If you live long enough, you will undoubtedly become annoying. We all, at a certain age, wield the superpower of being able to say, “Back in my day …” I’ve found myself doing this a lot lately, especially when it comes to how I think about my home waters of Chesapeake Bay. 

When I was born, in 1970, the Bay was in dire straits. Sewage and toxic waste poured into it. Finfish and shellfish populations plummeted. The 1972 Clean Water Act helped to clean up the mess, but as of the early ’80s, there were still problems. 

I vividly recollect a middle-school science club trip to Baltimore’s Patapsco River. We watched from a boat as a fluorescent green mystery brew poured freely out of a huge pipe into the watershed. The toxic plume came from a factory that would eventually end up being a Superfund hazardous-waste site. We dredged up sediment to sample for benthic life, and we were distinctly told: “Do not, under any circumstances, touch the mud.” 

Still, the Bay in many ways managed to thrive. I remember in the mid-’80s catching bushels of 7- to 8-inch blue crabs from Eastern Bay with my father and friends. It was a haul that would be unheard of today. Runs of bluefish and striped bass also used to ebb and flow through Bay waters as each season arrived and then waned, offering anglers year-round piscatorial enjoyment. In the ’90s, I remember plucking as many crabs as I wanted from the pilings around Annapolis Harbor, where I lived on           my sailboat.

Today, it’s a vastly different picture. No matter what you take from population surveys, anecdotal evidence suggests that the striped bass fishery is in collapse. There’s now virtually nothing where there once was a fishery that thrived in spring on the Susquehanna Flats, in the main Bay channel, at the Bay’s mouth and around thermal plumes from electric plants in winter.

The blue crab population is lower by survey than it’s been in years, so much so that I’ve given up crabbing altogether. Local waters are regularly rendered unswimmable after virtually any amount of rain, with nutrient runoff fueling algae and bacteria blooms. Local organizations are working hard to right the ship, but there’s serious work to be done. 

Even so, I discovered plenty of reasons to be hopeful as we put this annual sustainability issue together. Every year, I see the industry begin voluntary initiatives, simply because it’s the right thing to do. 

Suzuki Marine is one such company putting in the hard work. Its Clean Ocean Project, which you can read about starting on Page 26, aims to reduce the presence of microplastics in our watery world, cut plastic production from its supply chain, remove trash from beaches, and promote the use of sustainable fuels.

Another company working hard to reduce environmental impacts is Brunswick Corp., which recently released its 2024 Sustainability Report. To get a high-up view of the marine manufacturing giant’s efforts, I interviewed Jennifer Koenig, chief sustainability officer. You’ll see starting on Page 6 how Brunswick is leaning into these ideas, and not only from an environmental point of view. 

Switching gears, it’s officially hurricane season. As we do every year, we survey experts and organizations for a look into their meteorological crystal ball about what boaters can expect. The reporting begins on Page 22 with insight into a marine business that prepared for the worst last year and ended up rather successfully surviving a major hurricane. 

The last piece I’d like to point out is a company profile about thermoplastic extrusion manufacturer Barbour Plastics, which begins on Page 30. I visited Barbour’s Brockton, Mass., factory in late May to learn how rubrails, window channels, gasketing, and other pieces and parts are made for the boatbuilder and aftermarket sectors.

I was happy to learn that Barbour tries to operate with minimal waste material being produced, especially as I think about that Superfund site from my youth. Today, the site has largely been remediated, and a developer is figuring out next steps. I hear it’s still not a good idea to stick your finger into the sediment in the Patapsco, but this feels like progress.