This blog entry was written by: Andrew Johnson
When the alarm goes off at 3am, you generally know that you are about to have a “different” sort of day. It was a quick cold shower and then out into the (very) early morning heat to take a motor-trike down to Mancora Port in Northern Peru where I met local longline fishermen.
I was there as a volunteer as part of the ATF in Peru which is ran by ProDelphinus, a not-for-profit organization committed to the conservation of threatened and endangered marine fauna. My mission was to spend a few days fishing with these artisanal fishers to see if their activities have detrimental effects to marine megafauna, in particular the Waved albatrosss (Phoebastria irrorata).
So it was a wobbly and dark start, stepping onto the Puerto Deseado, 10 metre inboard diesel powered lancha (boat). Soon after, the silence was broken by the deep gurgling of the engine and we were heading out to the fishing ground, about 3 miles offshore, where the coastal shelf drops off steeply to 180 metres.
During the trip out, the two-man crew was busy baiting the 2,000 hooks with fresh fish, ready to set the line over several kilometers along the edge of the drop off. As for me, I was readily bruising my chest leaning over the side of the boat staring at the incredible display the microscopic plankton (dinoflagellates) were putting on. Lighting up as the water was disturbed by the bow and the propeller. Looking out over the stern of the boat all I could see was a phosphorescent trail of blue-green water and the distant lights of Mancora fishing port. Well worth the early start.
Once at the drop off we spent a speedy 40 minutes motoring along the contour, guided by a hand held GPS. The crew set hooks flying over the side of the boat into the water and before I knew it we were done. Then it was just a waiting game.
Although longline fishing does not cause the same problem as trawl fisheries – severe sea bed disturbance – it has its own associated problems. It is still not a completely selective mode of fishing (i.e. it can catch things that the fishers don’t mean or want to catch). After all, a hook with bait on it can attract more than one sort of fish. This is not too much of a problem if the specimens caught are marketable fish but there is also a darker side to the catch.
As the baited hooks are cast or retrieved with fish hanging on them, they offer an attractive and easy meal for passing birds which commonly follow fishing vessels. A bird hooked as the line comes out of the water is not too much of a problem. It may injure the bird, but it can often be released alive. If, however, a bird is caught as the hooks enter the water, they are dragged down to the depths, only to be seen again hours later when the line is recovered, hanging dead on the line.
Once we arrived back at the first buoy / the start of the longline, the sun had risen and I was getting excited about what was going to appear on the line. Within minutes, buckets were full of large hake, pink doncella and the fliers (gurnards) with their huge pectoral fins. I was surprised at the number of fish caught considering the hooks had only been in the water for about 1.5 hrs.
Below: Fish catch in the longline fishery off Mancora, Peru. Image by Andrew Johnson
Although, it was mesmerizing watching these fish rise to the surface, hook after hook, it was also upsetting how many of them were thrown over the side. Smaller than your forearm, they can’t be sold – incredible considering the quality of the catch I was seeing. Although caught on small hooks, these fish die as the journey from 180 m to the surface often leaves them bloated and with internal damage: a really difficult thing to watch ... perfectly good fish being left to waste over the side of the boat.
Although not great in terms of the fish that I saw wasted, over the two weeks I spent in Mancora, I saw no avian bycatch and only one lonely waved albatross, which was not even remotely interested in the baited hooks, fish caught on the hooks or even those discarded from our boat. It sat, staring at us from a distance of about 50 metres wondering what we were doing, and then slowly paddled its way off into the blue.
Below: Waved albatross in Peru. Image by Andrew Johnson
On the other hand, one bird species that did pay a lot of attention to our activities was the frigate (Fregata magnificens) These birds (in groups of over 20) followed us closely throughout every fishing trip but I still saw no real interaction with the fishing undertaken.
My experience is only a small part of a much larger story. What about the longliners that fish further out to sea with more hooks? This again is not the end of the story. Longline fishing is one of many things that potentially threaten seabirds and sea turtles as well as other marine megafauna. Agencies, charities and associations like ProDelphinus are indispensable. They provide a voice for the fauna that would otherwise be fighting a losing battle against the world’s most efficient predator – us.
I urge you all to get involved in any way you can, read about the work of Albatross Task Force teams like ProDelphinus and similar projects, enroll for beach cleans, ask where your fish comes from, and always have at the forefront of your mind what effect your actions have on the planet. Whether it be buying fish, using a plastic bag or cycling to work.
Below: Frigate bird taking a fish from the sea surface. Image by Andrew Johnson