The Cuban boat that took David and Eileen lobstering.  Photo by David Allester.

Discovering the limits
of lobster cove

Cuban lobster largesse

Text and photos
By David Allester & Eileen Quinn

For the sin of seafood gluttony, we went to lobster hell.  In lobster hell, the meal plan never varies: lobster for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  We found ourselves in lobster hell on the south coast of Cuba.

Many cruisers love to boast to their armchair sailing friends that they are constantly fishing up dinner from the bounty of the sea.  As in any good fish tale, the stories usually far surpass reality. Much of the Caribbean is as seriously over harvested as the North American commercial fisheries. It can be very depressing when a local islander rafts alongside to sell you prawn sized lobster and fish that look like they might have been scooped out of your kid's aquarium.

But the south coast of Cuba is truly remarkable for its abundance of lobster.  Whenever we went snorkelling, there seemed to be a lobster or two under every coral head.  Sometimes they'd be sitting right out in the open, virtually begging to join us for dinner.  And if that sounds too good to be true, everyone we met wanted to give us even more lobster. The Cuban fishermen with whom we shared anchorages seldom asked for payment for their catch; their generosity was part of a culture of mutual "gifting". Usually they offered us seafood as a regalo (gift) and we tried to respond with something appropriate, although there were many times when they insisted that we give them nothing.  Most simply wanted to talk and find out more about us and our different world; it was a rare occasion that curious fishermen didn't stop to greet us as they were passing by.

During our two month cruise of the south coast we often wondered how the reefs remained so bountiful with all the lobsters being plucked from the waters and sent our way. We discovered the answer while gunkholing in the Canarreos Archipelago. We were anchored in the Rosario Channel, about midway along the island chain. Extending two miles to the north of us there was nothing but gin clear water, six to eight feet deep over a sand bottom.  Just to the south of where we anchored, on the other side of a barrier reef, the bottom dropped precipitously. Like most of the anchorages we visited in Cuba, we were the only cruising boat in sight.  When we spied a lobster boat headed our way, we knew we were about to have visitors.

The steel boat was bigger than most in the fishing fleet -- twice the size of Little Gidding, our 36 foot sailboat -- and much to our surprise, its friendly crew didn't offer us a sack full of lobsters.  Instead, they invited us to go lobstering with them!  David grabbed his snorkelling gear and we both clambered aboard.

Wherever we anchored, local fishermen invariably offered us some of their catch. Photo by David Allester

From atop a stubby mast on the foredeck one of the seven crew members directed the helmsman to a pale patch a few hundred yards away.  The patch turned out to be a lobster "trap" or, more accurately, a lobster motel, since there was nothing preventing the lobsters from coming or going.  The contraption was a concrete slab about six feet square sitting on the bottom on a log frame about two feet high. Being the only bit of shelter within a large expanse of sand and turtle grass, it formed a tempting haven for any timid lobsters.  As we approached the trap, a diver jumped over board and quickly checked it out. With the boat still moving forward, he waved the skipper on and adeptly scrambled back on board;  four lobsters weren't worth the bother.

The boat was better equipped than any of the others we had seen.  It had a GPS unit.  Most other fishing boats we had encountered had a compass and VHF radio and nothing else, not even a depth sounder.  The captain explained to us that they would use the GPS to locate a trap with known co-ordinates. From there, they knew the traps had been laid out along a certain bearing and located the others by sight along that line.

In a minute we were alongside a second trap and the diver was back in the water. He gave the thumbs up signal when he surfaced, triggering a flurry of activity on board. By the time David had donned his snorkelling gear, a flat bottomed wooden rowboat had been launched from the deck and the other divers were impatiently motioning him to join them. One of the divers positioned the dinghy above the trap and passed a large net over the side to the others in the water.  The net looked like an elongated tennis net, about a yard wide, with small weights along one edge and floats along the other.

David with a couple of trophy lobsters, on the south coast of Cuba.  Photo by Eileen Quinn

The divers encircled the trap with the net.  Two of them lifted the trap's "lid" while a third propped it open with a stick.  Over twenty lobsters were suddenly exposed.  The divers used their hands and fins to shoo the cowering crustaceans out of the trap and into the billows of the net.  David's job was to chase down any particularly energetic ones that managed to shoot over the top of the net. The net was cinched up and hauled back into the dinghy, which, in turn, was pulled back on to the deck of the main boat. Barely ten minutes had elapsed and we were off to the next trap.

The boat had no boarding ladder, so getting back on board the moving vessel while still wearing fins meant taking a wild lunge at a car tire suspended over the side four feet above water level. After we had visited three or four traps, David's boarding attempts had deteriorated from awkward to downright comical. Mercifully, the fishermen brought us back to our boat when they were about to leave for a series of traps further afield.  They promised to return in a few hours and insisted we join them for dinner.

Later that evening, we dinghied over to their boat, carefully balancing an iced cake Eileen had baked. On the lobster boat, our hosts were all wearing clean shirts and pants, and a small table had been set up on the foredeck. We were offered the only two chairs; the others sat on the rowboat, gunwales, and various pieces of deck machinery.  Not a big surprise, the main course was a large tub of lobster salad, made with some of the day's catch, chopped onion, and a jar of  mayonnaise we had contributed to the cause.  We didn't bother mentioning we'd had a lobster omelette for breakfast and lobster sandwiches for lunch.  Accompanying the lobster salad was a massive pot of steamed rice and an equally large cauldron of savoury vegetable potaje or stew. 

Eileen's cake was a big hit. When the cook asked for the recipe, it was clear that cake mixes don't exist in Cuba. Eileen gave up trying to explain it "came out of a box", and attempted a vague list of possible ingredients for which we knew the Spanish words.  Then we got into talking of life in our two countries, the conversation aided by a bottle of rum and the ubiquitous (and excellent) Cuban coffee.

Our friends confirmed that food is a big issue in Cuba.  The Cuban diet is very basic these days; their food ration books contain negligible animal protein.   Virtually all of the commercial fishery production in Cuba is exported or destined for  tables at the tourist resorts. Very little makes its way onto the plate of the typical Cuban. Outside of the resorts, visitors to Cuba will experience similar difficulties attempting to buy  meat or fish in government operated food markets.  Having access to an unlimited amount of seafood is a significant perk for Cuban fishermen and visiting cruisers alike.

As we stepped down into our dinghy at the end of the evening, one of the fishermen pressed half a dozen struggling lobsters on us. David stifled a groan. We'd been dining on lobster for a month and a half.  No use telling them we had more lobster on board than we knew what to do with.  With big smiles, we accepted their regalo and wished them good night. We brought the dinghy back to Little Gidding and tied it up on the side away from our neighbours.  In the  cover of darkness, David furtively released the lobsters. They were as happy to swim away as we were to see them go.

"You know what?" Eileen exclaimed, "I'm really looking forward to macaroni and cheese for our next meal!"