History

Peelers in the Pots

Morattico’s Edwin “Junior” Barrack and other salty dogs like him do the hard work on the water that brings crunchy soft shells to dining tables. By Claire Colbert Mills

10/1/09 1:54 PM

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Illustration by Neal Iwan

At 6:00 a.m. every morning, as the sun begins its ascent, Edwin “Junior” Barrack climbs in his 14-foot skiff and sets out from the village of Morattico, on the Rappahannock River, to haul in some blue “peeler” crabs. Barrack doesn’t use conventional crab pots to catch peelers, which are crabs ready to shed their hard shells as part of the molting process. Instead, he builds peeler traps himself, using wire leader and a two-by-three-foot box. He leaves the traps along the shallow edges of creeks, where peelers like to hide.

illustration by Neal Iwan

On a good day, the veteran waterman will catch two bushels of peelers with his 17 traps. He’ll then sell the catch to wholesalers at a price of $24 a dozen for the jumbos, up from $9 a dozen 15 years ago. The wholesalers, in turn, will sell the crabs to restaurants, where they’ll soon appear on dining tables as crunchy, fried soft shell crabs. Barrack, 71, has been crabbing, tonging for oysters or fishing for most of his life—he’s got the weathered face and callused hands to prove it. It can be a tough life, he acknowledges with a shrug, but “I love crabbing.”

Morattico was once a thriving Northern Neck fishing village, full of salty dogs like Barrack. Old photos show dozens of crab boats and shedding shacks lining its shores. RCV Seafood, one of the largest crabmeat businesses on the East Coast, was located on Colbert Point at the end of the village. The crabmeat was steamed, picked and packed. Three tractor-trailers rumbled away from the plant every week, delivering crabmeat to other states. Owned by Morattico resident Weston Conley, RCV operated three plants in the region, including the one in Morattico. “RCV had been an oyster-shucking facility, then became just a crab-picking plant,” recalls Conley. “Thirty years ago, pickers produced 600 to 800 pounds of fresh crabmeat per day, while machines picked 1,000 to 1,500 pounds of claw meat.” After the area crab populations waned, the once thriving seafood plant fell on hard times. It was razed in 2002, and condos were built in its place.

Like other river communities, Morattico is in a state of transition. It’s becoming more of a holiday and retirement town for people who’d rather eat than catch crabs. Today, most of the boats moored to the docks are recreational types, not commercial fishing. Because there are far fewer crabs in the water nowadays, the village’s watermen culture is fading. George Shelton, who retired as a crabber last year, says the catch had fallen off about 85 percent over the last decade. That’s partly why young people in the area are finding other ways to make a living. “Most of the peeler potters are dying or retiring, and not many are replacing them,” says Barrack. His 39-year-old son lives and works in Richmond. “It’s hard to afford health insurance and benefits on what a waterman makes. Being a waterman is hard work. It’s easier to work in AC all day.”