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York, Maine startup turns invasive green crabs into popular restaurant fare

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York, Maine startup turns invasive green crabs into popular restaurant fare


YORK, Maine — In his days as a York High School marine science teacher, Mike Masi would educate his students about green crabs and other invasive species in the Gulf of Maine. Nowadays, Masi and a former student catch green crabs and sell them as food to high end restaurants and bait to commercial fishermen.

Masi, a diver, fisherman and member of the York Shellfish Commission, and Sam Sewall, an eighth-generation lobsterman and Masi’s old student, are the co-founders of York-based Shell + Claw, a business devoted to the study and commercial harvesting of green crabs. The two founded the business in 2020 and have sold green crabs for the last three years, putting in long hours of work to further their knowledge of the crustacean’s impact on local marine life.

The state refers to green crabs as Maine’s “most destructive and costly invader.” The species arrived to Maine shores in the mid-1800s in ballast water from European ships and soon began damaging soft-shell clams and the local marine habitat through their predation. 

One solution to help curb the crabs’ impact? Catch them, cook them and eat them, just as Shell + Claw’s co-founders do. Crabs caught in the York River are taken by Masi and Sewall, when they are molting, and sold to regional restaurants for their soft-shell crab meat while hard-shell green crabs can be purchased as bait.

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“One of the things we’re really trying to do is diversify the options of working waterfront,” Masi said. “So many of our eggs are in the basket of lobster here in the state of Maine. It’s lobster or nothing in a lot of communities. So what happens if the lobsters continue moving offshore, continue moving more up the coast? What happens if regulations become too stringent? It could be a real hit to the working waterfront. Once you lose working waterfront, it’s not going to come back. Having diversity will add resiliency to the working waterfront here.”

In the winter, according to Masi and Sewall, the annual freeze usually kills off a chunk of the local green crab population. However, amid warmer winter temperatures in recent years, green crabs have been able to remain alive and active, feeding on soft-shell clams, tearing up eelgrass and eroding marshbanks as they excavate and scour for food. 

A single green crab can consume upwards of 40 half-inch soft-shell clams in a day, according to the Gulf of Maine Institute.

The green crab invasion is apparent in the state’s statistics on soft-shell clam landings. In the mid-1970’s, Maine fishermen caught nearly 40 millions of pounds of soft-shell clams per year. But last year, fishermen caught approximately 5 million pounds of soft-shell clams in Maine waters.

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Sewall was 8 years old when he received his commercial lobster license from the state. He’s seen the change in the local supply of soft-shell clams and the growing impact of green crabs.

“There’s no clams left in the York River,” he said. “Even when I was a kid, I remember being able to go out and dig a whole meal for the family in an hour.”

Among all commercial catch in Maine in 2023, just 3% of the total was attributed to soft-shell clams. The state’s report shows lobster made up 46% of all commercial catch in Maine last year. The entire year’s worth of commercial catch in Maine last year tallied almost 205 million pounds and totaled over $600 million in value, according to the state.

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“Clams are historically a very, very important part of the coastal economy. We’ve seen that drop off significantly,” Masi said.

The Shell + Claw co-founders hope that other Maine fishermen, namely oyster farmers, could be interested in harvesting green crabs in the future to revive the soft-shell clam population and fill in a gap in the offseason for those fishermen.

Beginning on Earth Day next year – April 22, 2025 – Shell + Claw will launch a state-approved oyster and green crab farm in the York River, an experimental lease set to last for three years. There, Masi and Sewall hope to show more local fishermen the benefits of green crab harvesting and encourage them to follow suit while perfecting their own trapping processes.

“We think that green crabs could fill that little niche and be a supplementary income for interested oyster farmers that want to pull in a little bit more money in May and June,” Masi added.

But is the business of green crabs a profitable one? 

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Hard-shell green crabs trapped by Shell + Claw have been sold to a single buyer in Rhode Island, whose fishermen use the species as bait to catch channeled whelk, a predatory sea snail. 

Dating back to 2022, Shell + Claw reports having sold 48,000 pounds of hard-shell crab. At $0.60 per pound, the York business has made just shy of $29,000 from bait sales alone. However, the bait market has at times been unreliable for Shell + Claw, as channeled whelk buyers in China have not always needed Rhode Island fishermen to go out and fish for the snails.

Shell + Claw has sold about 1,600 soft-shell green crabs each year to restaurants at around $3 per crab, resulting in nearly $5,000 in additional sales.

From what they hear from their customers, though, the more green crabs Shell + Claw can harvest and sell, the better.

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“We could triple our production and probably not meet the demand, just from what we have right now,” Masi said. “The chefs have been great and they know that we’re in the research and development phase, but to become more of a business, we’ve got to be able to more consistently produce product.”

Shell + Claw sells soft-shell green crabs to four restaurants, according to the co-founders – Portsmouth, New Hampshire restaurants Black Trumpet bistro, Botanica Restaurant and Gin Bar and Row 34, in addition to Moeca in Cambridge, Massachusetts. 

“It’s tough for a restaurant to not know what they’re going to get because they want to make a menu,” Sewall said. “Line cooks, if they get trained on something and then it’s gone the next day, it’s just a big waste of time. So we’ve got to be able to give them a steady supply for a month or two, whatever the season is, so they can have it that whole time.”

A goal of Masi and Sewall is to conduct outreach to people of southeast Asian descent living around New England, as Cambodian, Filipino and Vietnamese consumers have shown strong interest in Shell + Claw’s green crabs. 

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Seacoast chef says soft-shell green crab meat taste is sweet

Chef Jeremy Sewall, managing partner of the Row 34 seafood restaurants, was skeptical that green crabs would be deemed tasty enough to ever be appealing to diners. Now, he’s a green crab convert.

“Having spent a lot of time on the York RIver in Maine as a kid, they were kind of gross,” he said of green crabs. “They were in the mud and I thought they would taste muddy and a little earthy. They’ve actually got a nice sweetness to them. It’s a nice sweet crab meat.”

Sewall, a cousin of Sam Sewall, is a James Beard Foundation-nominated chef and received his training at the Culinary Institute of America. His career has taken him to London, Amsterdam and California before returning to his New England roots. Row 34, of which he’s a partner with Shore Gregory, has grown to include locations in Portsmouth, New Hampshire and three in Massachusetts, with restaurants in Boston, Burlington and Cambridge. 

Jeremy Sewall and the Row 34 staff have been serving green crab at all four locations since the start of Shell + Claw’s harvesting efforts. The crustaceans have been served two ways by Row 34, either fried and served on a slider, or chopped up and served with seasonal vegetables in a pasta dish.

“They’re just really good. It’s another tasty seafood that I think New England has to offer,” Jeremy Sewall said.

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Due to the bulk of harvesting being conducted in the spring and summer, Row 34 is not currently offering green crab on its menu. But the business will again in the future, continuing a partnership with Shell + Claw that is a first-of-its-kind initiative for the Row 34 brand.

Chefs at Row 34 have had to become innovative in preparing a menu with lesser-known fish due to the occasional shortage of more popular species.

“We’ve had to rely on other species from a seafood standpoint because the ones we tend to like, we’ve eaten all of them,” Jeremy Sewall said. “Eating a diversity of creatures out of the ocean is a great thing.”

But in the chef’s mind, for New England’s soft-shell clam population to boom once more, green crab harvesting and marketing efforts need to expand. It can’t just be up to seafood lovers to endlessly eat green crabs out of existence, he added.

“It’s got to go beyond restaurants to really make an impact on the green crab population,” Jeremy Sewall said. “You’re going to need to get it into the mainstream diet and in front of more consumers rather than (just at) a bunch of small restaurants around New England.”

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Shell + Claw attemping to streamline their process

Another next step in Shell + Claw’s growth is to become more efficient in identifying green crabs that are about to molt. Rather than go through each crab one by one, Masi and Sewall hope to be able to locate green crabs that are about to transition into a softer shell just by looking into a trap or tray full of the crustaceans.

In the early days of their startup, Masi and Sewall would check on the pre-molt green crabs every 12 hours, sometimes trudging into the dark of night to observe their catch and separate the crabs. 

“We’re putting a lot of man hours in when we’re actually sorting these every day between us and the interns,” Sewall stated. “If we’re going to make it a business, we have to pay these people and then make a little ourselves.”

While the number of green crabs in the Gulf of Maine is anecdotally high, Shell + Claw’s operation is still relatively small. The business has 30 green crab traps and a homemade “crab condos” where the captured about-to-molt crabs are placed before being sold to restaurants. By comparison, Sewall owns 800 lobster traps.

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But amid the uncertainty of the soft-shell clam population, and state fishermen bringing in the lowest amount of lobster in 15 years in 2023, Masi and Sewall see green crab harvesting as a way forward for those trying to make a living on the docks. 

“I think that those that are going to be successful in the working waterfront in the years to come are going to be the individuals that are nimble, that are willing to try new things,” Masi said.

Green crab bounty program in Massachusetts seen as crucial for soft-shell clamming industry

In Ipswich, Massachusetts, historically teeming with soft-shell clams, officials have initiated a town- and state-funded green crab bounty program that pays fishermen to catch and dispose of the crustaceans. The program pays a select group of fishermen $0.40 per pound of green crabs that they catch and remove from the water.

Last year alone, a total of 85,838 pounds of green crabs were trapped and taken out of Ipswich waters, according to town Shellfish Constable Matthew Bodwell. In turn, over $34,000 was paid to the fishermen that caught them, while thousands more pounds of green crabs were caught in the town outside of Ipswich’s program.

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Green crabs are “the most dangerous threat to Ipswich shellfish populations,” Bodwell says, and taking them out is “essential to the future of our clamming industry.”

“Green crab trapping is a very important program that has been, and continues to be, effective in lowering overall green crab numbers,” he said. “This in turn allows more juvenile soft shell clams to grow to harvest size, protects the Great Marsh from the destructive burrowing of the crabs, and protects eel grass from being eaten by the crab. Trapping, in my opinion, is the best solution for sustaining clam populations and protecting our marshland.”

Back in York, Masi believes Shell + Claw’s unofficial study has had a mirroring effect in rejuvenating the soft-shell clam population in Braveboat Harbor. 

By removing tens of thousands of pounds of green crabs themselves, slowly but surely, some soft-shell clams are living longer.

“I am seeing some inch-and-a-half-sized clams and those ones definitely settled within the time period that we’ve been working there and when we’ve been harvesting (for green crabs),” Masi said. “I think we are seeing that we’ve done some ecological good in trying to protect the clam resource.”

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A new Maine tax will have you paying more for Netflix after Jan. 1

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A new Maine tax will have you paying more for Netflix after Jan. 1


The logos for streaming services Netflix, Hulu, Disney Plus and Sling TV are pictured on a remote control on Aug. 13, 2020, in Portland, Ore. (Jenny Kane/Associated Press)

Maine consumers will soon see a new line on their monthly Netflix and Hulu bills. Starting Jan. 1, digital streaming services will be included in the state’s 5.5% sales tax.

The new charge — billed by the state as a way to level the playing field around how cable and satellite services and streaming services are taxed — is among a handful of tax changes coming in the new year.

The sales tax on adult-use cannabis will increase from 10% to 14%, also on Jan. 1. Taxes on cigarettes will increase $1.50 per pack — from $2 to $3.50 — on Jan. 5.

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All three changes are part of the $320 million budget package lawmakers approved in June as an addition to the baseline $11.3 billion two-year budget passed in March.

Here are a few things to know about the streaming tax:

1. Why is this new tax taking effect?

Taxes on streaming services have been a long time coming in Maine. Former Republican Gov. Paul LePage proposed the idea in 2017, and it was pitched by Gov. Janet Mills, a Democrat, in 2020 and 2024. The idea was rejected all three times — until this year.

State officials said last spring the change creates fairness in the sales tax as streaming services become more popular and ubiquitous. It’s also expected to generate new revenue for the state.

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2. What services are impacted?

Currently, music and movies that are purchased and downloaded from a website are subject to sales tax, but that same music and those same movies are not taxed when streamed online.

The new changes add sales tax to monthly subscriptions for movie, television and audio streaming services, including Netflix, Hulu, Disney Plus, Spotify and Pandora. Podcasts and ringtones or other sound recordings are also included.

3. How much is it likely to cost you?

The new tax would add less than $1 to a standard Netflix subscription without ads priced at $17.99 per month. An $89.99 Hulu live television subscription would increase by about $5 per month.

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Beginning Jan. 1, providers will be required to state the amount of sales tax on customers’ receipts or state that their price includes Maine sales tax.

4. How much new revenue is this generating for the state?

The digital streaming tax is expected to bring in $5 million in new revenue in fiscal year 2026, which ends June 30. After that, it’s projected to bring in $12.5 million annually, with that figure expected to increase to $14.3 million by 2029.

The tax increase on cigarettes, which also includes an equivalent hike on other tobacco products, is expected to boost state revenues by about $75 million in the first year.

The cannabis sales tax increase, meanwhile, will be offset in part by a reduction in cannabis excise taxes, which are paid by cultivation facilities on transfers to manufacturers or retailers. The net increase in state revenue will be about $3.9 million in the first full year, the state projects.

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Wintry mix to fall Monday morning across Maine

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Wintry mix to fall Monday morning across Maine


Cars and trucks travel northbound along the Maine Turnpike in Arundel through a messy wintry mix on Feb. 4, 2022. (Gregory Rec/Staff Photographer)

A wintry mix is forecasted to come down on Maine starting in the early hours of Monday morning. 

A mix of sleet and snow is expected to start falling around 1 a.m. Monday in the Portland area and closer to 3 a.m. in the Lewiston area. The mix will likely transition to freezing rain on Monday morning in time for the morning commute, making roads icy, according to the National Weather Service in Gray.

“That’s going to make conditions not ideal for traveling,” said Stephen Baron, a meteorologist at the National Weather Service. 

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As temperatures inch above 32 degrees Fahrenheit on Monday afternoon, the freezing rain is forecasted to transition to regular rain. Ice on the roads will start to melt over the afternoon as well. 

The forecast for the rest of the week is fairly clear as of now. The only other potential precipitation is on Wednesday, with a festive snowfall on New Year’s Eve “around the countdown,” said Baron. 

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Sophie is a community reporter for Cumberland, Yarmouth, North Yarmouth and Falmouth and previously reported for the Forecaster. Her memories of briefly living on Mount Desert Island as a child drew her…
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The Maine winter ritual that keeps me sane

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The Maine winter ritual that keeps me sane


Nearing the end of December, the streams are shrouded in ice. The trout are there, but they are lethargic and in a state of semi-hibernation. From the middle of November, I spend my weekends cutting, splitting and stacking logs for the woodstove; that is, when I’m not plowing snow off the long dirt drive that snakes off the macadam like a woodland stream, winding through hardwoods and coming to rest beside our home.

I could pay Don from the auto shop to do the plowing and we can heat our home with oil, but the effort to clear the drive and keep the stove full is an excuse to spend time outdoors, which keeps me active and sane throughout the winter months and provides the illusion of self-sufficiency.

By the third week of February, the banks of snow have melted along the dirt drive and on either side of the walk leading into our house. Some hardpack remains under the dogwood tree or in the lee of the outbuildings scattered around the 12 acres surrounding our home.

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My jeans bear oil stains that Trish has been unable to remove. The strings from the frayed bottoms trail behind the rubber heels of my felt-packed Sorels like a dry fly reeled against the stream’s current. The fingers of my inexpensive work gloves are worn through in a few places, and I have wrapped them with duct tape to keep the lining from falling out.

This morning, I’m wearing a heavy shirt with a stiff canvas exterior over a long-sleeve T-shirt. The words “Oquossoc Marine” are stitched in black across the front of my cap, the letters rising upward through a grease stain like boulders in a lake around which smallmouth bass might school.

Neatly stacked hardwood inside the lean-to, ready to keep the home warm for months to come. Credit: Courtesy of Bob Romano

I walk the short distance across the yard to a small shed, the lawn crunching under my boots. The morning frost glistens like tiny diamonds sprinkled among the blades of matted grass as the sun edges over a line of spruce to reveal a flawless blue sky.

Lifting the latch, I open the door. The smell of grease and oil hangs in the cold stillness. I reach past the chainsaw and grab the maul from the corner of the shed, walking back outside, passing the near-empty lean-to that contains the remains of two cords of stovewood. By this time of year, the pieces that remain are stacked against the back wall, some littering the floor, a few wedged into the corners.

Throughout November and the early part of December, the sound of my chainsaw fills the air as I down trees, hauling them from the woodlot across the earthen dam of our little pond and cutting them into stove-sized pieces. By January, I’m spending my time splitting the 12-inch logs, allowing them to season in the open air throughout spring and summer until the following fall when I stack them, row upon row, under the eaves of the empty lean-to.

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When I was younger, I split wood from morning until three or four in the afternoon, breaking only for lunch, a mountain of billets rising quickly, leaving the remainder of the winter for feeding birds, exploring the woods, tying flies. These days, I wear a back brace and work for no more than three hours a day, taking an entire winter of weekends to raise my mountain of split wood.

I can rent a gas-powered log splitter and form the pile of logs in days instead of months, but where is the honor in that? No, I prefer this six-pound maul, the one I now cradle in my hands, the same maul I have used to create 40 winters’ worth of firewood. Once, I replaced the shaft when an errant blow splintered it against the side of a stump, only later learning a trick used by hockey players to protect their sticks — duct tape wrapped around the base of the blade.

This morning, I stopped at the three chopping blocks frozen to the ground in front of the rising summit of wood. Chinks and grooves cut into the edges of each stump wherever the maul’s sharp blade has powered through a log. The bark has fallen away, lying in shreds, mixed into sawdust with pieces of kindling, wood chips, shavings and twigs, creating a ligneous gazpacho.

On either side lies a pile of logs, mostly sugar maple, white oak, shagbark hickory and ash; the type of hardwood that splits easily and burns slowly, providing an efficient source of heat for the woodstove. There is a smaller amount of soft wood that is stringy, more difficult to split and faster burning like poplar and tulip.

I like the smell of the resin, the feeling of the sawdust, spongy under my boots, the maul, familiar in my hands, but it is the sight of the growing mountain that I most enjoy, with its base of split logs, ridges of sticks and crags of twisted branch.

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Feet spread apart, I grasp the maul, my left hand around the bottom of the shaft, my right around its base. I take pleasure in the power that spreads from my legs up through my shoulders and down through my arms, the motion of the heavy blade as it swings through the air, the crack of the log as it splits in two. After 20 minutes, I unbutton the canvas shirt, remove the baseball cap and run a hand through my thinning hair.

A few feet from the woodpile a chickadee flits among the branches of an ironwood tree. Landing on the metal rung of the tube feeder, the little bird cocks its head sideways, its black eye looking like a tiny plastic bead. As the bird flies off with a seed, a titmouse appears with its gray breast feathers puffed outward, a little dun-colored pompadour shooting up as it chirps a complaint.

I swing the maul down, the blade striking off center. A quarter of the log splits away while the remaining piece falls over on its side. While the titmouse plucks a seed from the feeder, two goldfinches and a nuthatch impatiently chatter from the branches of a nearby sugar maple.

Clouds have moved in from the west and without the sun there is a chill in the air. Even so, I’m sweating. I hang the outer shirt from a nail hammered into the side of the woodshed and roll up the long sleeves of my T-shirt.

The next swing of the maul fails to split the log. Aiming for a fracture, I try again, causing a chunk of wood to fly end over end across the frozen ground.

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I develop a rhythm — bend, pick up a log, split. Bend, pick up a log and split. There is ample time for reflection. Today, I fancy myself an aging samurai, past my prime, without a lord to follow or battle to fight, but still able to wield a weapon with grace and skill. After a while, I stoop down, tossing the scattered billets toward the top of the pile, the mountain growing high under the ashen clouds.

When snow begins to fall, I remove the canvas shirt from the nail and slip it back on. The flakes are light, dry. They settle on my shoulders, the chopping blocks, the woodpile, covering the branches of the ironwood tree and sticking to the ground.

The birds are now darting back and forth grabbing seeds without hesitation. In the stillness of the afternoon, I hear the flutter of their wings.



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