I didn’t plan to build a life around crabs. But one season led to the next. Alaska, Maryland, back again. Wet boots, salty hands, lots of coffee. Sounds wild, right? It was. And it taught me a lot about the jobs you never see on LinkedIn.
For more inspiration on carving out your own unique path, check out the curated stories over at Career Builder Challenge. If you’re craving every gritty, day-by-day detail of my crustacean escapades, I laid it all out in this longer diary.
Here’s my honest take on a few crab careers I actually worked. What paid, what hurt, and what felt worth it.
The Quick Take
- Fast money shows up on boats, but so do bruises.
- Steady hours live in plants and restaurants, but the pay can be thin.
- Science gigs feel good on the brain, but they’re seasonal and quiet.
- If you hate cold, well, Alaska doesn’t care.
Now the real stuff.
Job 1: Deckhand on a King Crab Boat (Alaska)
- My rating: 4/5 for pay, 2/5 for comfort.
I worked out of Dutch Harbor on a 100-footer during king crab. Short season. Big risk. We set and hauled steel pots all day and all night. The hydraulic crane swung pots, the bait smelled like old squid and cod, and the sea rolled like it wanted us gone. I wore Grundéns bibs and XTRATUF boots (XTRATUF), and I slept in short bursts. You don’t really sleep; you just shut your eyes.
Real example: On one rough day, we had a string of pots come up light. The skipper got that tight jaw. Then one pot came up loaded. We sorted fast at the table with cold hands and dull knives. Someone yelled “watch the line,” because of course the line whipped. I still have a scar on my wrist from that snap.
Pay was crew share, so the catch mattered. I brought home more in six weeks than I made in four months on land. But I also came home ten pounds lighter and stiff for days. Would I do it again? Maybe. Not for glory. For the paycheck and the sunrise you only see from a wet deck.
Job 2: Blue Crab Picker on Maryland’s Eastern Shore
- My rating: 3/5 for skill pride, 2/5 for money.
I picked crab in a small plant near Crisfield when boats came in heavy. We steamed blues with Old Bay scent in the air (it gets in your coat and stays). We sat at metal tables and picked fast. Pay was by the pound, so your hands were your clock. The older women were lightning. I tried to keep up. I didn’t.
Real example: I used a short, flat knife and a rhythm—backfin, lump, claw, check for shell, weigh. My best day, I hit a number I bragged about to my mom, and still, the math felt thin. We used J.O. Spice sometimes too, though tourists only ask about Old Bay.
The good part? The team vibe. The bad part? Long sits, sore fingers, and the surprise of a shell shard under your nail. That one stings.
Job 3: Soft-Shell Crab Shedder (Aquaculture)
- My rating: 4/5 for weird joy, 3/5 for schedule.
I worked a shedder tank system for peelers turning into soft-shells. Think of it as a crab nursery with alarms. We checked tanks every few hours, even at night. You watch for “busters” about to molt and move them to shallow baskets. Water matters—salinity in the mid-teens to low 20s, good air bubbling, no ammonia spikes. I used a cheap kit and a YSI meter to be sure.
Real example: One hot June night, the crabs started popping right after midnight. You can hear the shell crack if the room is quiet. You move fast because timing is everything. Too late, and the shell hardens and you lose the premium. I smelled like brine and bleach and slept like a rock at 3 a.m.
It’s peaceful work. Also relentless. The market was feast-or-famine. When restaurants wanted soft-shells, it felt great. When a pump died, it felt like babysitting a hurricane. The constant monitoring reminded me of the greenhouse routines over at Ora Farms—different species, same obsession with water quality and timing.
Job 4: Crab House Server in Baltimore
- My rating: 3/5 for people fun, 3/5 for tips.
I worked nights at a crab house near the water—brown paper on tables, wooden mallets, buckets for shells. You sell by the dozen. You answer the same three questions all summer: “How spicy?” “Male or female?” “How do I crack it?” You teach the hammer tap and the claw twist. It’s a whole show.
Real example: A Saturday at Captain James Crabhouse (yep, the one by the water) taught me everything about pacing. The line was out the door. My apron looked like a spice bomb. A table from Ohio wanted help picking. We laughed, I showed them the backfin trick, and they left sweet. My feet were not sweet. They were done.
Tips were decent when the crabs were heavy and the mood was good. On rainy days? Not so much. Still, I liked the noise. Felt like summer. Retail shifts in big grocers like Food 4 Less might spare you the Old Bay stains, but the customer marathon feels eerily familiar.
Job 5: Science Tech: Tagging Blue Crabs
- My rating: 4/5 for purpose, 2/5 for steady pay.
I did a seasonal field tech job tied to the Maryland DNR and VIMS winter survey. Cold work. Quiet too. We used a crab dredge in set stations and logged what came up. Carapace width with calipers, sex, shell condition, temp, salinity. YSI ProDSS for water data. Data sheets got wet, so we used pencils and plastic clipboards.
Real example: One morning, the creek had skim ice. We still launched. The dredge came up with a tangle of eelgrass and a few big females. My fingers burned, then went numb, then burned again. But the data felt real. You know you’re counting a living thing that folks depend on. That part stuck with me.
It’s seasonal and doesn’t pay like a boat, but it feels clean. You sleep well.
Pay, Hours, and The Hidden Costs
- Boats: high pay in a burst, unsafe at times, no sick days. Food is free on board, but your body pays.
- Plants and restaurants: steady hours, lower pay, more social, less risk. Your back pays.
- Science: decent hourly, seasonal, light team vibe, lots of early mornings. Your hands get cold.
If you’ve ever hustled on a poultry line at Koch Foods, you’ll recognize the grind—steady shifts, repetitive motion, and that clock-in, clock-out predictability.
Hidden costs? Gloves, boots, warm layers, and time away from family. Laundry becomes a full-time job. Old Bay never leaves your hoodie.
Oh, and let’s be honest about those long, lonely stretches offshore—crews swap stories, playlists, and sometimes seek grown-up distractions the ship’s movie stash can’t cover. If curiosity ever strikes, a quick scroll through this uncensored live-chat gallery can deliver on-demand conversation and morale-boosting eye-candy that makes the fog and night watches feel a little shorter. For anyone who ends up laid over in the Ohio Valley on the drive between seasons and wonders where the after-hours fun actually is, the Wheeling strip of West Virginia has a surprisingly lively underbelly—this no-BS Wheeling sex guide maps out the clubs, massage parlors, and dancer-friendly bars so you can dodge the tourist traps and stick to spots that respect your time and wallet.
The Gear That Saved Me
Not fancy, just real:
- XTRATUF boots (no slip, no drama)
- Grundéns bibs and jacket (you stay drier, not dry)
- Nitrile gloves under cotton gloves for picking
- Headlamp with spare batteries for night checks
- Thermos that keeps coffee hot past midnight
- Cheap calipers for practice and a better pair for the field
- Electrolyte packets—sounds silly, works
If you're piecing together a kit that can survive a month of salt spray and sleet, this guide to reliable outdoor apparel has solid, field-tested picks.
Safety Notes I Wish Someone Had Pushed Harder
- Lines bite. Keep your feet clear of coils.
- Cold wins. Wear a hat even when you