Want to make sure the seafood you eat is sustainable but don’t know how to get the information you need to do so? You just have to remember two questions: "Where did the fish come from?" and "How was it harvested?"

I was recently inspired by a reader’s comment on a blog on sustainable fishing. This reader brought my attention to a Vancouver Chef, Rob Clark, who takes cooking sustainably seriously. If you are interested, you can hear him talk more about his philosophy at this link. I appreciated Rob’s tips on eating sustainably when dining out. First, Rob recommends carrying your portable SeaChoice Seafood Guide (or similar guide in your region) to determine which menu items are ocean-friendly. And, to make the best use of this guide, it is important to ask your server two simple questions: "Where did the fish come from?" and "How was it harvested?"

Simple enough in theory, but most of us may need a little encouraging to ask these questions when we are eating out with friends, on a date, or on a business lunch. So, what can we do to ensure that these questions become second nature? It helps to have chefs like Rob speaking out to remind us why the answers are important. The rest, I’m convinced, will come with a little practice. I still remember how long it took before I reliably remembered to separate garbage into recyclable units rather than throwing it all into the same bin. Twenty years ago, there were many people tossing their garbage directly onto the streets – how many of us would think about doing that now?

The more we repeat the two important questions in restaurants, at the supermarket, or even at the fishing dock, the more they will become part of our daily routines. It may also put a little more pressure on vendors to offer sustainable seafood options. In Rob’s questions, you could even replace the word “fish” with “chicken”, “eggs”, or the vegetable of your choice. In my experience, some vendors have an answer ready and others will be confused by your questions. Either way, in the process, you’ll quickly discover more about your food and food producers, and you will likely educate others along the way.

From Sea to Market: Tárcoles and Artisanal Fishing

After almost two years away, I recently returned to Costa Rica. The last time I was here, I was living in the country and working on my Masters. During my Masters, I worked with communities that harvest a species of palm, Súrtuba or Geonoma edulis. This palm is known for its edible, but extremely bitter, heart of palm.

Now, I am back to learn more about rural food systems, particularly those that challenge the industrial food-production model while promoting socially equitable and environmentally responsible practices. Surprisingly, I did not have to go very far from the capital city, San José, to find a unique example of such a food production system. With the kind invitation of Por La Mar (a consortium formed by representatives of two organizations: CoopeSoliDar R. L and the fishing cooperative CoopeTárcoles), I traveled a couple of hours to Tárcoles, a small fishing village with a lot of character. 

Untangling fishing line - not an easy task

I had heard a lot about Tárcoles during my time in Costa Rica and what stood out was this town’s hospitality. I realized this welcoming spirit was very much alive after we were greeted with a ceviche and a tour of the on-land fishing activities. During a short tour along the shore, I learned how to untangle a fishing line, fix a fishing net, and I became familiar with diving, handlining, and gillnetting, the three ‘arts of fishing’ practiced in Tárcoles (see this link for more information regarding some artisanal fishing techniques). 

Coopetarcoles fish market

I saw fishing boats on the beach, fish being unloaded and carried only several meters before being weighed and bought by the locally-operated fishing cooperative. From sea to market, literally, in less than 100 meters.


Before I go any further, I should mention how much I enjoy seafood. However, years ago, I gave up eating it entirely because of the lack of transparency in the industry. On countless occasions I have asked supermarkets where a fish they are selling came from, but rarely did I get a clear answer. It is often much too difficult to find out the species of fish for sale, where it came from, and whether the fish was harvested using ecologically and/or socially responsible methods. Recently, I have incorporated seafood back into my diet but it is extremely difficult to find local sources, and most importantly, sources where the fisher benefits directly from my purchase. Tárcoles is definitely an exception to the typical model. CoopeTárcoles has managed to promote keeping jobs local, residents are hired to fix nets, untangle lines, process and sell fish, they have administrative jobs, and of course, they do the fishing themselves. Working within a local cooperative also helps assure a fisher that their product will be sold; this assurance provides valuable job security for the fisher.

So just what makes artisanal fishing different than industrial-scale operations in terms of sustainability of the catch? First, we could compare the quantity of fish taken. However, it is not simply a matter of noting that industrial fisheries catch more and supply larger markets, rather, the fishing techniques used in industrial and artisanal fishing are starkly different. For example, shrimp is the target of most large-scale fishing efforts in Costa Rica. To maximize efficiency, these boats use the trawling method of fishing. Nets, or trawls, are pulled through the water behind a large boat. To fish for shrimp, which are bottom-dwelling creatures, these nets are dragged along the bottom of the sea. As you can imagine, when you drag a large net with holes smaller than the size of shrimp along the bottom of the ocean, you are not only going to catch shrimp. Shrimp trawlers catch almost everything (see these links for concerns about sea turtles and other marine megafauana getting caught in shrimp trawling nets).

For all of us who love to eat shrimp, understanding the sustainability of shrimp fishing should give us some food for thought. One alterative to supporting large-scale shrimp-fishing operations is to purchase shrimp from more sustainable sources (see this link for alternative shrimp fishing in British Columbia or for more selective trawling techniques).

Trawlers

In Tárcoles, fishers do not use nets with holes smaller than three inches. Using nets of different sizes allows fishers to discriminate and select for larger fish. Selective fishing allows fishers to leaving behind juveniles, which are too small to be sold on the market. Fishers explained that industrial fishing for shrimp, with their small mesh sizes, results in the elimination of juvenile fish stocks. This removes future reproductive individuals from the population.

Gillnetting

There is one more piece to this story that left a lasting impression on me. After only one afternoon at sea with a couple fishers I realized it was not just the net or the fishing line that lessened the ecological fishing impacts, it was the experience and vision of the people. Fishers expressed the importance of a community-created buffer zone in the ocean where only handline fishing is permitted. In other words, no large-scale shrimp trawlers could enter this zone. Limiting fishing to handlining is one way to lessen the impact of fishing in and around the shore, which is an important breeding area for certain fish species. There is currently a one mile temporary buffer zone, but fishers are in favour of maintaining a permanent buffer zone and expanding its size. One of the reasons mentioned was that although industrial shrimp trawlers catch almost everything, this industry rarely uses anything other than the shrimp.  

One mile buffer zone

My experiences in Tárcoles have shed more light on the concepts of food security or food sovereignty than any definitions I’ve read about. For example, through community-level initiatives, people from Tárcoles have created a buffer zone to protect fish stocks and secure access to food sources. This buffer zone does not exclude people from fishing, but rather it promotes lower impact fishing techniques and resists more wasteful trawling operations. One fisher told me that this buffer zone is an example of a place anyone can fish; however, there is one catch (pun intended). That is, all those who fish within the buffer zone should respect the sea and other people that use it. In fact, this fisher’s comment shows that Tárcoles is an example of more than just securing food sources for all people at all times, it is a transformative process. Tárcoles, and the fishers within this community, stand in stark contrast to a sea full of industrial-level fishing operations that benefit few people, respond to unrealistic demands for food, and create an exported food product. For most potential consumers of this product, which can appear on shelves anywhere in the world, it is almost impossible to tell where the seafood came from, how it was produced, and most importantly, whether buying it is consistent with their principles. As we talk about alternatives to industrial food production we should contemplate examples like Tárcoles - an area and a people who are making an effort to recreate autonomous or sovereign food systems based on equitable and ecologically-sustainable practices. 

Consortium Por La Mar

The Fish You Just Ate May Be More of a Globetrotter Than You Are

David Steen

This post is a contribution from David Steen. David A. Steen received his Ph.D. from Auburn University, his M.S. from the State University of New York-College of Environmental Science and Forestry, and his B.S. from the University of New Hampshire. He researches the ecology and conservation biology of wildlife and blogs about his work at www.LivingAlongsideWildlife.com. His copyrighted work appears here under a Creative Commons license.

The Fish You Just Ate May Be More of a Globetrotter Than You Are

Seafood is an integral component of southern culture, perhaps best exemplified by the platters of fried catfish on the menu in every hole in the wall restaurant from Brunswick, Georgia to Lake Charles, Louisiana.  And the Gulf of Mexico is renowned for its appetizing saltwater bounties, oil spill notwithstanding.  So, when I had a guest from out of town visit me in the Florida Panhandle, I was eager to show off all the region had to offer; almost immediately we headed to a local restaurant touting all-you-can-eat seafood.

    Considering my passion for both eating everything I can and local seafood, I didn’t think I had much need for a menu.  Almost as an afterthought, I asked the waitress what kind of fish I could expect to be piled in front of me, my head filled with fantasies of farmed channel catfish or perhaps, if I was lucky, some mackerel or snapper from the seas just to the south.  To my surprise, she didn’t know.  Briefly stepping away to yell into the kitchen, she returned with the verdict…Swai.

    “Swai?”

    As a vertebrate biologist, it’s not often I’m confronted with an animal I’ve never heard of, let alone when I’m sitting at the dinner table about to eat one.

    “And what is Swai?” I politely inquired.

    “It’s like a catfish, they farm it in Asia.”

    As I looked at the waitress and digested this new information, my eyes drifted around the restaurant, from the plastic crabs and fishing nets adorning the walls to the chalk boards advertising the price of Gulf shrimp and crawfish.  You mean to tell me, I thought to myself, this restaurant, named after a local seaside town, was shipping in something “like” a catfish from halfway across the world?  It turned out I would need that menu after all.

    When catfish was suggested as a potential alternative, I skeptically asked where it had originated; I was reassured when the waitress informed me it came from right here in Florida.  I’m happy to tell you it was delicious.

    Back at home, I decided to look into the curious case of Swai and spent some time researching the animal on the internet.  I learned this type of catfish, along with the closely related Basa, is native to a couple major rivers and their tributaries within southeastern Asia.  An important food source, the species is heavily farmed in ponds, particularly in Thailand and Vietnam.  Produced in mass quantities, the species represents a cheap source of fish, and that’s the reason it’s starting to show up in American markets.

    Catfish farmers in the United States have known about this trend for some time now.  Seeing their potential livelihood threatened by an inexpensive alternative, the catfish industry lobbied lawmakers for new regulations on the influx of Asian fish.  As a result of their efforts, it is now illegal for restaurants to sell Swai or Basa and call it catfish.  But they can still call it the Catch of the Day, feature it in their Fisherman’s Platter, or include it any other vaguely labeled dish. 

   Restaurateurs have a lot of freedom when writing the menu; along with fish distributors, they have been known to get creative in describing a particular species to make it sound more appetizing.  For example, the Patagonian Toothfish, Dissostichus eleginoides, is marketed in the United States as Chilean Sea Bass.  Which would you rather order, a Toothfish or a Sea Bass?

    I have no issue with eating Swai or Basa in general, although there are some concerns about how these fish are raised and questions regarding whether there may be health issues related to the associated farming practices; but I am an advocate for shopping locally.  Why ship anything across the planet, whether it’s a pair of pants or tonight’s dinner, when you can buy it next door?

(Courtesy of D. Steen)

    The next week, at another seafood restaurant, I was once again confronted with a dilemma.  The waves of the Gulf of Mexico lapped against the deck of the waterfront restaurant as both fishing and sightseeing boats motored by.  I took deep breaths of salt air between swigs from my beer as I watched the sunset.  It was the classic seaside scene.

    Perhaps it was the atmosphere, perhaps it was the beer, but it wasn’t until my Fisherman’s Platter arrived before I thought to ask what kind of fried filet would grace my plate.

    This waitress was better prepared, “Panaceas”. 

    Well, I wasn’t naïve about the name of this fish.  I knew it was a made-up label to make whatever I was really eating sound more palatable; it’s the same word we use to describe something that will solve all of our problems (Panacea is also the Greek goddess of healing).  But, at least it wasn’t Swai, I told myself.  And, I could reach out and touch the saltwater of the Gulf of Mexico from my table, what were the chances of eating a fish fillet that had been frozen and shipped thousands of miles before finally reaching my plate?  Surrounded by shrimp, scallops and French fries, I must confess to a moment of willful ignorance so I could enjoy the meal before me (it was fantastic).

    Something nagged at me though.  Back home, I returned to the internet to determine what kind of fish was being sold as Panaceas.  To my surprise, I couldn’t find any relevant hits.  On a hunch, I Googled Swai again for a closer look.  Realization slowly dawned over me as I slapped my forehead.  Both Swai and Basa are within the same genus, Pangasius.

    Want to learn the socioeconomic, human health, and environmental costs of the seafood you buy?  Check out the Smart Seafood Guide offered by the Food & Water Watch.  The Monterey Aquarium also offers handy pocket guides that recommend responsible seafood choices.  Live in Canada?  There's a guide for you too.