a letter to the editor By Stewart Lamont
It was a gorgeous Friday afternoon in late August. Local fishermen had requested a meeting to find out what this salmon farm application was all about. 50 chairs were positioned at the front of the Fire Hall, there was a head table with seating for 3, and a big screen set up for Zoom. I had driven a couple of hours to attend as a very interested observer. But 20 minutes before the scheduled start, there was virtually no one there. Walking through the front door, my heart sank.
A mere half hour later it was standing room only and I was thrilled I had come. I should have known better. Coastal community meetings always feature ‘late breaking’ arrivals. Nobody wants to be first. Everyone prefers to be third from the last to arrive…
The topic was contentious. Open net pen fish farms are controversial. When you have millions of pounds of salmon or trout in coastal waters, that activity dominates virtually everything imaginable. Think of fish farms as a sewage issue – previously pristine waters are required to absorb up to 1000 metric ton of fecal and food waste in a 16-month production cycle. Fish poop naturally, but when encumbered in these gigantic pens they also poop massively.
The mess is nauseating, barely ‘hidden’ below the surface.
The lure of a fish farm is allegedly jobs. But the reality is that these so called ‘farms’ are increasingly automated. The farms are not big job creators, and truth to tell, coastal rural communities often have more existing jobs than employees. The tables have turned, the demographics have shifted since Covid.
When the meeting began, the room was full. All the chairs were taken except the very front row where nobody wants to sit. The late arrivals were lined to the door. There was anticipation in the air…
Two highly capable women organized the meeting, and they took turns introducing themselves and an invited guest from the Maritime Fishermen’s Union. They then outlined an informal Agenda.
The purpose was to explore the issue and find ‘next steps.’
A respectful conversation among all of those attending then took place for the next hour and a half:
“Who has authority for these salmon pens, and under whose jurisdiction are they permitted?”
“What are the economic benefits to Sandy Cove, and all the communities on Digby Neck and Islands?”
“Will the proposed applications provide full time employment for local young people?”
“Why aren’t the applicants for the farm meeting directly with locals?”
“Why isn’t the local member of the legislature in attendance at this meeting?”
“What is the risk of a salmon farm relative to the benefit of the lobster fishery? Have studies been done as to their compatibility?”.
That is just a sampling of the back and forth that day. It was a case study in inviting citizens to become actively involved and obtaining the facts- just the facts- above all else.
More importantly perhaps, the meeting was an exercise in respectful community engagement. There was a surplus of intelligence and common sense clearly on display. The chair persons allowed everyone to speak, and careful note was made of the best ideas put forward, no matter whose ideas they were.
As a non-resident of the community, it was nothing short of uplifting to me. In a Trumpian world, I found hope on Digby Neck, Nova Scotia.
Informal engagement had drawn a large crowd. A community had come together for discussion. One of the organizers had baked wonderful cookies and coffee was available for whomever.
But this was serious.
These are our coastal waters.
This is our community.
There are potential jobs but at what cost, exactly?
When most folks think of Digby they think of spectacular scallops.
When I think of Digby Neck, I will focus upon a small rural community which gives me hope for the future.
Just for the record: the consensus of the room was to organize. Organize, organize, organize. The decision of the group was to invite the Minister, local Members of the Legislature, and the proponents of the salmon farm to attend a meeting in the near future. They should speak directly to the community. Those who would seek to impose their invasive business model in public waters should be accountable. The overwhelming sentiment was to protect the health of the community above all else.
I sat there in admiration.
I will happily return for the next meeting…
Stewart Lamont
Managing Director
Tangier Lobster Company Limited
The fight over open-net pens returns to St. Mary’s Bay
By Passages editor, Monica Stark
For many people on Digby Neck and the Islands, the current debate over open-net-pen salmon farming may feel familiar. It is not the first time local communities have faced proposals for large-scale finfish aquaculture in the waters around them.
In March, Passages reported on four proposed new marine finfish aquaculture sites in St. Mary’s Bay. The applications, from Norwegian-owned Canadian Salmon Ltd., would place sites near Mink Cove/Little River, East Ferry and Long Island. Each proposed site covers approximately 80 hectares, or roughly 160 acres, with 10 to 12 pens proposed at each location. The proposal could ultimately put approximately three million farmed salmon into St. Mary’s Bay. There are already five existing finfish aquaculture sites shown in the area on the Fisheries and Oceans Canada map published with the March article. The four proposed sites would add another substantial concentration of aquaculture operations within the bay.
This is also not St. Mary’s Bay’s first fight over proposed salmon farms. In 2020, Cermaq, a Norwegian aquaculture company owned by Mitsubishi, considered expansion into St. Mary’s Bay and elsewhere in Nova Scotia. Those plans were eventually withdrawn following strong opposition from coastal communities. The current applications have brought many of the same concerns back to the surface.
At the heart of the debate is whether open-net-pen aquaculture is compatible with the existing uses and ecology of St. Mary’s Bay. Because water moves freely through open-net pens, fish waste, uneaten feed and other material enter the surrounding marine environment. A 2025 Fisheries and Oceans Canada Science Advisory Report cited in the March article examined potential waste dispersal from the proposed sites and indicated that deposition could extend over much of the seabed within St. Mary’s Bay. Opponents have also raised concerns about sea lice, disease, escaped farmed salmon and the cumulative effects of adding more sites to an area where finfish aquaculture already operates.
But the debate is also about competing uses of public waters. St. Mary’s Bay and the surrounding Bay of Fundy support long-established lobster and scallop fisheries, along with processing, boat repair, tourism and other businesses dependent on the health and accessibility of the coast. The March article argued that the lobster, scallop, fishing and tourism industries in Lobster Fishing Areas 34 and 35 represent roughly a billion dollars annually when direct and indirect economic effects are included.
The provincial review process considers economic development, existing fisheries, oceanographic and biophysical conditions, other users of public waters, navigation, wild salmon sustainability and existing aquaculture operations. Public submissions also form part of the official record.
Months after Passages first reported on the applications, those issues remain unresolved. The meeting described by Stewart Lamont in the accompanying letter represents the latest stage of a debate that this community has been through before: who gets to use St. Mary’s Bay, what risks are acceptable, and how much say should the people who live and work along its shores have in deciding its future?