In the Field

Shrimp: Artisinal to Industrial

Tuesday morning Erik and I got up early — 2:45 a.m. early — and made our way to Yaqui territory in an indigenous community in a remote estuary south of Guaymas. The scene was magical as the town was already bustling at 4am with men carrying nets and wheel barrels filled with gasoline and provisions to their pangas, which were anchored in the safety of a cove. The scene was lit by a string of small lights that hung over a slew of about forty small boats whose crews were ready and excited to make a day’s catch of the start of shrimp season.

When the sun finally rose it beat down on us unforgivingly, and so I took the chance to jump in the water to relieve myself from its torment and make some pictures from the perspective of a shrimp in the net. I smashed my head against the camera housing and nearly knocked myself out upon entering the water, but continued shooting anyways.

As the light grew harsh and pictures were difficult to make, Erik and I joined in the work. We spent the rest of the day cleaning nets and pulling out bycatch and doing our best not to fall asleep.

Yesterday Erik and I spent the day tracking down a trawler on the docks. We were able to convince one boat captain to let us spend an evening with his crew. But the trick will be convincing a panga driver to find this boat that is already at sea, and return us the next day to shore, since the trawler will be at sea for at least 20 days.

 Off we go.

 - Dominic

(Source: bit.ly)

In Defense of the Noble Panga

I am writing this in response to Erik’s post yesterday “Why I Hate the Panga.” This is going to be short, because a) I am suffering from a severe case of reverse block from diving with a head cold, b) because there is more than enough worthy evidence celebrating this sea craft that there is no need to go off on a wild tangent about my feelings, and c) simply put, Erik is a punk.

First, a disclaimer: I have wanted a panga of my own since I first saw then in Tampico three years ago. It’s an amazing design created by Yamaha and the World Bank back in 1970 used primarily in the developing world by fishermen (and sometimes pirates) to launch directly from a beach into breaking surf and into deep waters with minimum horse power. Those are the two big contrasting characteristics of most boats – a flat hull to launch from shore, like a skiff, or a v-shaped hull to break through surf, like a sailboat. The panga is a bit of a crossbreed, a light fiberglass flat hull with high sides to run shallow and a raking v-shaped bow to navigate rolling seas. The design is credited with having saved fishermen’s lives around the world.

Now, if you are an ungainly pasty orangutan, yes, you might be a little off balance. And if you were over-coddled in California, driving around in some hippie yacht, then you might be irritated by a little bumping. But if you like a little rough-and-tumble, life-saving, affordable, good old-fashioned panga fun, try one sometime. Oh, and Erik can keep his longtail (and sink).

- Dominic Bracco

A Town Apart

Last night at about midnight Dominic and I got in from the Seri town of Desemboque (or Haxöl), about two hours north of Kino. When we got there with our translator and guide, Elena Chavarria, we really had no idea what to expect. Well, okay, I had some notion. The Seri are reputed to be a fiercely independent indigenous community of 800 or so along the Sonoran coastline with a language unlike any other in the region (they call such languages “isolates”). In some ways, the Seri (or Comcaac) never really stopped resisting the conquest of the Spanish. They have been a fishing community in and around nearby Tiberon Island for thousands of years and are notoriously mistrusting of outsiders. They hold turtles to be sacred and have many secretive ceremonies and traditions. Lastly, I had heard reports of bands of armed Seri roaming the waters, forcibly removing poachers who infringed on their sacred tribal land.

What we found was a bit different than expected. Yes, the Seri are definitely a different culture. They mostly speak to each other in Cmiique, their native tongue, and speak to foreigners in a slow, careful Spanish. They call Mexicans blancos (whites) and constantly distinguish themselves from Mexicans (who pushed for their extermination for many years around the turn of the century). They were friendly enough but both of us realized quickly that we were not likely to build up much trust in two short days.

However, there may be more in Seri country that the average Mexican would find familiar than alien. For one thing, they are mostly Christian. Their kids wear American T-shirts, obsess about cell phones, and listen to corridos and 50 Cent. The town has enduring poverty issues and the same scourges of drug use and crime found in other Mexican communities (though we personally saw neither beyond a little pot smoking). They eat the same tortillas, drink the same Coca-Cola, and get the same diabetes. They have the same overwhelming frustration from corruption in their leaders both on land and in the water and like everyone else have a long history of depleting that resource to sell to foreign buyers – Japanese, Americans, and now Koreans.

That’s not to say they are just like any other village on the coast. We talked to many people who are involved in wildlife monitoring. Essentially, these are people being paid by outside conservation groups to count birds, turtles, or other species of interest to biologists. In some ways, this is just the newest way that outsiders are paying the Seri for their natural resources. But, notably, many of these people could make a lot more money fishing than walking up and down the beach, moving turtle eggs away from danger. One group, led by a fisherman named Alburto Estrella, took enormous care as well as detailed notes tracking the breeding habits of something they called the “Gulf turtle” (still looking that one up). These folks clearly were devoted to the survival of the species.

Naturally, we made many more interesting observations and Dominic took many more pictures. But I am afraid for the rest you will have to read our story in Harper’s Magazine when it comes out next year.

- Erik Vance

photos: Dominic Bracco II

A Sea Still Verdant

The Sea of Cortez has always been a place where the needs of man and the needs of the ocean collide. The push and pull of commerce, culture, and conservation spread out across the region. Without proper oversight or management, the once bountiful peninsula of water has seen some of the steepest declines in fish populations anyplace in the world.

That’s not to say that what was once called “the Vermillion Sea” is a desert. There are still a few places where you can go to be truly dumbstruck by the power and grace of nature. Just outside La Paz, the capital of Baja Sur and a hub for ocean conservation groups, is a shallow strip of water where every year whale sharks congregate and snack on tiny invertebrates drifting about in the water.

A tingle runs down your spine any time you prepare to get in the water with an animal that big. While these were small by whale shark standards, Dominic and I were nervous slipping quietly into the water when marine biologist Hoyt Peckham told us to get in. I did as I was told and immediately found myself face-to-face with the voluminous approaching mouth of the world’s biggest fish

Whale sharks eat krill and not people, but they don’t really stop to let you pass so I clumsily ducked out of the way. These gentle giants have confounded scientists for generations and to date we still don’t know anything about how they breed, migrate or give birth. Yet, starting 15 years ago, they for some reason decided to mingle outside this sleepy tourist town. 

In this first image, Peckham – a fisheries expert – takes a moment to greet one of the hulking creatures. Peckham has spent more than a decade trying to convince Baja fishermen that conservation doesn’t have to be at odds with making a living. Working in a remote town on the Pacific Ocean side of Baja, he has discovered one of the most lethal stretches of ocean anywhere in the world for loggerhead turtles. The turtles are accidentally caught in the nets aimed at catching more lucrative species, like halibut or shark.

In his latest effort, called ProMar, he is working with fishermen to produce environmentally friendly, high quality fish they can sell at higher prices. That is, rather than selling fish for next to nothing that’s been caught alongside turtles and shoveled into a half-spoiled pile on the beach, they can catch the same fish on a fishing line, put it on ice, process it near the beach and get 10, perhaps 20 times more. This means more money for the fisherman and fewer fish and turtles taken out of the water.

- Erik Vance

photos: Dominic Bracco II