As we all know, ours is an era of true gender identity crisis. The women don't gather any more; the men don't hunt, either. This has created an atavistic sadness that few have learned to remedy. Yet two male friends of mine have found...eureka! The ultimate therapy! The only problem is that, like the best experimental drugs, it's highly illegal, no joke. So what will follow is a description of their adventures which you shouldn't even think about trying, ok?

To protect the identities of the not-so-innocent, we will refer to my fearless friends as Lobsterman (a NYC computer programmer, 28) and Raggedclaw (a NYC architect, 36). Skin-diving for lobsters is, to use their own words, "a great way to reclaim the blood lust of your ancestors." However, it's no sport for sissies, especially in Maine. A few of the perils:

• the water is colder than a witch's watoussie;

• the visibility is only about 6-odd feet;

• the lobsters are brown and hide among brown rocks covered with brown seaweed;

• if you grab for one of their sweet meat-packed claws, they will drop them to get away;

• not only do lobsters swim fast, but they swim backwards;

• a big lobster could pinch the hell out of a finger, causing hospital-quality damage;

• it can take hours to hunt down enough for a table of six (and don't forget, that water is colder than a witch's watoussie);

• you could be confronted by an ornery, rifle-wielding legitimate lobster fisherman;

• one word: undertow;

• the ringing in your ears from the water pressure created by diving deep;

• lobsters are loners, so don't even hope to find more than one at a time;

• the guilt of engaging in illegal activities in an orderly society.

Yet all these caveats vanished like smoke one weekend, when Lobsterman and Raggedclaw were attending the same party on a pristine stretch of the Maine coast. Raggedclaw provided the appropriate equipment (a scuba-quality mask; a snorkel; a wet suit; flippers, gloves and a flashlight; and a tickle stick - to be explained later).

If you really don't want to get your feet wet, there's always Lobsterman's Lot.

Raggedclaw also had prior experience (as a kid, he did dives off the Maine coast in camp, and as an adult, he would scuba on trips to the Caribbean), so he could mentor the man who was destined to became Lobsterman. Their method is simple and successful, if time-consuming and Kafkaesque: "Learn how to think like a lobster." Swim around rocky promontories, being on the lookout for shelves beneath the surface where stone has disintegrated, creating shallow caves and holes; lobsters love it there. Using the aforementioned tickle stick, poke the backside of a lobster so it thinks it's being pursued and try to force it to flee towards you and shallower water instead. Once you nab one, make sure it's being stashed in a place that will be safe above the high tide line, or else you could have a tragedy of wasting a day's work.

After Lobsterman bagged his first quarry, he couldn't be stopped until he had caught a dozen for that evening's dinner -- five hours later. Raggedclaw fondly recalls Lobsterman's triumphant return from the beach with his prize booty; "It was like Poseidon returning from the deep. He did this pagan dance while growling and roaring..."

"Don't forget the chest pounding," reminds Lobsterman.

"We were all so amazed he could still feel his limbs," adds Ragggedclaw.

Besides the satisfaction of tender vittles for dinner, my friends swear by the physiological benefits: superlative clarity of mind (no doubt induced by their bodies' panic reflex, believing that they're freezing to death), the non-impact benefits of swimming as a sport, and the solitary Zen of the pursuit -- "This is not the kind of hunting where you run into crowds of hicks swilling beer and swinging around guns."

Basically, catching lobsters is no more difficult than training for an ironman competition...which is pretty tough. And for the law-abiding, faint-of-heart lobster lovers, there's always the supermarket.

A LEGAL NOTE

Regulation has served well both the environment and shellfish gluttons in Maine. New Hampshire and Massachusetts have fewer laws -- but their harvests are dwindling every year.

In Maine, a minimum legal size was established, so that each lobster can reproduce. Females are always thrown back (after a lobsterman "brands" her tail with a penknife notch to save other fisherman time).

What my friends enjoy doing is considered poaching, which probably results in their catching underweight lobsters and could get them into hot water with local fishermen.

A suggestion: In most areas, getting a non-commercial scalloping license is a cheap and legal substitute to lobster fishing. And there're always mussels and clams to snag for a tasty seafood boil.