Charity Robey

Dave Daly and Ben Gonzalez, holding on to a sense of place

Ben Gonzalez,left, and Dave Daly with Paco at their Shelter Island home. (Credit: Charity Robey)

WHEN BEN GONZALEZ and Dave Daly decided to start an oyster farm, Dave knew exactly where he wanted to raise bivalves.

His great-grandfather, Thomas Daly, bought a large Southold property in 1919 to get his family away from the flu pandemic sweeping through New York. He put down roots, and over the decades the family extended and built houses all around him. Dave grew up sailing in Southold Bay, and riding the ferry across to Shelter Island for ice cream.

Dave and Ben picked out an underwater lease site in Southold Bay for their new farm in 2013, one of the 10 leases granted by Suffolk County for aquaculture that year.

“It seemed like such a reach to be starting an oyster farm, but the Bay feels like my back yard,” said Dave.

Now six years into the business, they have raised half a million oysters, and a few weeks ago moved to a new home on Shelter Island, up the hill from Chase Creek, and downhill from the golf course with the 7th hole out back, another great location.

Ben’s family is originally from Galicia in Northern Spain, but he grew up in the Dominican Republic and has lived in Buenos Aires and Texas for extended periods. After a 25-year career in marketing with Verizon, he retired. Not yet 50, Ben was ready to start a new business. “My family was extremely concerned when I told them we were going to be oyster farmers,” Ben said.

Dave had no experience raising shellfish either, but he did grow up around boats.

“Motor boats were a four-letter word in our house,” Dave said. “That classic postcard from the 1960’s you sometimes see of two men sailing in Southold Bay — it’s actually my dad and a friend.”

Even before they bought a house in Southold, Dave and Ben bought a 25-foot motorboat, a Maxum. “It’s very top-heavy, my dad calls it the floating Clorox bottle,” Dave said.

Ben told of the time they invited Dave’s dad to cruise with them. “He used to sail to Block Island every year, so we invited him to come with us on our motorboat. He showed up with all these charts and rulers, and when I said, ‘Mr. Daly, we have GPS,’ he said, ‘I don’t trust those things.’” 

Dave added, “If our GPS ever failed, I don’t know how we’d get back.”

Ben was working for Verizon in New York and Dave was in the business school at NYU when they met at the Star Lounge in the Chelsea Hotel, where Dave had gone with group of NYU friends. They married in April of 2011 in Vermont, and it must have been a great wedding because, when same-sex marriage became legal in New York a few months later, they started getting requests from friends and family to do it again.

They adopted Paco, a snaggle-tooth chihuahua mix a few years later. He was a rescue. “A couple of families rejected him because he does bite a little bit,” Dave said. “I had a very ugly dog growing up named Squiggy who looked a lot like Paco.”

Ben said, “I had been hearing stories about Squiggy for years, and I finally saw a picture. He’s the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

They only agreed to foster Paco for a weekend, but when they brought him in the adoption papers were ready, and they wouldn’t give him up.

Dave introduced Ben to the life aquatic when they started coming out to Southold on weekends, and once they found out about oyster growing, Ben went all in. With an education in oyster-raising courtesy of the SPAT (Southold Project in Aquaculture Training) program at the Cornell extension in Southold, “we got 1,000 oysters the size of a pinkie nail to grow or to kill,” Ben said.

They grew.

In the third year of the SPAT program, they learned that Suffolk County had leases for commercial oyster farming. They got into the lottery, were picked to lease a spot in Southold Bay, and joined the nearby Shellfisher Preserve, owned by the Peconic Land Trust, where they operate the land-based part of the farm operation, including tumbling and sorting the oysters.

Once they invested in the lease, they needed equipment, including a boat with a crane to lift 1,000 pounds. They found a bayman selling a scalloping boat, and named the 19-foot Mako “El Pulpo,” or, “The Octopus.”

“The boat has been working these waters for much longer than we have,” Ben said.

In the first six years of production their company, which they named Southold Bay Oysters, had annual growth of between 20% and 40%. They’ve just launched a skincare product derived from nacre, the mother of pearl coating inside an oyster’s shell.

In spite of impressive growth in their first years of farming, sales during the pandemic have been down, as they have been for all oyster farms who depend on restaurants, special events, private parties and tours. Fortunately, the oysters, unperturbed by pandemic, are patiently growing in Southold Bay.

Dave and Ben, with their combined experience in finance and marketing, considered the craft brewing and winery businesses before latching onto oyster farming. Ben was dazzled by the eco-friendly nature of this form of aquaculture, and how it bodes well for the future of the business. “The more I learn about it, the more impressed I am with how powerful oysters are — how they clean the water and establish protective reefs,” he said.

For Dave, it’s more about a sense of place. “The draw for oysters for me was a love for the North Fork and a desire to be here,” he said. “My family used to be here through Thanksgiving and then close the house until Easter. Now there’s pumpkin season and Christmas tree season. The draw for oysters for me was a love for the place and a desire to be here.”

Ben and Dave — Lightning Round

What do you always have with you?  Ben: My wedding ring. Dave: My wedding ring, and Paco.

Favorite place on Shelter Island?  Ben & Dave: The Ram’s Head Inn.

Favorite place not on Shelter Island?  Dave: Southold Bay, the beach. Ben:Orient Point.

What exasperates you?  Ben & Dave: When people come out here to visit and bring a bottle of California wine.

When was the last time you were afraid?  Ben & Dave: Coming back from Fishers Island on our boat, we got caught in fog, and had to try to get out of the way of a massive tanker coming through The Race.

What is the best day of the year on Shelter Island?  Ben & Dave: Labor Day in West Neck Bay. We go to enjoy the beach and spend the night on the boat. 

Favorite movie or book?  Dave: “Jaws.” Ben: “The Others.” 

Favorite person, living or dead, who is not a member of the family?   Ben & Dave: Kim Tetrault, director of the SPAT program.

Most respected elected official?  Ben & Dave: Steve Bellone, Suffolk County Executive. He represents government that really works.

Mabel's very good day

(Credit: Charity Robey)

Mabel is a 40-pound beagle/coonhound mix who has been top dog (and the only dog) in our two-human household since we adopted her five years ago. She is a beautiful and queenly creature, used to being admired, and more comfortable giving orders than obeying them. Here is Mabel’s account of a good day, because she knew you were wondering.

7 a.m. Good morning. I’m curled on the couch in a loose ball of black and tan, my long legs folded, my feet pressed against either side of my muzzle and my fluffy white tail wrapped around the folded legs from stern to stem, looking more like a tiger skin rug than a stuffed animal. When I hear one of my people enter the kitchen, I lift one eyelid. Is it time to rise?

7:25 a.m. I don’t hear the food dish, so my eyelid goes back down, and I return to REM sleep, flexing my toenails, and twitching my legs in pursuit of the rabbit who lives under the porch.

8 a.m. Breakfast. At last I hear the ring of kibble hitting the bowl. I stretch elegantly (a yoga pose called “downward dog”) and enter the kitchen offering my person the opportunity to scratch my ear, before I tuck into my breakfast. Since she insists on heating food before she lets anyone eat it, she mixes warm water into my kibble to “make gravy.” This is strange, since when she makes actual gravy I’m not allowed to have any.

8:15 a.m. A good walk spoiled. After I’ve eaten breakfast, she connects herself to my collar with a piece of leather (which she won’t let me eat) so I can take her out to smell things. She has a lot to learn about smelling things.

Maintaining good hygiene is a constant battle. I have learned to act nonchalant when I spot deer, raccoon or best of all, goose droppings in the grass. I sniff aimlessly, unenthusiastically until she loosens the leash and I can roll in ear-first, executing a twisting dive that lays down an even coating on the fur from my neck to my ribs.

9 a.m. Ablutions and a sun bath. A successful roll in something smelly is often followed by a warm sponge bath (with chicken treats) and then a few hours lying in the sun on the porch.  So that happens, and it’s very nice.

10 a.m. Working girl, job #1. As soon as I hear the garbage truck approaching, I start barking. What are they thinking!? How can they allow a week’s worth of garbage to be taken away forever? I am heartbroken and ashamed.

Noon. Nap.

1 p.m. Working girl, job #2. Our next-door neighbor pulls up in his truck, and it’s my job to bark at him. I continue barking as he chats with my kennelmate about the state of bicycling on Shelter Island including the shortage of parts (he can’t find a tube to fix a flat) and the hazards of off-Island biking. By the time they get around to the question of whether there is still a bike shop in Mattituck, I stop barking and assume a very intimidating guard-dog position – still as the Sphinx of Giza, ears erect, ready to sound the alarm again if the situation deteriorates. This is called community policing, and it is my vocation.

2 p.m. Massage. I awaken from the second of my three afternoon naps, sidle up to one of my kennel-mates, and place my front paw on the keyboard of her laptop, signaling to her that it is time for my massage. She seems to be in the middle of something, so she tries to type around my paw but after I’ve gently replaced it in the middle of the keyboard, she realizes delay is futile and scratches all around my neck and shoulders, under the harness and collar and rubbing my very itchy ears. Heaven!

4:45 p.m. Kibble and a long walk. After my evening bowl of chicken, lamb and rice kibble, my human clips herself to me again, and I take her out for another long walk. My other kennelmate, (man-who-often-smells-like-roasted chicken) joins us. Every day we find treasures! I lead them on an important mission to see what the tide has washed up and look for half-eaten fish that the osprey has dropped. Today my most exciting find was a porgy dropped in Father Peter’s yard. She allowed me to eat most of it! She said I could “clean up the yard” in atonement for past sins, but I deny all wrongdoing.

7 p.m. Helping with dinner. It’s my responsibility to provide companionship and moral support when there is serious cooking going on. I sit quietly, composed and ladylike, except when there is butter or cheese on the kitchen counter. Then I lunge for it, and take it into the living room where I can eat it without upsetting them.

8:30 p.m. Clean up, and a bone of my own. Most nights there is enough chicken, or spaghetti sauce, clinging to the plates for me to have a nice snack while helping load the dishwasher. On this night, due to an obvious lack of planning, the pickings are slim, so I am offered (and accept) an enormous raw marrow bone to keep me busy while they watch the baseball game.  The Yankees win!

Three decades of passages: Capt. Roni King makes final voyage on South Ferry

Capt. Roni King and South Ferry President Cliff Clark.(Credit: Charity Robey photos)




On Friday, April 30, Capt. Roni King walked off the ferry at the end of her last shift to congratulations from family, friends and a crew of current and former captains.

 

 

 

 

The ride was short and sweet from North Haven to Shelter Island, but the sight of Mabel’s Creek coming in to the dock was as glorious as ever, with a strong wind blowing, and the water all whitecaps and rolling waves.

It was the last crossing for a veteran captain after 31 years on the water.

Friday, April 30, South Ferry Capt. Roni King walked off the boat at the end of her last shift to congratulations from family, friends and a crew of current and former captains, retiring from the company.

Capt. King reported that her last day on the job was pretty typical. On one crossing a man holding a camera stepped onto the deck as the boat heaved.  Capt. King, who was at the wheel, asked him to please stand to the side.

Although she asked three times and used the loudspeaker, he ignored the request, protesting that he had never had to follow such a rule in the 10 years he’d been taking the ferry. The captain, trying to prevent an accident, said afterward, “It’s great that people have this sense of safety on the ferry, but really, I asked three times.”

Three decades of rain, cold, and the occasional obstinate passenger was always more than balanced out by the pleasure of working in the natural world. Capt. King said she will never forget, “that first blush of autumn in the trees and the first green of early spring in the marsh around Mabel’s Creek.”

Glenn Waddington was one of the retired captains standing by on Friday to congratulate her as she stepped off the ferry, and into retirement. With 42 years of service to South Ferry, Capt. Waddington worked with Capt. King from the very beginning. “I trained her, and she learned quickly,” he said. “When she was on your team, you knew she was going to do it right.”

Phil Dunne, a 40-year veteran of the ferry and Joe Clark, retired chief engineer, joined the line-up of nautical excellence on hand to thank Capt. King for her service. Jason Green, with 40 years on South Ferry was there with his wife, Louise Tuthill Green. “Roni was a pleasure to work with,” he said, while Louise added by way of clarification, “she was fun to work with.” 

The captain first came to Shelter Island from Brooklyn with her partner, Pat King, who had been visiting Shelter Island for years. Her work as a caterer and chef meant she spent a lot of time in windowless kitchens. “She had been working in restaurant kitchens, like caves,” Pat said. “I said how would you like to work outdoors instead?  Maybe on the ferry?  That made sense to her.”

Shortly after she got the job, Capt. King noticed that a man came down almost every day to get the clams, oysters and mussels he gathered in a basket and left hanging off the dock in the water so they would be fresh for dinner. It was Bill Clark, Cliff Clark’s elderly father, and the idea of a lifetime of seafood gathered in your backyard impressed her deeply.

She called Pat to tell her about it and said, “I think I’m going to work here for a while.”