BEFORE DAWN IN the coastal Maine town of Jonesport, Nick Perreault wakes up, caffeinates, and prepares before his day fishing for lobster. Driving through town, Perreault mentally gears up for another day of captaining his fishing vessel. He boards his boat garbed in layers, waterproof boots, and oil pants, and navigates out of the harbor. Operating without a deckhand, he baits, empties, stacks, and drops traps. Much of his day involves rubberbanding the lobsters’ claws, checking regulatory requirements like size minimums, and returning undersize catches back to the ocean. The frozen fish bait is pungent, which for many fishers can worsen seasickness. (Perreault’s antidote: Dramamine.)

After a day out on the water, Perreault returns to the wharf, offloads his catch, and restocks bait and fuel before heading back to the mooring. Days are long. Record-keeping with the state’s regulatory agency, boat maintenance, and next-day preparations are all part of the daily routine of lobster fishers. Later in the evening he unwinds at home with a shower and checks the weather forecast for the following day. “Although [mentally unwinding] is easier said than done. As a fisherman, it seems the gears are always turning, and it’s difficult to totally disconnect from fishing,” he says.

A fifth-generation lobsterman who sees his work as part of his family’s legacy, Perreault is one of Maine’s roughly 5,000 lobster harvesters, and among the approximately 25,500 commercial fishers across New England. The regional fishing industry once used to employ even more. Numbers have decreased in recent decades due to a variety of factors, not least of which is climate change. By one estimate, climate change reduced direct fishing jobs in New England by an estimated 16 percent between 1996 and 2017. That figure is just for those working as commercial fishers, not the nearly 300,000 jobs across the region provided by the fisheries.

Much like the 58.5 million people worldwide who work in this industry, New England fishers, too, have been experiencing firsthand the impacts of a warming planet. They feel it not only in declining catches but also in the growing tension between sustaining their livelihoods and safeguarding our increasingly fragile marine ecosystems.

THE GLOBAL ECONOMIC and cultural significance of fisheries cannot be overstated. The Food and Agriculture Organization estimates the industry supports the livelihoods of some 600 million people overall, including those employed across the supply chain, as well as those engaged in subsistence fishing. In recent years, climate shocks have been increasingly impacting these jobs.

In India, for instance, severe heat and more frequent cyclones have decreased the number of days people can fish. In Indonesia, more frequently dangerous conditions and declining catches are leading many to look for alternative ways to make a living. In Ghana, catches of sardines, a species favored by traditional fishing communities, declined from 119,000 tons in 1992 to just 11,834 tons in 2019. In the United States — where approximately 180,000 people work as commercial fishers and the industry provides an estimated 1.6 million jobs overall — the impact of climate disruption is being felt by fishing communities all along the country’s 95,471-mile shoreline and farther inland as well.

In California, for example, warming waters led to shorter seasons for crabbers. They also correlate with increasing levels of an algae-generated neurotoxin, domoic acid, that can build up in shellfish, producing toxic crabs. In Alaska, which produces about 60 percent of the country’s wild seafood, crashes in salmon, cod, and snow crab populations have devastated subsistence and commercial fishers alike.

The waters of the Gulf of Maine are among the fastest warming in the world.

These trends are likely to grow. The McKinsey Global Institute estimates that by 2050, global fish catches will decrease by some 8 percent due to rising ocean temperatures. In some regions, the decline will likely be much more pronounced: According to a 2020 study published in Nature, catches in the tropics could drop by 40 percent in that same timeframe.

Although these numbers are stark, they aren’t surprising. Our oceans have warmed by an average of 1.5°F since the early 1900s. Ocean heatwaves are becoming more frequent and intense, ocean currents are shifting, and ocean acidification is changing the very chemistry of our waters.

These changes can impact marine life negatively, including spurring species to migrate to cooler waters, change spawning habits, and reproduce less frequently, all of which have serious implications for the fishing industry. As species migrate in search of cool waters, for example, they may move out of range for local communities. As ocean acidity increases, it can inhibit the ability of animals like lobsters to build their shells. And as overall productivity decreases, catches may decline and governments may impose greater restrictions on catches. (Though researchers predict that despite such restrictions, some fish stocks may never return to the productivity levels of 40 years ago.)

New England, where the commercial fishing industry dates back to the early days of colonial America, is far from immune to these impacts. The waters of the Gulf of Maine are among the fastest warming in the world, and climate change poses a significant and growing threat to the region’s marine wildlife — and to the individuals who make a living from them. Here, global warming is already impacting the work of fishers, including by facilitating the proliferation of nonnative species, increasing the threat these species pose to local fishing industries.

During warm winters, for example, the green crab population in Casco Bay, an inlet of the Gulf of Maine, skyrockets. The more common warm winters become, the more green crabs will thrive. These crabs prey on plants like eelgrass and erode salt marshes when they burrow, affecting other species, such as sea urchins and lobster.

Kyle Schaefer, a Maine fishing guide and owner of a Bahamas fishing lodge, told the Senate Budget Committee in January: “My businesses succeed only because of thriving healthy ecosystems and relatively predictable climate patterns … Unfortunately, in large part due to climate change, our oceans are now desperately lacking the stability, balance, and the abundance that we rely on.”

Casco Bay Estuary Partnership Director Curtis Bohlen, PhD, points to the ripple effects of climate change that frequently reverberate in coastal fishing communities as well. One direct effect, rising sea levels, can have a multitude of indirect consequences — it can cause flooding, limit transport, damage infrastructure, ruin fishing gear, cost people money and time, and damage people’s homes and livelihoods. “It doesn’t do us good to look at climate change in isolation. We have to look at all of the factors,” Bohlen says.

EVEN IF WE stopped emitting greenhouse gases tomorrow, warming would not cease entirely and would still pose challenges to fish and fishery workers. To weather these changes, humans will need to adapt. The Ocean Conservancy points out that additional data is needed to predict how species will respond to climate change, as well as how we should best prepare for these impacts.

But some are already adapting. Perreault has embraced economic diversification. He recently founded a business, ShopLobster, that ships fresh lobster to online buyers. This approach not only creates a new revenue stream, but also illuminates the potential for direct-to-consumer models to support local economies. Another potential safeguard is aquaculture, which can provide a stable source of income and reduce pressure on wild populations, although the industry does not come without challenges, namely nonnative pathogens, parasites, and pests that move freely from farms to the ocean.

Infrastructure improvements may also serve as a way to protect coastal communities. “We built infrastructure just above sea level, but sea levels are rising,” Bohlen says. Investing in infrastructure that can withstand extreme weather events and sea-level rise, such as reinforcing harbors and improving storage and processing facilities, will promote climate resilience in fishing communities.

In addition, cracking down on industrial overfishing would reduce pressure on global fish stocks and help build population-level resilience to climate change, as can technological advancements, such as more selective gear that can reduce bycatch.

Existing regulations can also help to sustain healthy fisheries. For example, Maine has long required V-notching and returning female lobsters with eggs so that others know they are illegal to take, as well as returning lobsters that are too small or too large to be harvested. “They’re not just required by law, but they’re part of our culture,” Perreault says. “Illegal lobster sales would be a black mark on your name as a lobster seller. We follow these regulations because it is the right thing to do.”

“Nobody cares more about the marine environment [than those] who make their living from it.”

Research suggests these protections have bolstered lobster populations in the warming waters of the Gulf of Maine compared to other nearby areas where similar conservation measures are lacking.

In other cases, recovery may be more difficult. New England’s Atlantic cod fishery, once an industry mainstay, collapsed in the 1990s due to overfishing. Despite stringent catch regulations, the species simply hasn’t rebounded to the pre-collapse population levels, in part due to low birth rates linked to warmer waters. Maine’s cod landings, more than 20 million pounds in the early 1990s, amassed less than 50,000 pounds in 2022. (Over in Canada, an estimated 30,000 jobs were lost when the Atlantic cod fishery crashed.)

As New England works to adapt to climate change, those in the fishing industry hope they will be consulted on policy matters, something many feel has been lacking in past environmental policymaking. “When some practices are mandated without significant data or input from fishermen, this creates fear and tension within the local community and can severely impact the local economy, fishing businesses, and the well-being of fishermen themselves,” says Monique Coombs, who comes from a fishing family and writes about the industry.

“A fisherman’s perspective is very different from my own,” agrees Jessica Reilly-Moman, a social scientist affiliated with the University of Maine’s Darling Marine Center. Reilly-Moman, who researches coastal climate resilience, says that over time she’s learned that her work needs “to be about this broader social and physical infrastructure that supports communities.” After all, they are the people most invested in the health of their ocean ecosystem.

“Nobody cares more about the marine environment [than those] who make their living from it, and that’s the point we want to drive home,” Perreault says. “It means so much to us. We care more than anyone, and I can say that without hesitation.”

As the climate changes, tapping into that care while readying coastal and fishing communities for inevitable changes becomes increasingly important, whether that means altering traditional practices, adopting new technologies, or even relocating. But Perreault, like many lobster harvesters and other fishers, doesn’t plan to stop fishing anytime soon. “These are dark times. They really are, and none of that is lost on any of us,” he says. “But I think everyone will just put their head down and keep fishing because we have to. We have no choice but to keep fishing until we can’t anymore.”