There’s something special about passing down a family tradition, especially one that’s been a part of your life for as long as you can remember. I had the privilege of bringing my 13-year-old daughter on her first crabbing trip that she’ll actually remember. We headed out on the Elizabeth May, with my father at the helm, just as he’s been for decades. Our destination was the familiar waters near Poole’s Island and Hart-Miller Island, where Bay seems to stretch out forever.
We started out early, just as the sun was peaking up above the horizon. The air was cool, the sky just beginning to turn from a brilliant red to blue. It brought back so many memories of when I was her age, heading out on the water with my dad. The smell of saltwater and the hum of the engine were familiar. I was eager to share this experience with her. I could see her watching closely, taking it all in, just like I did when I was a kid.
The morning passed quickly as hauled in one crab pot after another. Dumping the crabs in the culling box, rebaiting them, and then stacking them on the deck. The bait this week was chicken necks from an Amish farmer in Pennsylvania. The crabs had a taste for them as pot after pot had anywhere from 8 to 10 crabs in them. By the time the sun was high in the sky, we had three bushels of crabs. My daughter was right in the middle of it all, helping to bait and move the crab pots around the deck. There’s something magical about that first real crabbing experience.
When we returned to shore, the real fun began—steaming up the crabs. My daughter had helped with this before at home, but there was something different about steaming fresh crabs that you just caught. We used J.O. Crab Seasoning, just like we always have — my dad swears by it. We showed her how to properly season the crabs, giving them a good coating before loading them into the steamer. The smell of those crabs cooking brought back memories of family gatherings, summer evenings, and the sense of pride that comes with knowing we caught them ourselves.
As we sat down to eat, cracking open the crabs and savoring the sweetness. Watching my daughter enjoy the fruits of our labor, seeing her connect with the Bay and our family’s history, was something I’ll cherish forever. I could see in her eyes that she understood—this wasn’t just about catching crabs. It was about being part of a family tradition, one that connects us to the past and, hopefully, to the future. I’m grateful to my dad for teaching me the ropes, and now, for helping me teach her. Today was a day I’ll never forget, and I hope it’s the first of many more crabbing trips we’ll share as a family.