How generations of reinvention shaped New Bedford’s seafood industry
New Bedford has weathered more than one tide of change over the years. From whaling capital to textile city, fishing port to modern seafood hub, the city’s people have always found new ways to keep working as the world around them evolved. Today, that same capacity to navigate change still shapes the most valuable commercial fishing port in the United States. But New Bedford’s value isn’t only the volume of seafood moving through the harbor; it’s the depth of history that informs the ecosystem around it. A port built on reinvention In the 1800s, whaling helped turn New Bedford into one of the wealthiest cities in North America per capita. Ships left the harbor for long, difficult voyages. Families built businesses around the waterfront. Wealth, risk, labor and immigration all moved through the same streets. Then the industry changed. Whaling declined as petroleum, industrial change and shifting markets reduced demand for whale oil. But New Bedford didn’t simply switch from whaling to fishing overnight. For decades, textiles became the next great engine of the city’s economy, with mills popping up along the Acushnet River. This is where New Bedford’s tapestry grows richer. Cotton manufacturing brought new work, new investment and new immigrant communities from Portugal, French Canada, Poland and beyond into the city. RELATED: The Canastra Story: A family name that carries new meaning The textile industry gave New Bedford another period of prosperity, but it didn’t last forever. When the mills started to fade By the 1920s, New England textile manufacturing was under pressure from lower-cost mills in the South. Wage cuts, competition and changing economics put New Bedford’s mill workers under pressure. In 1928, a proposed wage cut led to a major textile strike involving roughly 30,000 workers. The strike showed how much the city still depended on mill labor, but it also showed how fragile that economy had become. The Great Depression added more strain. Mills closed. Jobs disappeared. The industry that had carried New Bedford beyond whaling couldn’t carry it forever. Meanwhile, another working waterfront was taking shape. The fishing port rises Modern commercial fishing in New Bedford began modestly around the final years of the whaling era. Small boats worked local waters. Gear improved. Vessels grew. What started as a smaller working fishery gradually became the foundation for a new waterfront economy. Captains and owners invested in new technology, from early draggers and winches to cold storage, fish houses and auction systems. By the 1920s and 1930s, the fishing fleet was expanding. Shore-side businesses began catching up to what the boats needed: ice, gear, unloading, processing, sales and distribution. Scallops, groundfish, swordfish and other species moved through the port. Over time, New Bedford became less a place trying to replace one lost industry and more a city building its next chapter from the same waterfront knowledge. That’s one of New Bedford’s greatest strengths. The port has been shaped by whaling families, mill workers, immigrant communities, captains, crews, auction buyers, processors, gear suppliers, cold-storage operators and seafood businesses that learned how to keep working through change. “Working people, whether they’re fixing an engine or risking their lives on the deck of a scallop boat, don’t often have their stories told,” says Laura Orleans at the New Bedford Fishing Heritage Center. That’s why the fishing story deserves to be told alongside the whaling story. Because it’s a story of people who kept the waterfront alive when other industries faded. MORE: Saving the stories behind America’s most valuable fishing port Why New Bedford’s history matters today Today, New Bedford remains one of the most important fishing ports in the United States. Around one million pounds of seafood moves in and out of the port each day, and the port has held its place as the nation’s most valuable commercial fishing port since 2001. But a port like New Bedford offers more than volume. It offers a working system built around family businesses that understand what it takes to bring domestic seafood to market. Some of that knowledge is technical: where fish move, how weather changes a trip, how to handle product properly, how to land it quickly and how to keep quality intact. Some of it is personal: which crews can be trusted, which families have stayed through difficult years, which businesses understand that a landing is never just a transaction… “Families and generational businesses are fundamental in New Bedford,” says Cassie Canastra Larsen, CEO of Canastra Fishing Co. In a market shaped by imports, shifting regulations, labor pressure, sustainability expectations, freight costs and questions about traceability, New Bedford’s history is a powerful asset in seafood sourcing. The port can’t answer every challenge in the U.S. seafood market. No single port can. But it can offer something many buyers are looking for: domestic seafood with real infrastructure behind it, experienced people close to the source and a port culture built around local knowledge. For Canastra Fishing Co., that’s where New Bedford’s history meets the needs of modern buyers. “We have decades of experience, a loyal, incentivized workforce and the most modern logistics and technology to bring the freshest fish to market,” says Cassie. “We can prove this traceability all the way down the supply chain too.” MORE: The value of an experienced fishing crew for seafood buyers A working waterfront with more to give New Bedford’s story has never been still. Its waterfront has seen industries rise, fade and change shape. But again and again, the city’s people have found ways to keep going. Good seafood supply comes from people who understand the port and the pressure behind every landing. It comes from supply chains with a closer connection to the source. It comes from companies that know the waterfront because they’re part of it. As veteran captain and seafood auction pioneer Raymond Canastra says, “The waterfront is not a job. It’s your life. You’re thinking about the waterfront 24/7.” That’s what New Bedford carries forward: the passion, community and knowledge to keep seafood moving when the
How catch shares changed who gets to fish in New Bedford
Catch shares determined who could afford to fish, who had to buy permits, which species became daily stress points and why one boat’s quota problem could ripple through an entire sector. The system also raised a harder question that still sits at the center of the debate: what happens when the quota system depends on science that fishermen don’t trust? The shift that changed how boats could fish Before catch shares, New England groundfish worked under a days-at-sea model. A vessel received a set number of fishing days each year. What the crew landed depended on weather, skill, timing and what came up in the net. “A day at sea is, in many ways, a very big unknown,” Cassie says. “If you’re going to go out there for a day, you could catch no fish, or you could catch a ton of fish.” Catch shares changed that structure. Instead of managing time at sea, the system managed annual quota by species and permit. Permit owners joined sectors that manage quota together. A sector can lease quota, monitor landings and make decisions that protect the group from overfishing. “If one permit owner overfishes, it could shut down the entire sector,” Cassie says. “So each individual becomes liable for the whole group.” Catch shares didn’t only set limits. They changed the relationships between vessels, permit owners and the people who had to manage the risk together. RELATED: ‘Mother nature controls our lifestyle’: The real fishing authority History followed the permit, not the fisherman When catch shares came in, managers had to decide how much quota each permit should receive. That meant looking back at fishing history. In principle, that seems fair. In practice, Cassie says it missed how the dock actually worked. “That whole situation was kind of wonky,” she says. “It’s where some of the controversy started.” Some permit owners had leased their days to other fishermen under the old system. Those fishermen caught the fish, built the practical history and depended on the work. But when quota percentages were assigned, the history often followed the permit, not the person who had fished those days. “At the time, a lot of people got screwed,” Cassie says. Access to fish became something businesses had to buy, lease or combine across enough species to keep fishing. Critics may still imagine an idyllic scenario with a single operator with one boat and one permit. But Cassie says that version of the fishery is long gone. “We’re not in that world anymore,” she says. “It doesn’t exist.” Cassie says owners were looking for a way out. “It didn’t make sense for them to hold on to permits,” Cassie says. “They just wanted to be done.” And once quota became the price of staying in, bycatch started deciding who could afford to leave the dock. RELATED: The value of an experienced fishing crew for seafood buyers The fish you don’t target can still stop you fishing Bycatch existed before catch shares. But under a species-by-species quota, it became a business problem that could stop a trip. A “choke species” is a fish with limited available quota. A boat may target haddock or pollock, then catch hake along the way. But when hake quota runs tight, the boat has a problem even if the target fish are there. “My guys are out there saying, ‘I can’t stay away from it. I’m avoiding it,’” Cassie says. “They’re not fishing. They’re avoiding fish.” That’s where catch shares can feel disconnected from real life on the water. Crews may see plenty of a species, but still face cuts because the system reads the numbers differently. “How is the science saying a species needs to be cut 78% when I’m out here and I can’t stay away from it?” Cassie says. “It’s very frustrating.” The frustration goes beyond cost. If fishermen can’t land a species because they don’t hold enough quota, low landings can make the stock look weaker. “They’ll use the argument, ‘Well, they’re not landing it, so there must not be any out there,’” Cassie says. “We’re not landing it because we can’t!” That turns bycatch into one of the biggest daily pressures in the groundfish business. “Now, bycatch is our number one stressor,” Cassie says. MORE: Haddock vs cod: Key differences buyers need to know When staying in meant buying more access Catch shares changed the value of permits. If quota gives a vessel access to fish, then owning enough quota across enough species becomes a business necessity. That can make consolidation look suspicious from the outside. Cassie says she understands the concern, especially when outside investors enter the industry. “That was concerning for people, because you get these outsiders coming in,” she says. “They’re going to try to make it corporate and not really get back to the fishing community and where the roots are.” But she draws a line between outside ownership and a working waterfront business trying to keep boats fishing. For Cassie, the difference comes down to how a company treats the people behind the permits. If quota costs rise and trips get harder to make work, owners can start looking for savings elsewhere. That can reach crews quickly. “If you’re not making money, there are so many variables,” she says. “Outside investors are going to start to look at the crews and think about how they can save money. “Canastra Fishing Co. will never be that,” she says. “It’s just never going to happen.” MORE: Why fair commercial fishing wages matter for US seafood supply Why fishermen don’t trust the numbers Cassie doesn’t reject quota management. She rejects quota management built on data that doesn’t match the reality on the water. “I think catch shares would be fine if the science were better,” she says. “But our science is terrible.” Her frustration starts with how managers collect data for New England groundfish. Cassie says the system relies too heavily on limited survey work, especially when those surveys don’t reflect what crews see