New Zealand in the 1980s faced a situation even more dire than that of New England today. But ITQs there have brought 80% of the fish stocks back to health, and profits are way up. The same is true in Iceland, parts of Canada, and Australia.

In the bad old days, Kodiak controlled halibut fishing in much the same way as fishing for most species is regulated in coastal areas of the Lower 48. Halibut fishermen could go out only a day or two a year. Before derby day, Miller recalls, harbors were filled with the sounds of saws as boats were rigged for halibut. Thousands of vessels were on the water at once, all racing to catch as many fish as possible before the quota limit was hit. In 1988, with his hold and decks overflowing, Miller tossed out mattresses and filled the bunks with fish. Practically limping back to port, he tied up with his back deck partially submerged.

Once time ran out, dozens of boats would line up at seafood processors' piers, halibut bursting from their holds and piled on deck. The processors couldn't handle the volume, so fish lay inside the plants in icy stacks 20 feet high. It took two weeks to process the backlog. Poorly handled and less than fresh, the halibut brought only about $1 a pound.

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The unsafe conditions and waste pressured Alaska's North Pacific Fishery Management Council to search for a solution. In 1995 it introduced ITQs. The new system, adapted from the work of free-market economists, was controversial. Quota shares, handed out on the basis of previous years' catches, could be bought and sold. Those who hadn't fished during the qualifying years, and even members of halibut boat crews, got none.

Hard feelings still linger, but since then, the numbers have been startling. According to the most recent stats, Alaska fishermen caught 77 million pounds of halibut worth $169 million in 2004 vs. 58 million pounds worth $85 million just 10 years earlier. This year's catch could exceed $200 million.

When Alaska's program began in 1995, Miller got some of his share based on his historical catch. He then bought more ITQs for about $9 a pound. It has been a brilliant investment. Shares now go for up to $22 a pound. And the price of the high-quality fish he brings in has tripled as well.

Unlike other long-consolidated natural-resource industries such as oil, most fishing is still done by owner-operated boats. There is no ExxonMobil of fishing, just lots of Dan Millers and Craig Pendletons. Tyson Foods Inc. learned how elusive profits can be under the antiquated regs during a disastrous seven-year foray into fishing, resulting in write-offs of more than $200 million. Tyson had expected individual quotas would be introduced broadly back in 1992 but didn't count on the depth of resistance. "You're giving away a public resource," says unconverted Kodiak fisherman Shawn Dochtermann. "If our forefathers were still around, people would be hanged at the gallows for this."

New England fishermen like Pendleton remain opposed, too, fearing the rapid consolidation that could occur if big companies like Tyson can buy up quotas. Corporate operators would downsize the fleets, obliterate the towns that rely on them, and turn owner-operator fishermen into employees with little say, he says.

That may not be just idle speculation. In March, Pendleton went to New Zealand and came back unimpressed. A handful of companies own more than 70% of the fishing rights. "It's a purely economic model with no social considerations," he says. "I don't see how it can work for New England fishing communities."

But there are ways to address Pendleton's concerns. In Alaska, communities can buy ITQs and lease them to local fishermen, thus maintaining their culture. A congressional study of all such programs also recommended caps on the number of shares any one person or company can accumulate.

And more and more, doubters like Russell Underwood, who chases red snapper out of Panama City, Fla., are starting to come around. Underwood felt he had no choice but to head out in choppy and debris-filled seas last October, just days after Hurricane Rita hit. With the red snapper fishery in the Gulf of Mexico open only 10 days a month in 2005, Underwood says "Whether it's a hurricane or your wife's anniversary," you had to go. His boat broke down, and he was rescued by workers from an oil rig. Even Pendleton says: "Down on the docks, I'm hearing a lot of `Give me my quota and go away."'

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