Merry Mariculture

I would be misrepresenting the marine fisheries of Chile if I didn’t at least mention the extensive aquaculture. Although my perspective may be biased towards the (more) wild and (more) natural fisheries, aquaculture may well be viable and sustainable for some species, despite the scowls it often receives in Alaska. The difference between aquaculture and wild fish, when examined closely, is somewhat hazy, and in this blurry gray lies hatchery-raised fish. “Pure” wild fish are more rare than many people realize.

Along the coast of Chile, few areas with decent protection from wind and swells are without the telltale buoys of aquaculture. By area, the aquaculture seems to be mainly devoted to salmon (I believe mostly Atlantic, but some coho), but by volume I suspect shellfish may account for the bulk of cultivated fish. Aquaculture specific to shellfish is known as mariculture, and around Chiloé mariculture abounds. From hilly vistas in most any coastal town, literally thousands of neatly aligned buoys can be seen, marking strings of growing shellfish.

In Dalcahue, I passed a few hours with yet another exceedingly patient Chilean by the name of Mario. Mario is a worker in one of the cultivo marinos located roughly a kilometer from the Dalcahue docks. He has nice wrinkles from smiling and sports a black gorro (hat) that has seen better times. While his days may not have the excitement of the unknown that characterizes the chase for wild fish, Mario spends his share of time in and on the water, and shows the roaming gaze into the distance common among mariners in any country.

Mario cultivates choritos (mussels) for a small mariculture business, one of roughly 1,000 such ventures in the Gulfo de Ancud, he estimates. A main line is stretched between two buoys 100 meters apart, each buoy anchored to the bottom. Between 30 and 80 lines drape down to a depth of eight meters below the surface off this main line, and farms are usually established in 15 or more meters of water. On these secondary lines which hang vertical, chorito hop on and grow in the sunny upper water column. No rocks needed. Mario’s company buys tiny seed mussels collected from the wild, and then carefully creates this webbed home in a food-rich zone for these shellfish to fatten. After a year of growth, the bivalves are ready for the market (although if you gave the choritos the choice, they’d probably politely decline, preferring to keep swinging on their artificial vines).

Mario tells me that cultivated choritos are superior to those harvested in the wild, but that on the market choritos are valued equally, regardless of origin. He works six days a week, eight hours a day, with duties ranging from setting up the buoy-line infrastructure, to planting the seeds, to harvesting. For this he brings home 160,000 pesos per month, Chilean minimum wage, roughly $260 US (or $11 per working day). His work as international mariculture spokesman was unpaid but highly appreciated, and hungry mouths around the world reap the benefit of his sweat. Mario smiled slowly when I told him this (what odd things gringos say!), and then ambled up the dusty street with his son for a late dinner. A farmer-fisherman swapping muscles for money, mussels for bread.

Latino love songs and a man in drag

Isla Chiloe has preserved it's traditional customs more than other parts of Chile, which have embraced commercialism and consumerism much like Americans. Still, the tunes coming out of most homes, cars, and stores, even in the small fishing towns, has been fairly mainstream latino music. Luis Fonsi, a Puerto Rican native, is a phenomenal hit right now. I'd be willing to bet I've heard this song (No Me Doy Por Venecito) at least a dozen times per day...In the hip talk-show scene of Chile, one odd character, Rupertina, is quite famous. She is a man in bad drag, and although I can't fully understand her sense of humor, she's a household name. Check her out if you like: In addition to slow love songs, young Chileans also love Reggaeton. It's pretty hard not to like the beat. Here's a very popular artist down here, and a song that's an sign of the global influence of the internet and virtual friend network. As best as I can interpret, the singer is singing about a virtual girl who doesn't actually exist... Other popular artists here in Chile, if you are now converted, include "Camila", "Alexis and Fido", and "La Oreja De Van Gogh". This is contemporary Chile, and it's broadcasting even into the small coastal towns.

Dalcahue dock life

I’ve been posting myself on the Dalcahue dock, speaking with every boat that ties up. So far, I´ve had lots of friendly encounters, have made a couple friends, and have only one enemy- the sun- which is determined to turn me into a sentolla (king crab). Dalcahue is located on the eastern shore of Isla Chiloe, looking out towards the Golfo de Ancud, which is thick with islands big and small. Most of the boats are moored in the protected channel between town and the nearest satelite island (Isla Quinchao), but they tie up to the dock to take on supplies or to offload.

There are boats here ranging from 20 to 60 feet, painted every imaginable color, and every craft is wooden. Most are set up with living quarters in the forepeak, a fish hold midship, an aft cabin, and small covered deck in the stern. From what I’ve gathered, all of these boats fish within the gulf (of Ancud), and they take trips ranking from five to 15 days in order to fill their holds while still being able to keep ice and thus preserve their catch. Boats are rigged as longliners, gillnetters, and boats loaded with small pyramid-shaped crab pots. Other are tenders set to transport fish, or boats which service the mariculture farms all around. As a great alternative to buoys, here they use big chunks of white styrofoam. I’ve seen Argentine hake ande eel offloaded, and this morning a boat delivered around seven tons of haiva (dungeness crab). I’ve seen a few incidental king crab and manta ray, which are also directly targeted here at times. Sea lions (here called lobo del mar, sea wolf) and dolphins pass by from time to time.

More than any other offload, the smaller boats have been delivering the strangest fish I’ve ever seen. It has large pectoral fins, a tail similar to a thresher shark, an iridescent body, and a probiscus scout that might be best described as a trumpet! A wild-looking fish, known here as pejegallo. As best I can tell, it´s known in the english-speaking world as elephantfish, is apparently exported to Japan, and looks like something that would live only in deep ocean trenches.

All of the fishermen I’ve spoken with have been very patient with this gringo. I’m sure it´s hard enough for one of these guys to understand a foreign accent and limited vocabulary. Add to that a guy who speaks especially slow and with halted speech in his native tongue, and now you’ve got a real challenge! After hearing me out, most of the fishermen have either told me that they’re just getting in from a trip and are about to rest for a few days, or that they simply don’t have any extra sleeping space whatsoever. This is undoubtedly true.

I did have one offer to go gillnetting for the eerie elephantfish, and I was told to meet at the dock at midnight for a five day trip. Unfortunately, midnight came and went and the boat never showed- perhaps they hended to leave early. There I was, walking the dock at one in the morning, no plans for where to spend the night (not uncommon for the evening, but uncommon for this late). Luckily I’d made good friends with Alexandro, the harbor securty guard, and he kindly offered to let me sleep on his floor when his shift finished. The offer was especially generous for a man who was about to finish up an eight-hour shift which earned him a meager $10- about enough for two decent meals here- and I gratefully accepted. We continued with our two-way language lessons as we walked towards his house.

Describing a place as being at a cultural crossroads must be a journalistic cliche, but since I’m no journalist I think I can get away with it. Here you see fishermen rowing ancient dories out to their moorings, but I’ve been questioned continuously about La Pesca Mortal (The Deadliest Catch). The town was without power yesterday for “system improvements”, but cell phones are everywhere. This is just life here, I think. I’ll keep watching, and hopefully soon I’ll jump aboard for a fishing trip.