The rake’s rusted metal teeth emerge from the water and drop a mess of broken shells on the plywood culling board. Although he’s allowed to rake, he won’t reap much of a harvest. Schoelles has a rare private lease on his 100-plus acres of beds. The state has historically regulated the harvests by closing the bay during some summer seasons and mandating a minimum size for the oysters that can be taken. In 2020, the state of Florida, responding to a historic collapse in oyster populations, closed Apalachicola Bay to all wild oyster harvesting for up to five years.Ī severe drought that took place from 1955 to 1957, as well as hurricanes Elena and Kate (1985) and Dennis (2005), and tropical storms Fay (2008) and Debbie (2012), led to oyster declines, but the bay always recovered quickly. This year, though, no one is taking oysters. Schoelles and his oyster tonger peers could clear $200-$300 a day. Oyster shucking houses dotted the shore and the docks in downtown Apalachicola, neighboring Eastpoint, and down the bay to Tommy Ward’s 13 Mile Oyster House. A few local boat makers were building two to three skiffs per month in open-air backyard shops. The oyster tongers would anchor over their favorite beds and literally rake up the oysters growing on top of the reef - with some rake loads yielding a dozen perfect oysters. ĭecades of accumulated oyster shells made up the beds (or reefs) sitting a few feet below the water’s surface. Back then, over 400 similar skiffs would be spread across the bay - anchored at Cat Point, Indian River Lagoon, Dry Bar, Hagan’s Flats, 11 Mile, and Nick’s Hole. He’s made his living aboard this 22-foot plywood skiff since 1984. Schoelles harvests oysters from beds his grandfather established in the early 1900s, 11 miles west of Apalachicola, Florida. Then, as it drops in the water, the teeth clawing for shells make a muffled crunch. The rake’s handles cut a V against dawn’s cobalt sky. This morning, like most others, he drops his anchor, a rusted engine block, into 5 feet of latte-colored water, grabs a 10-foot-long rake handle made of pine, and steps to the edge of the boat. At 60 years old, Kendall Schoelles, pronounced shell-ess, has never worked a land job.
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