HARPSWELL, Maine — June 12, 2013 — Philip Tuttle saw an opportunity and took it. With his wife preoccupied upstairs, he quickly scribbled a note — “Headed out to look for a trap. Be back shortly.” — and headed toward his boat Saturday afternoon.
Tuttle has hauled lobsters from the waters of Casco Bay for about 40 years. And he found the trap, but got a little too close to shore in the process. He hit a ledge, and the Queen Tut, his 26-foot lobster boat, began sinking.
“The boat just went right over on its side,” he said. “Within three minutes, it was sunk.”
Unable to reach a life jacket, Tuttle took a deep breath as the boat went down, pried loose a nearby buoy, and swam 30 yards, though it felt more like 2 miles, through chilly water to an island. Slowly, he clawed his way up the jagged rocks, barnacles slicing into his shins and arms with each movement.
Unable to reach a life jacket, Tuttle took a deep breath as the boat went down, pried loose a nearby buoy, and swam 30 yards, though it felt more like 2 miles, through chilly water to an island. Slowly, he clawed his way up the jagged rocks, barnacles slicing into his shins and arms with each movement.
Philip Tuttle is 90 years old.
He’s not supposed to lobster alone anymore. But Tuttle, a feisty and spry retired casket salesman who spends about three months a year lobstering, is not one easily told what to do. On Saturday, he sneaked out of the house.
“I get the Dickens for that,” he said with an impish grin Wednesday, sitting beneath a picture window overlooking the ocean.
Read the full story at The Boston Globe