Fishing with Charlotte Langley

The famous Maritime-turned-County Chef goes sailing on Lake Ontario and gets deep about past lives, sustainable fishing, and seacuterie.

A ways away down the pier at Waupoos Marina, Chef Charlotte Langley is posing in her oversized Ray-Bans and signature Maritime darling wear. She throws her arms around me and I squeeze back as the dock rocks disconcertingly, but Charlotte doesn’t notice – she’s got her sea legs on.

ORIGIN | We officially met at that unforgettable candle lit greenhouse dinner party that the PEI-turned-PEC chef threw with “Tomato Queen” Vicki Emlaw. “Another great chef hits the County,” I remember thinking as her first dish touched my lips – but the praise sold her short.

A renowned East Coast seafood chef, Charlotte is the co-owner and culinary power behind the indie-to-mainstream tinned seafood label Scout – and she’s one of about four percent of women to hold a leadership title in the industry, says the Seafood and Gender Equality organization (SAGE), despite the fact that fifty percent of seafood workers are female. I later learned that my friend Charlotte is a Chef Ambassador to the Marine Stewardship Council, the global standard in sustainable fishing circles. She talks casually about her deep love for the oceans, but her sincere commitment to protect the world’s waterways and their inhabitants is as vast and deep as our Great Lakes.

AVAILABILITY | We stroll arm-in-arm down the pier towards the gorgeous Bavaria 36-foot cruiser-yacht. Charlotte’s cooler is deliciously heavy and equipped to blast Lake Ontario’s socks off with curated seacuterie. Suddenly, I have this flash vision of John Lurie and Jim Jarmusch driving from Manhattan to Montauk to hunt sharks in the 1991 cult classic series Fishing With John. “You said it’s not cool to eat fish while fishing,” says Jarmusch to Lurie.

“You can have roast beef and a beer,” Lurie replies. “But I don’t eat roast meat…” Jarmusch trails off. I’m with Jim Jarmusch on this and I’ve got a couple of bottles of County sparkling that I know will go perfectly with the shimmering lake and our fine sea fare. It’s a cool day and we know it’ll be cooler on the water, but the lake is blue and the sun is high as we step aboard the optimistically christened Sweetwater, taking our captain’s confident hand.

“Sailing in the County is described as some of the best freshwater sailing on Earth,” says my pal Evan Logan, our captain and the owner of the Sail Canada affiliated school Happy Sailing. “And we have access to innumerable coves, islands and ports,” he explains as we don our red PFDs.

Charlotte and Evan know each other from back in the day, and they hug as we settle in, stowing our fishing gear safely in the cabin below deck. “How did you get into all this, Evan?” I ask the 20-year hospitality vet turned 10-year sailing pro. “I was a dishwasher at sixteen and managing a beautiful high-end restaurant in my late thirties … and this is so cliché, but I saw a sailboat at sunset on Lake Ontario and it looked so beautiful. My brother and I knew a guy selling an old Catalina 25 and we bought it, then I spent the next year sailing poorly and watching a lot of YouTube. For me, sailing equates to freedom: whether you’re out for a few hours or a few days – in those moments, you’re in control of your destiny.”

COMMON FORMS | “I was a fish in my past life,” Charlotte says, as Evan casts off and we lean back to enjoy the ride away from the marina. “I’m always trying to identify which species I most relate to, and there’s a few that I’m kind of stuck on. Wanna hear?” I nod vigorously. “Okay, so I really love tuna because of how strong they are and how much energy they use to move through the ocean. They’re beautiful and glistening and shiny and they have big juicy bellies.”

“Ooh,” I say, mesmerized by the prospect of beautiful tuna bellies, as Waupoos becomes a thick green stripe in the distance. “What do you feel when you see tuna out in the wild?” I ask, wondering if they seem more familiar to someone who used to be one. “I saw a bluefin once in Cape Breton,” Charlotte says. “The eyeball was huge, it was the biggest fish I’ve ever seen.”

“But how do you feel about harvesting creatures like tuna for consumption, when you identify with them on a past life level?” I press.

“Bluefin’s a protected species in my mind,” she answers easily – always up for the big conversation, “so I don’t really feel comfortable harvesting it. I’d rather eat an albacore because of how fast they reproduce.” Charlotte is not finished with this convo. “Actually, I also feel like I could have been an oyster, because of the nature of their patience: they take a very long time to grow, they filter the ocean and take care of the ecosystem around them, because they’re caring and gentle and slow moving, which I would prefer to be sometimes…”

“How many creatures are we talking about, Charlotte?” I interrupt.

“How many lives do you think we’ve lived, Lonelle?” she teases. “How about something that can entangle people in its arms? So probably an octopus in some scenarios. They are really wise and intelligent, they can live for a long time – I like that idea – they can hold lots of fun things at once, and also multitask.”

I think Charlotte is on to something. She’s always on the move, never in the same place for more than a few days, exploring new projects, delivering talks about conservation and stewardship, attending global industry conferences, promoting Scout, learning and teaching about her craft. She has so many balls up in the air that an octopus might struggle with the high level juggle.

Still, she’s gracious and easygoing, unrushed and warm. Our conversations are always in the moment and meaningful and evocative.

“Could I have been a fish?” I wonder. I grew up on the Indian Ocean and I’ve always felt a powerful draw to water, but that pull is tempered with respect and fear. The year I was born, my beautiful baby cousin drowned in a tragic accident and the multi-generational trauma was instilled from my first breath. So, I must have been a different kind of fish, I think. A fish out of water and far from home. Maybe one of those mounted bass that reflexively blurts out a discordant “Take Me to the River” to unsuspecting passersby.

“I’ve got a couple of bottles of County sparkling that I know will go perfectly with the shimmering lake and our fine sea fare.” LONELLE SELBO

STATUS | “We’ll do a nice downwind sail,” Evan says, and we agree emphatically, because whatever that is, it sounds lovely. Maybe I could take some lessons this summer; get to know my way around this sleek vessel, I think, when suddenly the breeze becomes gusts and the waves arc into curls. “Okay, prepare to tack,” Evan says, and we hold on tightly to whatever’s around. Our captain shortens the sails to gain more control over the boat and suddenly we’re vertical. I grit my teeth and brace myself, but Evan is masterfully managing the many ropes and clutches and sails while steering at the same time. I fleetingly wonder if he was also an octopus in a past life. “Sorry guys!” he says, as he finishes the move and rights the boat. “We’re having a great time,” we assure him. Charlotte’s eyes are twinkling, but the rest of her is calm, composed. I’m wide-eyed, with slightly white knuckles. “Is it experience?” I wonder. “Do you earn that confidence or are you born with it?”

“I had to be on a boat a few years ago,” says Charlotte as we anchor in the calm Smith’s Bay for some well-earned rest, “and at the same time, I had a Zoom meeting with someone I was trying to raise $250,000 from, and suddenly the boat was on a dramatic angle and the person I’m on video with suddenly shouts, ‘Where are you?!!’ and I say, ‘I’m kind of in the middle of a lake right now…’” We giggle. Despite the popularity of Scout, Charlotte is always on the tinned food tour. From promo and fundraising meets and greets to media appearances and television guest spots – she shows up for it all, hustling from dawn to dusk in different time zones.

“I’ve got nine jobs,” she says to me, emphasizing the aye in nine.

“Nine jobs and eight arms,” I reply.

SOURCE | It’s time for our picnic, and the snow crabs are just beautiful, flushing orange pink with angular legs that are showstoppers on the platter. I hold my breath when they emerge from Charlotte’s coldbox and sigh as she arranges them alongside some perfect farm-stall asparagus, pretty tins of Scout seafood (“Oooh, ahhh,” we croon, rolling the lids back) and some bonus treats from other tinned fish providers that Charlotte loves. “You always bring and share things from your competitors,” I note, but I already know why she does it. Charlotte doesn’t just “talk the talk” about conservation and stewardship, she lives it. She knows that the implications of poor fishing practices are not just bad for business, they’re bad for the survival of our planet. Charlotte has a platform, a voice and a passion and her competitors are fighting the same battle on the same side.

She looks me in the eye. “Community, collaboration and care are the foundation of humanity, in my opinion.”

ALTERNATIVES | “Ohh she’s a good day for a-fishin’, you know?” Charlotte enunciates in an exaggerated, but adorable coastal drawl. She’s fun, this lovely woman. She’s lighthearted and easy, conscientious and provocative, diligent and ceaseless in her mission – but also, such fun. We get our fishing stuff together and perch on the bow, our rods perpendicular to the horizon as we cast off into the wide, teal lake. I put my white sneaker up onto the lifeline rails for leverage in case I get a bite from the big one. And then we wait: reeling in, casting out.

“Do you remember your first time fishing?” I ask.

“I remember being by the wharf in Summerside catching bait fish with my best friend’s father,” she says. “We used a can of tuna, dropped into a small net to catch smelts, to then catch mackerel, which now seems like a funny thing to do, but also very apropos.” Today, we don’t catch anything and maybe this was the best outcome for us this time. We weren’t really trying for a prize, we just wanted to sit close, feel the sun on our wind-flushed faces and connect without saying much. If you’ve ever wondered whether a wild tuna and a mounted lake bass could get along, the evidence was sitting right here, swinging its legs over the side of a big boat.

The sun dipped low, the sky was orange-pink, the water sparkled darkly. “When did you first know there was magic out there?” I ask.

Charlotte casts her line and looks up at me, “I was floating on my back and I could taste the sea salt on my lips.”

I nod and throw my line out too, relishing the bob and pull of the water lapping against its length. Later, we gather our things and scooch down toward the stern, where our captain is just starting to pull up the anchor.

“Ship to shore,” I call to Evan, winking at Charlotte as we head on home.