Kingfish Maine Comes to Town

In the spring of 2020, Kingfish Maine (KM)—a US subsidiary of the Norwegian company Kingfish—set out to build a $110 million on-shore fish farm in Jonesport, Maine, a small fishing town of roughly 1,245 people. KM’s representatives quickly set about embedding themselves in the community, hosting meet-and-greets at local hangouts and the town library to build support for their project.

KM representatives worked tirelessly to win over Jonesport’s most influential figures in support of building a land-based facility to raise sushi-grade fish, known as a Recirculating Aquaculture System, known as “RAS” for short. Key backers included two members of the Board of Selectmen and the individual who sold KM the 92-acre parcel where the industrial complex will be constructed.

Serious Ecological Water Problems

KM planned to build its industrial complex on 92 acres along Chandler Bay, calling it a “Recirculating Aquaculture System” (RAS)—a name that might suggest the system is fully self-contained. In reality, it is far from a closed-loop. The facility will use four massive, four-foot-diameter pipes: two extending nearly half a mile into the Chandler Bay to draw in water, and two slightly shorter pipes to return it. Altogether, the system will pump more than 28 million gallons of Chandler Bay water every day; roughly 324 gallons per second. Over six million gallons of that water will be heated to 78–80°F—bear in mind that Chandler Bay has a mean temperature of less than 60 degrees F, and barely reaches 65 degrees in mid-summer. According to a KM representative, water returning to the Chandler Bay could be up to five degrees cooler than the surrounding Bay, but calculations using basic physics (Q = mCΔT) show this is impossible.

The implications of this massive water movement are significant, but they are only the beginning. Equally concerning are the nutrients/biotoxins the system will release. The outflow is projected to dump 1,583 pounds of nitrogen and 393 pounds of phosphorus into Chandler Bay every day. These nutrients act like fertilizer, fueling faster and denser algae growth and increasing the risk of frequent, severe red tides. As algae proliferates, it blocks sunlight from reaching shallow-water plants, which need light to photosynthesize. When these plants die, their decomposition consumes oxygen in the water, creating low-oxygen zones that can suffocate fish, shellfish, and other marine life: C₆H₁₀O₅ + 6O₂ → 6CO₂ + 5H₂O

In short, what might seem like a simple discharge of water and nutrients could trigger a cascade of ecological problems, threatening Chandler Bay’s entire ecosystem. Yet, most residents—trusting the company’s apparent expertise—are unlikely to question these claims, despite the enormous stakes for the environment.

The ecological consequences would be disastrous. In shallower areas of Chandler Bay, where sunlight reaches the seafloor, eelgrass grows, providing food and shelter for young marine animals like lobsters and scallops. One can easily imagine the domino effects of excessive surface algae growth and the severe impact this would have on the Bay’s delicate ecosystem.

The Planning Board and the Unlikely Challenge

Imagine you’re a member of a small-town Planning Board. You earn $18 a month for your service. Maybe you’re a lobster fisherman, a teacher, a diesel mechanic, or a retired store owner. Most of the time, your work involves approving modest permits—garages, sheds, additions, the occasional new house with a gravel driveway. Every so often, someone wants to upgrade a work shed on the shore to tend to their lobster boat.

Then one day, someone walks into the Town Office and picks up an application to build a $110 million industrial fish farm. Are the five members of the Planning Board prepared for something so far outside their usual scope? The answer is likely no—and that’s where the trouble began.

The Jonesport Planning Board started holding weekly meetings to hear from both proponents and opponents of the Kingfish Maine (KM) project. At first, meetings were held in the small Town Office, but attendance quickly outgrew the space, forcing a move to the Jonesport-Beals High School gymnasium.

Before long, residents called for a town vote on a six-month moratorium to give the Planning Board time to strengthen local zoning ordinances. Nearly 320 people turned out to vote. The moratorium was defeated nearly two to one. Many townspeople, encouraged by local leaders, believed voting “no” meant supporting Kingfish Maine. In reality, the measure was meant to give the town breathing room to prepare—something few residents understood.

A high school student later told me her mother had voted “no” because “that’s what everyone said to do,” not realizing what the vote was actually about.

Lawyers, Loopholes, and the “Ringer”

As the meetings grew in size and tension, time limits were imposed on public comments. Lawyers representing the company, the town, and local opponents filled the room. Testimony was recorded, reviewed, and dissected.

Among the Planning Board members was an alternate—a highly educated nuclear scientist—who seemed unusually skilled at countering criticism of the project. Many wondered how this “ringer” from KM had ended up on the Board.

The dynamic between the Planning Board, the town’s attorney, and KM’s legal team began to look increasingly cozy. Opponents often felt outmatched. One example came when residents raised concerns about electrical power. KM admitted it couldn’t use existing lines because of the plant’s massive energy needs. When asked for proof of how they’d secure power, company representatives replied, “That’s not our problem; it’s the local electrical provider’s.” The Board simply accepted this answer.

Then came the question of shoreland zoning. Under the Shoreland Zoning Ordinance (SLZ), KM couldn’t place any fish farm structures within the restricted area. But KM’s attorney argued that the only building in the shoreland zone was the pump house—which, they claimed, didn’t count as part of the industrial complex. The Planning Board accepted this as well.

The Fight Over Table 15

The final showdown centered on Table 15 of Jonesport’s Land Use and Development Ordinance (LUDO)—a matrix that indicates which types of development are allowed, restricted, or prohibited. Opponents were confident: under “Industrial Buildings,” the table clearly said “NO.” By that logic, the KM installation should have been prohibited.

Earlier, KM had tried to classify itself as agricultural, arguing that fish farming was akin to farming. That effort failed. The LUDO clearly defined “industrial” as any operation involving both growing and processing—exactly what KM intended to do.

But further down Table 15 was a section labeled “Marine-Related Activities” and a subcategory for “functionally water-related uses.” Normally, Maine towns interpret ordinance conflicts in favor of the most restrictive rule—in this case, the “NO” under the section titled, Industrial Buildings. Yet KM’s lawyer and the town’s attorney agreed to disregard that principle, offering no convincing reason.

The Planning Board sided with them, ruling that the project qualified as “functionally water-related” rather than industrial.

When the final vote came, opponents were momentarily elated: the Board voted 3–2 to reject KM’s application. But the victory evaporated almost instantly. One “no” voter, under visible pressure from the Chair, changed his vote. The reversal passed, and KM’s project was approved 3–2.

A Sensible Plan

After more than four years of meetings, research, legal motions, and appeals, I began to wonder whether there might be a more balanced way to handle such cases. What if an independent consortium of professionals—lawyers, scientists, and planners with no corporate ties—reviewed large-scale development proposals before they ever reached small-town boards?

This group could identify likely points of community resistance and recommend alternative approaches, helping companies like Kingfish avoid needless conflict while ensuring that towns aren’t blindsided.

But here’s the catch: law firms profit from conflict. Appeals and lawsuits generate revenue, so there’s little incentive to simplify the process. That reality brings us to the central question:

Even in the face of a changing climate, is economic development still considered more important than environmental integrity? So far, the answer remains yes—and that is the sad, distressing truth.

Concluding Remarks

Fast forward to May 2025. The Town of Jonesport’s attorney—who ostensibly represents the town and has been accused of overstepping or sidestepping his role—sent a letter to the Planning Board proposing amendments to the LUDO to accommodate KM, citing time lost during the company’s recent court appeals. KM, of course, won all those appeals, despite numerous well-founded environmental concerns.

Opponents were stunned. The proposed changes would effectively give KM a three-year extension to secure investors and move forward with construction—despite the company’s current financial struggles.

To many, this looks less like due process and more like a quiet partnership between economic ambition and political convenience. Meanwhile, the environmental stakes remain dire: more than a ton of nitrogen and phosphorus released into Chandler Bay every day, compounded by models predicting dangerous nutrient buildup. The Bay is also home to endangered Atlantic salmon and vulnerable bird species such as the razorbill auk and purple sandpiper.

For locals who depend on the Bay—for fishing, for tourism, for identity—the situation feels less like progress and more like betrayal. And so, the question lingers: behind the curtain, whose interests are truly being served?

Richard W. Aishton is currently an independent consultant and the President of Protect Downeast. His previous assignment was for the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) as the Program Coordinator for the ENPI FLEG Program (Forest Law Enforcement and Governance) in six Eastern European countries and Russia. This program concentrated on rural development and resource dependency; and ecosystem management and governance, using the context of ecosystem destruction. Dr. Aishton focuses on quantifying the relationship between rural communities and their natural resource base. His skills include the application of technical science; remote sensing and use of satellite and aerial images; rural energy development and use; evaluation of ecosystem services from the perspective of what is actually used; and conflict management in a multi-lingual, multi-cultural setting. A strong academic background and over 40 years of experience in foreign and domestic ecosystem management form the foundation that enables Dr. Aishton to conduct and manage international and domestic projects that work with culturally diverse groups; manage large budgets; and develop new project opportunities. Dr. Aishton holds a Master of Science in Environmental Policy, a PhD in Environmental Dynamics, and has completed coursework at the Maine School of Law.

Authorities in Maine are seeking a missing 16-year-old girl.

Lilyanna Rose Cook was last seen in Roque Bluffs, the Washington County Sheriff’s Office said. She may possibly be with a male and heading out of state.

Cook is described as 5’2 and about 120 pounds. She has blonde hair and blue eyes, as well as a nose ring, ear piercings and a rose tattoo.

She was last seen wearing black and white Jordan shoes, a white sweater off the shoulder, and a black and pink backpack with a rose on it.

Anyone with information is asked to contact the Washington County Sheriff’s Office at 207-255-8308.

It’s a great time for a wild goose chase. Insect-eaters are typically the first birds to skip town, migrating south. Seed-eaters linger a little longer. Waterfowl take their own sweet time.

As long as there is food in an ice-free pond, ducks and geese are happy to stay right here. Cold doesn’t bother them much, as anyone who has cooked a duck knows. They’ve got a fat layer of insulation that just won’t quit.

Goose-watching is like panning for gold. You’ve got to sift through a lot of sand to find a nugget. Canada geese are abundant. But there are sometimes strangers hiding among them. Many less common geese seem to be turning up this autumn, hiding in plain sight.

Snow geese appear regularly in Maine in autumn. They are abundant and extremely social, traveling and foraging in big flocks. They nest along the Arctic tundra edge clear across North America. In mid to late October, they migrate straight south, so most eastern Canadian breeders end up along the eastern seaboard. Central Canadian breeders winter along the Gulf coast. Western birds wait out the cold months along the Pacific.

Snow geese migrate at their leisure, stopping for long periods to feed on the sedges and tubers they love. There is so much of this food supply along the Saint Lawrence River above Quebec that the province started a Snow Goose Festival, appropriately named in French “Festival de l’Oie des Neiges.” Hundreds of thousands of snow geese pass through, most stopping off at Cap Tourmente National Wildlife Refuge.

These snow geese typically bypass Maine, choosing instead a route over Vermont, where they know their favorite food is waiting for them. Dead Creek Wildlife Management Area in Vermont is the core area to see hundreds of thousands at this time of year.

Next stop: Middle Creek Wildlife Management Area in Pennsylvania; then on to the coast, from Delaware to North Carolina.

Not surprising for an abundant species, some snow geese wander into Maine on their way south. They’ve been entertaining birders across the state. If encountered, take a second look. You might find a Ross’s goose. It strongly resembles a snow goose, though smaller and with a shorter bill.

Ross’s goose summers and winters in the central regions of North America. Vagrants in Maine are rare, but one popped up in Ellsworth a couple weeks ago. Another attracted a lot of attention in Bangor’s Maple Grove Cemetery three years ago.

A widespread species like the Canada goose typically has regional variation. In 2004, there were 11 recognized subspecies. That year, ornithologists decided the smallest subspecies was sufficiently different to declare the cackling goose as an official new species.

Cackling geese breed on the far northern edges of Canada and Alaska. In winter, they head south, mostly west of the Great Lakes. However, some wander.  One turned up in Mars Hill Pond in Aroostook County a few weeks ago. Last Sunday, on a Maine Audubon-led field trip, seven birders enjoyed viewing a cackling goose at Arnold Brook Lake Recreation Area in Presque Isle.

That same field trip turned up a greater white-fronted goose at Lake Josephine in Easton. Greater white-fronted geese also breed in the far north, almost exclusively west of Hudson Bay. They winter west of the Mississippi all the way down to Louisiana. But a few visit Maine every autumn, so it’s not a surprise when one appears.

Pink-footed geese are a surprise. They breed on the far side of Greenland and winter in Northern Europe. In recent years, more have been visiting the eastern coast of North America. Those lucky Aroostook County birders turned one up at Lake Josephine. Besides Maine, there are currently pink-footed geese attracting attention in Connecticut, New Jersey, and Nova Scotia.

Perhaps the Holy Grail of goose-chasing is the barnacle goose. Its nesting range extends from Eastern Greenland to Siberia. However, any bird that can both fly and swim is not so shy about crossing water, and barnacle geese occasionally show up here. I enjoyed my first (and only) sighting in Houlton a few years ago. And, yes, I learned the pair was there, and scheduled a wild-goose chase to see them.

Barnacle geese are currently present in Québec and Nova Scotia. One was in New York in early October.

Birding in late autumn need not be dull. Songbirds may have headed for the tropics, but other birds have secretly taken their place. There are big flocks of Canada geese everywhere. Take a second look.