In Marathon, Florida, almost halfway between Miami and Key West, lobster fishermen are being hired at $250 a day. But beware — commercial fishing has nothing glamorous about it, and many who showed up quit after the very first day. A “long” day means heading out to the Gulf of Mexico at 1 a.m. and returning at 6 p.m., after hauling and resetting 500 wooden traps that weigh nearly 150 pounds (70 kilos) each when filled with lobsters. The work is an orchestrated frenzy: one man hauls up the trap, another pulls out the lobsters, measures them, and stows them, while another cleans the wooden cage and stacks it, ready to go back into the sea — a choreography of orange overalls.
It’s brutal, dangerous labor that requires fishing to be in your blood. Many of the captains of the lobster boats in the Keys descend from long lines of fishermen, and most of the crews are from Corn Island and Bluefields, on Nicaragua’s Caribbean coast, where the grueling work of artisanal shellfishing has been the main livelihood for centuries.
But now, just as Florida’s commercial lobster season begins, U.S. immigration authorities have been boarding vessels and arresting crews at sea — even those with work permits, according to boat owners, crews, and captains. Many immigrant fishermen have left or refuse to go out to sea, and with each passing day operators lose money: their boats sit tied up at the docks without crews, while the traps — tagged and ready to be filled with crustaceans — pile up like Tetris pieces in the shipyard lots. Everyone whose lives depend on getting those boats out fears they are witnessing the checkmate of an industry battered for years by hurricanes, gentrification, tourism, and now Trump’s tariffs.
“They’re basically arresting everyone and bringing them before a judge who will decide whether they’re going to be deported,” says Jerome Young, a captain whose family has fished there for three generations and who chairs the Florida Keys Commercial Fishermen’s Association. A boat with Border Patrol agents boarded his vessel as he was returning to port with his first catch of the season in early August. All four members of his crew, Nicaraguan immigrants, were arrested.
A post about the arrest on CBP’s Facebook page sparked criticism and controversy among captains and boat owners. But the news spread like wildfire in a WhatsApp group of fishermen that had once been used for trivial updates — like who was looking for a roommate — but has for months served to warn about raids and immigration checkpoints, which until then had never taken place at sea. Through the chat they learned that the detained fishermen had been taken to the notorious Alligator Alcatraz detention center in the Everglades, and then transferred — one to Denver, another to Texas — and that one had “already signed to return to Nicaragua.”
Immigrant fishermen have left because they fear being arrested and deported, or worse, held for months in an immigration detention center, says one who is hiding out in the shipyards and asked to remain anonymous out of fear. His employer, a 53-year-old captain who also requested anonymity to protect him, says the three crew members were experienced Nicaraguan fishermen who had work permits, Social Security numbers, and had passed the state’s E-Verify system confirming their right to work. Now only the one in hiding remains, his right-hand man. “They’re the best workers I’ve ever had. They were the dream team,” he says with regret.
A Nicaraguan fisherman next to the crab traps.Eva Marie UZCATEGUI
After the incident on Young’s boat, several captains met and went to the Customs and Border Protection (CBP) office in Marathon to complain. An agent told them it didn’t matter if the fishermen had work permits, that Trump says they have to leave, and that if they wanted, they could fight it in court.
Captains and fishermen also say that CBP agents are riding aboard Coast Guard vessels. The Coast Guard said in an email that its role in boarding boats focuses on ensuring safety, and that it can assist other federal agencies such as CBP in their operations. CBP did not respond to a request for comment. A spokesperson for the Department of Homeland Security stated that Marine Interdiction agents “routinely board vessels in search of illegal immigrants. If found, they are arrested and placed in ICE custody for deportation.”
Captain Young, 51, explains that even under normal circumstances “finding crew is very difficult,” and that the Nicaraguan fishermen from the islands “speak fluent English, are very smart and respectable, good family men, and hard workers.” One of those arrested had been with him for 15 years and practically ran the operation.
“We pay these migrant workers a lot,” says Young. “It’s not that we hire them because they’re cheap, it’s because we can’t find other people to do this kind of work. They’re usually young, working-age men who come and may live together, three or four of them. Probably not in a very nice place. It’s hard to find someone local to come work on the boat and earn enough money to pay for housing, support a family, and everything else.” Real estate in the Keys is among the most expensive on the peninsula, so three or four fishermen share a modest one-bedroom apartment that costs between $2,500 and $3,500.
Most come to work but have family in Nicaragua, and send remittances. One of his employees had a list of 15 or 20 people he sent money to. “He sacrificed his time away from his family to be here. I once asked him, ‘When are you going to go home to see your family?’ You know, it’s not really an option for them. They have to stay and work. He hadn’t seen his family in years.”
A fisherman holds two live lobsters at a marina in Marathon, Florida.Eva Marie UZCATEGUI
This is true of the fisherman hiding in the shipyards. His family is on Corn Island, while drenched in water that smells of shellfish as he cleans traps. His wife is a teacher and earns about $120 a month. He has a daughter who will turn 16 next month who was born sick, and her medicine costs “about $500” a month. “When she was born, they said she would die. That’s the problem. That’s why I scrape by here,” he said, pointing to the mountain of traps stacked on the dock beside a rustic shack, gear, tools, and boat parts.
The 47-year-old started fishing at age nine. On his home island, that is the main livelihood. It’s a small town with a climate like the Keys, where everyone knows each other and word spreads quickly from boat to boat. That’s how he learned there was work in the Keys. He came to try it out, and he’s been here more than three years, during which he’s seen people come down to the docks from Canada, Alaska, and Maine — none lasting more than a weekend.
“I like fishing — lobster, crab, fish, whatever. It’s like a hobby, although it’s hard. But fishing here is the same, except in Nicaragua we don’t use a winch, it’s done by hand.” It’s more skill than strength, he warns. “You have to know how to grab the trap to pull it, to lift it,” he says, lifting both arms and raising one knee forward. “When it’s in the water, with the water trapped in the wood, it weighs more. If you use force, it’ll kill you.” There are 500 traps a day, and he doesn’t stop until the last one is done.
His boss continues to pay him even if he doesn’t go out to sea, because he doesn’t want to lose him, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can hold out. He says he still has 1,000 traps on land and no crew to go out and set them, and 1,000 at sea that they haven’t been able to check.
“I want to work, but I can’t. I’ve never been to jail. Not here, not there in Nicaragua, not anywhere. I’ve never had any problems. I’ve always followed the law. They said they wanted a work permit, and I got one. The first lawyer stole $1,200 from me. The second, $1,000. Then I got my social security number and ID.” He also has health insurance that costs $46 a month. “But now that I have everything, I can’t fish, because they’re taking everyone equally. With a permit, without a permit, everyone equally.”
Ryan Irwin, a captain whose family has also been in the fishing business for generations, says the crew is “like family and friends,” and that authorities “overnight” decided to get rid of them. “When you see the same crew, the same people on a boat for years, it’s because they’ve earned their place, because they’re hard workers.” Left without a crew, his 64-year-old father had to return to captaining, while he worked in the back of the boat, manning the winch.
Fishing boats anchored in Marathon.Eva Marie UZCATEGUI
Some immigrant fishermen arrived in the Keys with H-2B visas, for non-agricultural workers. During Joe Biden’s administration, some of the fishermen whose visas had expired took advantage of the humanitarian parole or CBP One programs, left, and then returned legally with work permits. But in April, the Trump administration canceled those programs. When the authorities boarded his boat, “they checked those work permits, and I suppose they recognized the status they had, and that’s why they arrested them,” Young explains.
According to the captain, the H-2B visa program “doesn’t fit” the industry because the dates don’t coincide with the seasons, and he longs for a reform to the system that would include a category for commercial fishermen. “We need to expand that program and recognize that this industry has historically needed immigrant labor. It’s something that, nationally, we can’t cover on our own, and we shouldn’t have to go through all these obstacles.”
They are also threatened by the gentrification of the Keys. “The land we have available to store our traps is valuable property. There are very few commercial maritime properties available in the Keys,” he adds. “They’re becoming more expensive every day, and that extra expense weighs heavily on us.”
A beach in Key West, Florida.NurPhoto (NurPhoto via Getty Images)The backbone of the Florida Keys
The A1A highway, known as the Jimmy Buffett Highway, stretches some 200 kilometers (124 miles) from Florida City, south of Miami, to Key West, connecting the Keys like a narrow vein of bridges across the ocean. But the trappers insist that their industry is the backbone supporting the chain of islands rising from the Florida Reef Tract, extending the peninsula as close as possible to Cuba.
Trap fishing in the Keys predates tourism by centuries. For the earliest settlers, it was mere subsistence, but since the early 20th century, Key West was a well-known commercial source of lobster, conch, and sponges — long before it became a popular tourist destination that has gradually displaced fishermen. Recreational marinas, hotels, and waterfront restaurants have taken over many of the docks and lands once used for commercial fishing.
The lobster caught in the Keys is the Caribbean spiny lobster, which is covered in spines and lacks the large claws of the northern lobster, or Maine lobster, the most popular in the United States. The spiny lobster, however, is preferred in Asia and Europe for its flavor, texture, and versatility in traditional recipes.
Florida has strict regulations on minimum lobster size, closed seasons, and sanitary measures, which help make the spiny lobster caught in the Keys among the best in the world. That’s why restaurants and distributors in China and some European countries pay premium prices — far more than local restaurants and markets can offer.
For this reason, Keys fishermen earn better profits exporting their catch than selling locally. Customers in Asia and Europe prefer Keys lobsters over competitors from elsewhere in the Caribbean because they are larger, certified, and reliable, with a strictly documented cold chain that many other countries in the region cannot guarantee.
An ad for lobster for sale in Marathon.Eva Marie UZCATEGUI
But Trump’s tariff war has made buyers uncomfortably wary, says a captain who asked to remain anonymous, and who now has only two clients, both from China. “They say if they buy a couple million dollars’ worth of lobster and the next day Trump wakes up and says ’145% tariffs on China,’ they lose everything.” The situation is so volatile that sometimes there’s a price per pound when they go out fishing that may have changed by the time they return in the afternoon, he adds.
“We’re not going to make it to the end of the season. We have bills to pay. It takes a lot of money to keep this going.” Going out fishing costs at least $1,300 between staff and fuel, whether he catches a fish or not. That’s why he has to ensure all 500 traps are in play. That’s why he needs his “dream team.” With an inexperienced crew, he would barely manage to haul 200 traps — and spend twice as much. During the off-season, he spent about $35,000 on repairs and other operational expenses, which he normally recovers in August — but this year hasn’t been the case, he says with regret, looking out at the sea as if seeking an answer, which he seems to find.
“To do this for a living, you have to truly love it. It’s hard and thankless. We risk our lives out there every day. But nothing compares to the feeling of seeing those traps come out of the water full of lobster,” he says. “I should be fishing every day.”
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