I Saved a Fish

I saved a fish. One fish. Hardly a triumph considering over 200,000 lost their lives in this particular haul.

When the boat is ready to bring a net in (termed, a “haulback”) I am called so that I can watch for bird interactions. Apparently the life of one bird is more significant than the 140 metric tons of fish. With a heavy heart, I don my deck gear atop my factory gear (think fireman wearing a life-vest) and head up through ladders and sealed doors to the trawl deck.

For the early parts, I stand in an area shielded from the trawl alley (the area the actual net will slide onto) by 20 or so vertical steel poles about the diameter of my calf. The idea is, if the ropes (fibrous and metal) or chains (the links of which are larger than a huge watermelon) break, the bars would keep me from being sliced in half.

As each section comes up, the four deckhands move about their unspoken tasks in a well-choreographed manner that comes from endless repetition. If you thought dealing with Christmas lights was a chore- imagine a mile of wet ropes intertwined with anything ranging from dead fish to old 7 foot tall crab pots. As the ropes get pulled on board, the occasional stray fish, skate, shark or starfish start to appear, and the horror begins.

Motors are used to drag away the huge chains of the net it’s reeled onto massive spools that are taller than the deck level itself. During this seemingly endless process, I usually peek out a door in the hull leading to a 5 foot drop off to the sea surface. The birds accompanying the boat to the deepest regions of the Bering Sea are surely in the hundreds of thousands themselves. Many of which linger alongside the boat while it’s fishing or hauling, as food appears from the factory vents. Under my feet is a grating system that is heavily worn from its time at sea. Beneath it, rotting, bulging eyes stare blankly back up at me- fish from God knows when, stuck under the grating and left as stoic reminders of hauls past.

Finally, the actual net can be seen, bobbing in the water behind the boat, now buoyant without the chains. I turn from the birds and ready myself for what is generally the worst parts (plural- as we haul several times a day) of my day. Once the net starts to slide on board, the stern dips under the weight and it slides into place, the entire half of the boat is noticeably tilted to the side. Fish tails sick out from all over, some hang from their gills or are mangled beyond all recognition.

The end of the net is held together by a surprisingly simple braid, and all it takes is one of the deck-crew to tug on it, for it to start to open, like a thread being tugged on a sweater. Instantaneously fish burst from the opening, just like if an above ground pool were to be punctured. The fish spill out onto the deck and form a fish whirlpool. They flip and gasp while one of the tank doors slowly opens, into which they tumble. I have an up-close view of this part, as I have to watch for the composition of the haul, so I can design my sampling process accordingly. Standing there watching the fish, I see one on the ledge, flopping only inches from me. I look around, making sure no one is watching, and I quickly grab it and slide it off the ledge, and it slides down the ramp into the water. It’s little consolation when I see its comrades are being shoveled (literally, they use snow shovels) into tanks.

After the dump is complete, I head back to the hole from which I emerged, uneasily tromping through the bloody water and corpses. It looks like the Pollock had a civil war reenactment and there were heavy losses on both sides. By the time I see these fish again (if I and they are equally lucky, anyway) they will be dead and passing by me on the belt. They don’t bother me as much when they’re dead. It’s not the death that bothers me; it’s the life.

If fish made sounds as they gasped and flopped, or if their pupils moved and landed on onlookers, I wonder if consciences would be as clear. Whatever the reason, there seems to be something particularly un-moving for the general public in regards to the suffrage of fish. I wish I were similarly afflicted.

Next posting will have pictures and not be depressing, I promise.