Even I can't believe how many violators I catch with these stickers. Whenever I find a pipe that's deliberately unmarked, whose owners don't want to be found, I slap one of these stickers up nearby. Within two weeks the phone rings.

"GEE," I say.

"Sangamon Taylor there?"

"He's in the John right now, can I have him call you back?"

"Uh, okay, yeah, I guess so."

"What did you want to talk to him about?"

"I'm calling about your sticker."

"Which one?"

"The one on the Island End River, about halfway up?"

"Okay." And I dutifully take their number, hang up, and dial right back.

Ring. Ring. Click. "Hello, Chelsea Electroplating, may I help you?"

Case closed.

A few years of that and I owned this Harbor. The EPA and the DEQE called me irresponsible on odd-numbered days and phoned me for vital information on even-numbered ones. Every once in a while some agency or politician would announce a million-dollar study to track down all the crap going into the Harbor and I'd mail in a copy of my report. Every year The Weekly published my list of the ten worst polluters:

(1) Bostonians (feces)

(2-3) Basco and Fotex, always fighting it out for number two, (you name it)

(4-7) Whopping defense contractors (various solvents)

(8-10) Small but nasty heavy-metal dumpers like Derinsov Tanning and various electroplaters.

The Boston sewage treatment system is pure Dark Ages. Most of the items flushed down metropolitan toilets are quickly shot into the Harbor, dead raw. If you go for a jog on Wollaston Beach, south of town, when the currents are flavorful, you will find it glistening with human turds. But usually they sink to the bottom and merge.

Today I was out on the Zodiac for two reasons. One: to get away from the city and my job, just to sit out on the water. Two: Project Lobster. Number one doesn't have to be explained to anyone. Number two has been my work for the last six months or so.