“I didn’t come out here with big plans to get rich today,” he said. “You can’t say it’s depressing, because you already know. But you hope.”

He bashed north against the waves, toward the protected bay off Orient, at the far northeast corner of Long Island. He dropped four rusty dredges into the water, just as the bay turned pink with sunrise. He let the outboard rumble the boat around for five minutes. Then he pulled the dredges back up and dumped the contents into a sorting tray.

“Let’s see, we got seaweed, rocks, conch shells, lots of dead scallops and one good scallop,” he said, picking through the dreck with bright orange gloves. “So we’re averaging half a scallop per dredge. That’s not going to pay the bills.”

Well, sure as shit, if you can only find one living scallop in the water, the best thing to do is haul it out and kill it before it can survive and make any more.