Back to the Old Ways

We are parked alongside the highway, joining the throngs of cars parks on either side of this busy road, as far as the eye can see. We hike through a lush, green forest, the path occasionally littered with the evidence of humans that have come before (and blackberry brambles, from which we feast). Finally, we emerge at our final destination: a rocky beach alongside the Fraser River between Hope and Chilliwack, BC, where up and down the beach stand fishermen…lots of them. In the distance, across the river, we see more; some standing in the water, some in boats: all fishing. The backdrop to all of this is a giant mountain whose top is shrouded in smoke from the wildfires burning, seemingly all around us. Helicopters chop through the air, back and forth along the river as they pick up water to quell the blaze.

But here on the beach, it’s breezy and mostly quiet, surprisingly calm. Here, the fishermen are focused. Salmon season has just opened and everybody, it seems, is taking advantage. One of my friends commented to me last night that it was a bit overwhelming to see so many fisherman lining the banks of the Fraser all with the express purpose of catching their two-fish limit. She’s on a journey with a group of community-focused, sustainability rock stars, rafting and paddling from the headwaters of the Fraser to its confluence with the great, Pacific Ocean and for much it, they’ve been alone and able to take in the majesty of this might river. To see so many people at once, after having had the whole thing basically to yourself, then to watch them extracting living things from these precious waters would, I think, be quite jarring.

Even standing on shore, watching this happen, I myself feel conflicted, a bit overwhelmed. On one hand, these people are all fishing with purpose and the playing field is mostly level. Each person has a fishing pole, some line and is playing a waiting game. There’s a kind of camaraderie in this – no competition. When someone hooks a salmon, they shout, “Fish on!” and everyone scrambles to attention. Neighboring fishermen quickly scoot out of the way so as not to get run into by the person slowly being pulled down the beach with their fish. I watched one man hop across the rocks, somehow managing to keep his fish hooked without falling, all the way down the beach until he was a speck…and he caught it! As he walked back, he looked exhausted but satisfied, carrying a Spring Salmon that was just about as long as him and that weighed probably 20 pounds. He carefully gutted his catch, wrapped it up, and off he went.

The Good.

Looking around, it seems like this is the norm: these are just every day humans, catching their 2-quota limit to take back for their families. I notice one sweet lady carefully cleaning the fish her partner had just caught and when she was finished, she methodically placed each fish in a re-purposed rice bag, then gently slid each bag down a pair of sewn up jeans that had been refashioned into a bag of sorts. She then slung the pants over her shoulders and off they went! It was beautiful to watch. Another gentleman has been here since the morning and he seems to be having the time of his life. He’s originally from the Philippines and used to drive a ferry up in Prince Rupert, BC but now he calls the Lower Mainland home…and he loves to fish. He proudly shows us some of his previous catches, squinting to find photos on his smartphone. When we meet him, he’s sporting a “World’s Greatest Dad” tee shirt as he tells us about his family (2 daughters and 5 grand-kids, in case you were curious!) and how he absolutely refuses to buy fish at the grocery store. He’s already caught his limit for the day but enjoys it so much, he keeps fishing and giving away his catch. For him, this is fun and it gets him out of the house on a Friday.

The Not-So-Good.

This is all beautiful and I sit in a bit of a daze taking it all in. I’m happy that people are still fishing this way: slowly, methodically, only catching what they need. Then it hits me – or rather, it hits a fish that’s just been caught near me – these fish have to go from living to dead somehow…duh, Ryan! One after another, I see a few fisherman reel in their wriggling salmon, full of life and flipping wildly on the line. Working quickly they grab their fish, wrestle them to the ground, grab a large stone (of which there are plenty on this beach) and give the fish a quick whack on the head. It’s over in an instant but for that moment I go from this blissful “isn’t the world great?!” feeling to “Oh *&@#, I forgot how this works!”

To say this is a harsh reality check would be an understatement, but almost immediately after I witness this spectacle, I think: “But Ryan, this is still such a simple, slow method. My marine biology training kicks in and I’m transported back to my “Human Impacts on the Ocean” class at the University of Maine, where we learned about the disastrous effects our insatiable appetite for selenium and omega-3s is having on our oceans the world over. We, us humans, have gotten so greedy that we’ve actually devised machines capable of raking, scooping, and snagging anything and everything with even a shred of nutritional and monetary value out of the seas. It’s not good, folks.

The Middle Ground.

As a sometimes vegan and always animal lover, it pains me to see animals die for our sustenance, although I understand that this has been going on for millenia and in fact, didn’t use to be so violent, excessive, and cruel. And really: how can I be angry at what I’m witnessing on this beach today? All of these people are 100% involved in their harvest. They aren’t relying on anyone else – they stay until they catch something and they take away just what they need. Meanwhile, there are mega-processors out there, right now, plundering the seas, and CAFOs full to the brim of freaked out cows, all to meet the demand from people who want their omega-3s and “protein” but without the hassle of killing their dinner themselves.

*Exhale* – at this point in my life, I realize that this is not all there is. I have met plenty of small farmers, regular folks, and some friends, who enjoy eating meat but also take part in the process of obtaining it and that is what I love: they are truly sustainable eaters, who understand that certain things need to happen in order for other things to happen (if you want pork chops…they have to come from somewhere!). They take control of their plates. So as I leave this beach, I feel at peace with what I’ve witnessed. Sure, it is uncomfortable and eye-opening, but it makes me appreciate how precious slow food is. As we sit down to a salmon dinner that night (yes, I ate the damn salmon), I’m filled with gratitude: for the fishermen who caught this fish, for the caterers who lovingly prepared it, and for the company I’m surrounded by. There’s this sense of collective reverence that settles onto the group as we understand we’re part of an old way of doing things. An old way that I hope never, ever dies