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We began what became a routine, tromping up and down the river, checking the traps each time, and occasionally moving them. We were having absolutely no luck—although once Todd pulled up a trap and found the bait had been stolen. An entire rainbow trout head had gone missing. “Bastards!” Todd mumbled admiringly. Then he rebaited the trap. “He'll be back.”

We continued our circuit and when we stopped to take a break, we calculated we had been searching for four hours. Our waterlogged boots felt like lead weights. And we had discovered new hazards: sharp sticks poking us from underwater, exposed tree roots that tripped us up, and a poisonous caterpillar that Todd warned us not to touch. He also mentioned that there were bloodsucking, heat-seeking terrestrial leeches lurking in the trees—but our legs were so chilled from the cold river water, they probably couldn't sense us. “Horrible animals,” Todd said, cringing. “I hate leeches more than anything. They make me itch for a month.”

It occurred to us that though we had been traversing the same halfmile stretch of river over and over, we had only the vaguest clue where we were or how to get back to the road. If something were to happen to Todd, we might end up as lobster bait ourselves.

Behind us, we heard Alexis chanting, “Tayatea … come out and playuh.”

Todd turned over a few stones and showed us a stone fly larva, a sleek black bug with red stripes. It was an indicator species, meaning that it was vulnerable to pollution, and symbolized the overall healthiness of the Hebe. Not every river in the lobster's range was in such good shape. “In some rivers, lobsters have been wiped out or nearly so,” Todd said.

Apparently being delectable wasn't the lobster's only problem. “The worst thing is land clearing for agriculture,” he said. “When they clear the trees, the soil just runs right into the rivers and covers up the lobsters' homes.”

The glare of the sun had become less intense. A bird called from the treetops. Time was passing—and just when we started thinking this fishing expedition was going to be a bust, the Hebe began to unveil its secrets.

On our next circuit, lobsters were in two of the first three traps. Gingerly, Todd held them up for us to examine. Both were young males, about six inches long. Their shells were olive brown, and one had sky blue markings on its underside. They looked a little roughed up. The first had a scar on his flank, and the second was missing a claw. Todd told us these injuries might have been the result of lobster-on-lobster violence. They flailed and clapped their inch-long claws as if to emphasize his point.

“They're pretty territorial,” he said. “You put a couple in the bath together and they'll tear each other apart.”

We watched as the young giants scuttled off into the Hebe. They looked like little gladiators.

Although sunset wasn't until nine and it was only five o'clock, the light was already beginning to fade in the river valley. We could have been satisfied with the two young males—but Todd clearly wasn't. There was only one trap left on this run, and he couldn't let go of the big lobster. “I've got to keep trying,” he said. “It becomes an obsession.” If this last trap didn't deliver the goods, he thought we should stay and keep looking even if it meant hiking back in the gloom. We all agreed—although Alexis was getting nervous. In addition to telling Dorothy that there would be no room in the “boat,” he had said we would be back at 2:00 P.M. Now he was torn between the potential wrath of his girlfriend and seeing a once-in-a-lifetime biological oddity.

The last trap was set beneath a giant fallen log. Todd looked positively Lilliputian when he stood on top of it. He leaned over the edge for more than a minute, peering down into the submerged trap, assessing the situation. Finally, he slowly pulled the line up. As the trap became visible just beneath the surface, we saw a shadow, something large and dark. It was a big male—more than twice as big as the two we had caught earlier.