September 8, 2013 — Before midnight under a nearly full moon, McIntire — a consummate hard worker with a jovial reputation and a penchant for having a good time — was heading for his boat, three women and a friend in tow.
In the days since his death that night, the few witnesses who know firsthand how McIntire was lost have largely remained silent or have all but left town, only fueling rumors and speculation about his final moments.
"None of this should have happened," said Tim Levesque, who set off with McIntire that night, along with the three women, whom they had met at a bar. After a night of drinks and dancing, they headed to the first boat McIntire had ever owned, the Clover.
The night ended with McIntire lost at sea. He remains missing and presumably drowned.
McIntire, 51, partied harder, fished longer and landed more monsters, often in second-rate boats, than almost anyone else he knew. And he knew everyone worth knowing in this seaside town, and was a boisterous, gleeful presence in the lives of nearly all of them.
After a lifetime spent at sea, McIntire was comfortable operating in the harshest of conditions, often fishing more than 100 miles from shore for as long as a week in search of a prize-winning tuna. But on the night he disappeared, the waves were calm, the skies were clear.
Yet, after a few minutes treading water offshore near Perkins Cove's bell buoy, Levesque would find McIntire floating face down in the gentle waves, his quiet death a jarring end to a life lived at full volume.
Read the full story at the Portland Press Herald