Yesterday, I received a Christmas package from a friend. Inside was a pendant marking the latitude and longitude of the first commercially fished ropeless fishing system in New England. The card said the gift was a “reminder that when you put your mind to it, anything is possible.”

We both share a deep respect for the lobsterman who set that first trawl. The gift was well timed, as recent stories in The Boston Globe and the Press Herald/Telegram were weighing heavily on my mind. The Lobster Trap series examined the impact that warming waters are having on Maine’s lobster industry, and the complicated relationship between the industry and right whales.

With fewer than 340 right whales left, the species teeters on extinction. Decades of vessel strikes and entanglements here and in Canada have decimated the population and birth rates are low. Unfortunately, the Gulf of Maine, where my roots run deep, is still a risky place for right whales.

My dad was born and raised in Livermore Falls, a mill town on the Androscoggin once marked by a stench so strong that my brother and I used to gag as we neared. Paper mills, farming and chickens supported a vibrant community for generations. My grandfather held down several jobs. Dad left for college in Orono only because his family told him he couldn’t do it.

My grandparents would drive us to Lincolnville Beach every summer for our annual lobster dinner on the small rocky beach. It was a treat, and I’ve never forgotten the tidepools and crustaceans I’d find there. A blue lobster in the Marine Biological Laboratory tank was my silent friend for a few summers in Woods Hole, where my dad later taught. Thanks to both my parents, the ocean is in my DNA and it’s why I attended law school in Maine.

My career led me to Conservation Law Foundation, where CLF and our partners push the federal government to provide additional protections for these critically endangered right whales and to invest in desperately needed research to advance innovative technologies.

On the horizon is on-demand (so-called “ropeless”) fishing gear, which keeps the vertical lines that entangle whales out of the water column. Instead, an acoustic system brings a buoy or the first trap to the surface.  Challenges remain, but valuable information has been gained and improvements made.

The people behind these trials are steadfastly looking for solutions that will allow lobstering and whales to coexist. In addition to fishermen, there’s an engineer who repeatedly modifies his cages while patiently fielding questions. There’s a scientist who tirelessly drives up the coast gathering data. There are regulators who face criticism from conservationists, and fishing organizations that continue to collaborate.

There are also “disentanglers,” risking their lives in inflatables to cut entangled animals out of ropes; “spotters” in small planes looking for moms and calves, and unsung heroes necropsying bodies in remote places just to glean whatever information they can from the lethal wounds, in hopes of preventing future deaths.

The recent stories make clear that the Gulf of Maine’s rapidly warming waters are already bringing historic changes to the state. What they missed is why it’s so important to protect right whales when and where they are most at risk, including by restricting fishing in an area 40 to 50 miles offshore of Portland, for four months a year. The loss of a single animal tips the scales.

As the articles illustrate, the recent lobstering boom happened because of global warming and may end because of global warming. It won’t be an easy transition for communities that depend on lobstering for their livelihood. But Mainers are resilient and innovative. This is neither the first time an environmental challenge has forced change, nor will it be the last.

If we consider the facts, adapt to changing conditions and avoid polarizing this issue, we can find ways to develop and bring to market innovative fishing systems that allow a healthy right whale population and a healthy lobster fishery to coexist.