's important but for the time being I think we should keep it between us.”

“That sounds kind of mysterious, James,” Doug said giving his son a twinkled eye smile.

“It's not only mysterious, Dad, it's also very interesting. For the last six or seven days I've caught more lobsters than any man with twice as many traps."

"That doesn't sound like a big problem to me," Doug broke in.

"You haven't heard anything yet, Dad. There's much more to it than that. I moved a couple of my lobster traps in closer to shore than I've ever had them before. I needed to do a little repair job on them but it was getting late so I just dropped them over the side of my boat twenty feet out from shore. I hauled both traps the next morning and they were so loaded I could hardly drag them from the water. There wasn't enough room in either trap for another lobster so instead of putting two traps back I put down four. I went out the next morning to check them and lo and behold I found all four of them loaded to the hilt. I put all four traps back and returned the next morning not knowing what to expect. Again they were loaded with beauties and four of them went over two pounds apiece. I took more lobsters from those four traps than I did all my other traps combined. You know how it is, Dad. Normally I pull my traps every other day and feel lucky to get one or two keepers from a trap. I started pulling these four traps every day and they are always loaded. Yesterday I pulled up a lobster that weighed over seven pounds and he was so big I can't imagine how he even got into my trap."

"Gee, son," Doug broke in again, "I don't see what your problem is. I wish I had found something like that when I was fishing."

"Oh," James continued, "it's not the lobsters that are bothering me. It's something else completely. You remember about sixty years ago when Less Wilcox found the Viking petroglyph on a boulder out near Quoddy Head lighthouse? He kept it to himself for a couple weeks before he told anyone about it and it turned out to be the find of the century, especially for Maine historians. It was old Scandinavian writing that proved the Vikings had frequented our shores long before Columbus was ever heard of and historians had a field day with it. Remember how hundreds of them scoured Quoddy Head trying to find artifacts?"

"I remember all right. South Lubec was the most important place on the map for several months."

"I'm afraid they were looking on the wrong side of the Head and in the wrong place. They were covering the land on the east side and all the time their treasure was over on the west side. Not on the land but down deep in the water."

"Did you find something, James?" Doug asked, his feelings rising to the top of the interest spectrum.

"Yes, I really have, Dad. I went out today at low tide to see if I could figure why all those lobsters are there. I took the old wooden bucket with the glass bottom in it, the one Gramps called his "looking bucket." You know, the one he used to search the bay bottom for flounders. I looked down toward where my pots are and I don't know why somebody hasn't seen it before but about eight or ten feet below the surface I saw the top of a mast sticking up from a boat. The deeper water was so dark I couldn't see clearly but I made out a scaphoid figure sitting on the bottom. I'm sure it wasn't anything used locally. If a boat had sunk there in the last hundred years you and Gramps would have heard about it."

"I'm sure it doesn't belong to anyone around here, James. If someone lost a boat years ago we'd all know about it today....and probably we'd have made up some good tales about how it got there."

“Well, I undressed down to my shorts and dove into the icy water. The cold cut like a knife and I knew I couldn't stay in there more than a couple minutes. I grabbed the mast and hand over hand pulled myself down as far as I could and I saw the outline of a boat. As cold as the water was something sent a chill down my spine that made the water feel almost warm. There on the bottom sits what I think is a Viking boat."

"You're pulling my leg, James. There can't be a boat there. If anything made of wood sits on the bottom it will rot and fall apart."

"I swear to you, Dad, there's a boat there and I'd almost swear that it's Viking."

"Hey, you're serious about this. If you've found something it has to be turned over to the proper authorities right now."

"I thought that's what you'd say and that's my problem. I'm afraid if I move the boat I might disturb one of the greatest lobster breeding spots in the world. That's why I came to you. You've always guided me in the right direction and I've always respected your judgment about such things, but there are a couple other things to think about too. These last few days have added funds to a bank account that was far from overflowing and for that I'm thankful, and if I keep getting this number of lobsters every day someone will wonder how I'm doing it and soon every lobster fisherman within a hundred miles will be fishing in this area. I wouldn't blame them if they did but I'm sure within a few months greed would take over and this breeding place would become nonexistent. If I remain silent I may be able to conceal the location and at the same time save my own livelihood.”

"You're right son, you have a problem. This could be a very important discovery and if it is a Viking ship the world should know about it. On the other hand I know how man can disrupt nature's natural flow of things. I remember the good old days when the Bay of Funday was alive with all kinds of fish. I used to love to go to Wallace's cove to catch smelt and flounders and I heard stories, way back then, about flounders so big that when you caught one you had to put it in two boats to get it ashore.” He chuckled at his own joviality and continued, “I've seen the sandy bottom there alive with bottom dwellers and now there isn't a flounder to be found anywhere. Before you were born, James, the cod, halibut, haddock, hake, herring and pollack were everywhere. Then the scallop boats came and dredged away the bottom of the bay and what little they left the oyster fishermen destroyed. Together they disturbed the ocean floor so badly all the fish left and right now I feel a little like you. If you tell someone you might ruin the best lobster breeding spot in the world but if you don't tell it's possible you could be breaking some law. Let me think it over and maybe we can come up with something. We won't tell another soul about this except your mother. She'd never forgive us if we kept something this important from her."

"Right, Dad. I'll see you in the morning and we can go take a look at what I hope is a Viking ship."

With enthusiasm born by a new discovery and adrenaline slowly but constantly flowing through his body, bright and early the next morning James arrived at his father's house. Doug had arisen before dawn and worked up a modern day Rube Goldberg looking contraption. He had meticulously enclosed a camcorder and a portable light, that he used in emergencies, inside a plastic bag. He attached the light to the camcorder in such a manner that wherever the camcorder pointed the light would illuminate the area two or three feet out in front. He stretched the plastic cover over the lens making it as tight as he possibly could and tied it with waxed string. This was to eliminate movement in front of the lens and distort the picture of any object they might focus on. He folded down the top of the bag and tied it securely in three different places, filled the kitchen sink to within four inches of the top, and put the bag into the water to be sure it was waterproof.

"Now, James, lets see if we can get some pictures of your Viking boat. There's some cord in the shed we can use to lower the bag down to the bottom. I'll tie it in back and front and that way I'll be able to change the angle of the bag. It won't be low tide for an hour and twenty minutes and that should give us plenty of time to get into position."

Doug got the cord while James loaded the equipment into the truck and by the time it was ebb tide they were sitting directly above the boat. Doug attached the rope to the bag, turned on the light and camcorder, and lowered them over the side of James's boat. James got his “looking bucket” and watched as the bag descended into the icy blue waters of the Bay of Funday. At seven fathoms James told his father to stop and lower the tip of the bag a little more and uttered a guttural sound. Part delight, part shock, part awe as the rays from the light lit up a small area of the bottom of the boat. Almost breathless he said,

"This is wonderful, Dad. There are weapons, jars of some kind, and little things I can't make out. There is something there that looks like human bones. This will probably put Lubec back in the papers again. Here you take a look and I'll hold the bag." They swapped positions and Doug peered into the past through a glass bottomed bucket.

"How right you are, son. This is absolutely unbelievable. When the boat is hoisted from its watery home it may give us answers to questions we've been asking for ages. Move the camcorder to cover as much of the boat as possible. You'd better hurry though the tide will be getting swift as soon as it starts to come in."

Doug scanned the boat as best he could and directed James in his first attempt at an under water movie production. He told his son to move the bag to the outside of the boat and sat back in disbelief.

"I see what you mean about lobsters, James. The whole area down there is alive with them. I wonder what's attracted them here. Usually they're very cautious when they feed and eat alone but this area is alive with them and they don't seem the least bit perturbed. It must be the wood in the boat ----or----something they carried in the boat they're after. Pull up the bag and we'll take it home and see what the big attraction is."

Thirty minutes later Doug excitedly slipped the tape from his camcorder into his VCR, rewound the tape, turned it to play, and in a few seconds a picture appeared on the screen. The fantastic recording was so clear it bordered on the edge of eerie. There were articles on the bottom of the boat that hadn't been seen for decades. Stone and metal axes, bows that were as arcuate as the day they were made, urns, vases, at least one breastplate, and a little package wrapped in what was left of some type of cloth. Everything appeared to be in excellent condition and each item was tenderly positioned as though some female had just finished packing her suitcase for a long journey.

    "Why do you think the boat sank, Dad?"

    "I don't have the foggiest idea. I've been searching for holes in the bottom of the boat but I haven't seen any."

By all appearances this pristine phenomenon sat marooned on the ocean bottom in the same condition it once ricocheted from billow to billow in the North Atlantic. What tragedy had befallen those left on board? Had they been victims of nomadic Indians or had their demise been the result of some demonic plan? Had they navigated uncharted waters, sustained life for endless days and nights, and defeated climatic conditions only to starve or fall prey to a Maine cold? Could kismet be this cruel, this contemptible, or was it a predestined catastrophe purposely schemed to allow modern man to witness an infinitesimal miracle?

But the greatest mystery of all was why the lobsters gathered there in such great quantities. When they had scanned the bottom around the outside of the boat they had captured on film the ninth wonder of the world. Lobsters by the ton; some thirty to forty pounds each. They rewound the tape and watched it repeatedly. Scrutinizing each inch of the film like two detectives going over a new found clue. They were so deeply engrossed in their new discovery they didn't hear the car pull into the driveway and stop or Margie walk into the room.

"Is this all I get after a hard day at the factory? No hugs or kisses, not even hello?"

"Sorry, Love." Doug said as he kissed his wife.

"Sorry, Mom." James joined in as he hugged and kissed his mother, "but once you see what we have I'm sure you'll forgive us."

They rewound the tape and displayed to Margie secrets hundreds of years old. She uttered oohhs and aahhs as she eyed the tape and together they fervently examined every fascinating inch. As they talked to themselves and to each other the film displayed several urns and vases in the prow of the boat. Both sides were laden with wooden oars, pieces of curved wood whose original intent was indistinguishable, two spare masts, and other paraphernalia whose purpose was unknown to the new treasure finders.

"Stop," Margie excitedly squealed, "right there. Do you see it?"

"See what, Mom?" James queried.

"Right there. See that urn or whatever it is. Look carefully. There's something seeping through the jar into the water."

"You're right, Mom. The flow is so small I can hardly see it but there is defiantly something there. Do you see it, Dad?"

"Just barely. It looks like an oil of some kind. Could it be the oil they burned in their lanterns and after all these years it has seeped its way through the jar?"

"I don't know but it could be the reason the lobsters are there. Maybe they like the oil. Even the rotten old bait I use puts out some oil."

"I believe that's it, James," Doug said, "we may have just found the reason the lobsters are here."

"Don't get your hopes so sky high," Margie said, "it may be whatever is coming from the urn and it may not be. Only time will tell."

"Son," Doug said, "we've got to get that urn and find out what's inside. If we remove it the lobsters might move away if that's what they're after. Then again we might break the urn trying to get it up and never know what's in it. We need to get Rupert in on this. He's been scuba diving for years and has everything he'd need to explore this marvel and if necessary he knows how to keep things to himself. I wish I had taken up the sport when he asked me to," he added almost as an afterthought.

A call to the explorer-adventurer brought an instant reply and within an hour he was heading for the airport and the jet that would transport him to Bangor. On arrival he rented a car, picked up his baggage, and headed for the little town of his childhood. Driving the miles from the airport to Lubec caused memories to bounce in his mind like a well batted Ping-Pong ball. Every inch of this road was in retrospect a moment in his youth. Susie lived in that little white house and her father had fired his twelve gage shotgun loaded, with rock salt, at Rupert because he had kept his daughter out too late. Jean lived over there. That buxom, blue eyed, beauty who had one year been crowned Miss Maine. Betty and Brenda the Erquhart twins (with whom he shared his heart equally) lived with their grandparents after the tragic death of their parents. As he traveled he thought of Lois, Dolly, Madeline and the many other girls he had wooed and won. He smiled and his heart warmed inside as he recalled the many love escapades he had attempted and lost. With his mind running wild with childish thoughts time passed quickly and soon he pulled into his brother Doug's driveway. When he heard what James had found he was anxious to see it so they put the tape in the VCR and Al watched, engrossed until the end.

"It's too late to dive today," James said, “the tide is high and it'll make it too hard for you to reach the bottom. The tide will add another thirty eight feet, but you know that."

"That's only sixty eight feet, James, and I can free dive that deep. With my scuba gear on that's nothing. Lets go take a look at whatever it is that's sitting on the bottom. I have my own underwater camera and I'll take a roll of film----if----it's what we think it is. I'll stay down an hour taking pictures and then we'll have a real good look at everything that's sitting on the bottom out there. So if you guys don't mind I'd like to see that boat."

Thirty minutes later Rupert slipped over the side of James's boat and sank into the glacial waters of the Bay. Nearly an hour had passed before he surfaced and passed an urn to Doug.

"Treat that gently, Brother, it may hold the secret of the ages. Beyond a shadow of a doubt it's a Viking boat and in excellent condition. It could be possible the cold water may have preserved it. You won't believe the pictures I got of the boat and the hundreds of lobsters of all sizes milling around. I can almost taste a couple of them now."

They bustled back to Doug's house with the anxiety of a toreador almost ready to thrust the death stroke. Rupert attached a cable and transformer from his underwater camera to the TV set, rewound the film, and pushed the play button. In the prow of the boat were handmade tools and weapons, three canopic jars, and many other items they couldn't make out. By all appearances it was the supply ship for a small fleet.

Doug had opened the urn they had so conscientiously removed from the boat and tasted the contents. There was very little of the alchemistic potion left inside the urn but he could tell it was some type of oil.

"I'm surprised by this," he said, "it tasted like olive oil but I've never heard or read about Vikings using olive oil or even knowing what olives were. It's much too cold to grow them where they live so the only way they could get this oil was to trade for it or plunder it from another ship. They could have been pirates but I don't think so. Finding this boat here makes me think they traveled to many parts of the world. We'll learn more when the boat is on dry land and we can check through its contents."

Then again came the big question. "Are you going to tell anyone about this, James?"

"Not for a couple days at least." James answered after giving it a lot of thought. "First I want to be sure what kind of oil it is and if that's the reason the lobsters are there. I'd love to think I could keep them around if I used the same kind of oil, but on the other hand, I know eventually I'll have to report this to someone in authority. This is too big to be kept a secret. Let me sleep on it tonight and I'll tell you what I've decided in the morning."

All the artists in the world couldn't put on canvas the beauty of the day as the red rising sun painted a crimson stippled haze on the bottom of white clouds. James enjoyed the heavenly display as he drove to join Doug and the rest of the family.

"As much as I hate to I'm going to report it. I only wish there was some way I could leave it there so the lobsters wouldn't leave. I'm going to buy a can of olive oil and punch a tiny hole in it. We can lower it down to the boat at low tide and watch through the looking bucket and see how the lobsters react. If they go for it in a big way I believe they may stay around even if the boat is removed. If they don't mess with it at all I'll know it's the boat that keeps them there, and it would kill me to move it and destroy their breeding grounds. The tide is on the ebb so lets get some oil and see what happens."

James purchased a quart can of olive oil and they all returned to where their new-found treasure lay. After making three tiny holes in the can it was lowered over the side and even as it descended to the bottom of the briny depths several lobsters cautiously came to the oil and swam through it. As the fluid seeped from the can more and more lobsters gathered around. Most of them took a small taste of the oil and left but it was definitely what they were after.

"That's it, “James said optimistically, "they're interested in the oil and not the boat. Now I can tell someone about it and have it put in a museum for all the world to see."

He informed the Quoddy Tides, the paper that covers north-eastern Maine, about his discovery. They made his find known and started a pilgrimage of history seekers to Lubec unprecedented since the writing in stone was found.

The state assumed the responsibility of raising the boat, which was not an easy task. Slowly, attentively, laboriously as though they were fondling Italian majolica, inch by careful inch they mothered the boat to the surface. When it first appeared hundreds of cameras clicked, camcorders rolled, and TV cameras whizzed sending pictures hurling into space and around the world.

On shore it was implanted in specially built stanchions and guards were assigned to it twenty four hours a day. The last thing they wanted was souvenir hunters shredding it apart and toting it off as they had done to the manger in Bethlehem. Prior to removing the articles from their resting place several hundred feet of film were expended to assure everything went back into the original position. As the objects were removed each piece was cataloged, numbered, video taped, and broadcast on TV.

In the prow there were nine cressets (iron vessels for holding burning oil) and when they were in use would be suspended as lanterns. Next to them were eleven cruses to hold the oil. Also two or three small pieces of ancient jewelry worth very little for their metal and precious stone value but worth a king's ransom for their historic value. In addition were numerous Greek, Roman and Persian gold coins and six exquisite gold figurines. The largest sculpture was of a bull and was artistic perfection. It weighed slightly more than six hundred grams. Two small diamonds had been artistically embedded as his eyes.

Next came a porpoise, insignificantly smaller, having one blue topaz as an eye. On the opposite side of its illustrious head was a tiny hole where a stone had once been set.

The third figurine was an cleverly carved lion. Its flowing mane and a slightly bent tail enhanced the regal beast.

The forth figurine was a bird perched on a small branch. Its wings were spread and ready for liftoff into some unknown realm.

The last two figurines were the smallest and the most beautiful of all. Some master goldsmith had created two roses identical in size and shape. The roses had been conceived with such transcending feeling they took on the look of reality. Each petal had been expertly shaped to enhance the one next to it and the short stems that supported the roses each had three thorns and a single leaf.

On the abaft section of the boat, head pointed toward the tiller and feet toward the prow, rested a six foot two inch tall skeleton. It was covered with a metal breastplate, a tunic of chain mail, and two pieces of medieval armor used to guard the legs from the knees down. The armor was rusted and crusted by small marine creatures but still recognizable.

The right arm of the skeleton was laying across its chest and a small bundle was held in position by the arm. The little bundle fell apart when it was touched and revealed the bones of a female infant. The adult bones were those of a tall woman. Was it possible this battle clad female was captain of the crew? Did women Vikings sail the seas the same as men? Did women defy the elements and travel to distant lands to barter for goods and carry home treasures? These questions and many more ran freely in the minds of those privileged to witness this great discovery.

The figurehead was a Fafnir (a dragon of Norse myth) carefully carved to be ferociously beautiful. This was much more than a boat for ordinary seamen. More than a vessel constructed to supply oceanic seafood to a community. This boat had been fabricated to last forever. In an effort to understand why the boat had endured so long a small auger hole had been made in the main beam and it revealed an ancient secret. After the oakum had been squeezed into every crack and crevice the wood had been soaked for days in boiling bee's wax sending a protective water proof shield deep into the wood. When it had cooled down it was sanded and recoated with a coat of hot wax and after another sanding was again covered with a coat of warm wax. It also became evident to the researchers why the boat had sunk. A strip of oakum nearly a foot long was missing from the boat's bottom. And that raised another question. Where had they found the tar and jute fiber that made up the oakum composition?

With the boat safely cradled Rupert donned his scuba gear and taking the can of oil James had used before returned to the ocean bottom. In a few minutes, when he surfaced, he shook his head.

"All of the lobsters are gone. I don't know where they went so fast but all of them have left. They may come back when they see the oil, but it could have been the combination of the wood and the oil that kept them around."

"Well," James said feeling a great sense of loss, "there always was that possibility. I may have lost the lobsters but at least I gave the world a thing of beauty that will last for years."

"Maybe all isn't lost yet," Margie said, "if they were attracted to one boat what's to say they won't be attracted to another. Dr. Smith has that old beat up forty footer he's been trying to get rid of for over a year. It isn't seaworthy any more and he might give it to you if you'll haul it off his property. He sold the engine to one of the Ashby boys a long time ago. If he'll give it to you for towing it away you could sink it in the same spot and maybe, just maybe, your lobsters might come back."

"I'll try anything." James said despairingly. "I'll stop by and see the doctor on the way home." The doctor was elated to dispose of the eyesore and even offered James fifty dollars to remove from his property.

The next day James, Doug, Rupert, and all the family and neighbors they could muster removed the remains of a once proud floating machine and placed it to rest where an even prouder boat had spent centuries. Before the now dilapidated old fishing boat was lowered into the watery grave James punched tiny holes in two gallon cans of olive oil and placed them in the boat....one in the stern and one in the bow. Then he lowered four lobster pots.

As the sun started its daily climb the next morning James drove into his father's yard, quickly exited his pickup, walked into the house and handed his mother a small golden rose.

“They allowed me to keep a small portion of my discovery so I took the two golden roses. One for each of the women in my life.”

Then he led his father outside and showed him a small covered tub in the back of his truck holding four three pound lobsters. He beamed like a man of property as he said,

"Cook these up, Dad, there's plenty more where they came from."

NOTE: It is a fact the record weight for a Maine lobster is 45 pounds.