Fisheries

Of the 30 million pounds of halibut caught last year in commercial fisheries statewide, nearly a third was thrown back into the ocean, dead.  The fish were netted accidentally by boats targeting other fish.

The North Pacific Fishery Management Council, which oversees the federal waters off Alaska, is considering major new limits on wasted halibut — or bycatch — at its meeting in Sitka this week. The decision will have impacts from Southeast to the Bering Sea.

Critics argue that too many fish are dying in the nets of big Bering Sea trawlers, and that means less halibut for everyone else.

Linda Behnken is the executive director of ALFA, the Alaska Longline Fishermen’s Association, which represents mostly small-boat, hook-and-line commercial fishermen.

“Halibut’s one of the two most important species, along with salmon, to the coastal communities of Alaska,” she said. “The bycatch threatens all of that.”

Behnken calls the Bering Sea Alaska’s halibut “nursery ground.” Studies have found that young fish migrate from there into the Gulf of Alaska and Southeast.

And that means “what happens in the Bering Sea doesn’t stay in the Bering Sea,” Behnken said. “What happens in the Bering Sea happens to all of us.”

When trawlers target flatfish like yellowfin sole, they drag their nets through the same deepwater habitat where halibut live, and invariably catch some. The law requires trawlers to discard that halibut, but most fish don’t make it back into the water alive. Last year alone, trawlers scooped up — and discarded — about five million pounds of halibut in the Bering Sea.

This has been the case as long as there’s been trawling, but the issue has become more urgent in recent years as halibut abundance has dropped.

In the last 10 years, the exploitable biomass (the population of fish big enough to catch) has declined by half, and halibut fishermen have seen their catch limits drop with it. But the caps on bycatch have remained essentially the same.

In the Central Bering Sea, halibut fishermen initially faced a 60 percent cut in 2015. That cut was avoided, but only on the condition that bycatch in the region declines this year. The impacts would be huge, Behnken says.

“The Bering Sea communities, especially communities like St. Paul in the Pribilof Islands, they don’t have salmon,” she said. “They don’t have musk ox. They don’t have caribou. They don’t have moose. Halibut is the most important species for them for subsistence and for their commercial fisheries … They’re looking at something that, I think, threatens cultural extinction if they lose the halibut stock.”

ALFA has asked the Council to reduce the trawl bycatch cap by 50-percent.

Chris Woodley is head of the Groundfish Forum, which represents most of what’s called the “Amendment 80” fleet. That fleet is made up of six companies, most based in Seattle, with about 18 catcher-processors targeting flatfish in the Bering Sea.

“A 50 percent bycatch reduction would be absolutely devastating to the Amendment 80 sector,” he said. “Essentially our boats would be tying up five to six months early. And it would also have significant downstream impacts to the maritime economies of remote communities in Alaska, primarily Unalaska, Adak, Kodiak and Sand Point.”

Woodley said the fleet has already made voluntary efforts to reduce bycatch. And they’re asking the Council to let them adopt other measures, like deck sorting, which would allow them to return more halibut to the water alive.

“There may be some more things that we can do, but all of that comes at a cost,” he said. “And we’re concerned that people don’t appreciate that we’ve already made significant improvements, and it’s not so simple as just flipping a switch and everything gets better. Any additional improvements are going to have potentially huge costs to our fleet.”

For Behnken, the big issue is what kind of fisheries Alaska wants. The state’s commercial halibut fleet is made up of about a thousand small boats, most of them family-owned, in communities up and down the coast.

“I would say the way fisheries are changing, it’s the way our country’s changing. It’s what small farmers have faced. It’s the industrialization of the food system,” she said. “To me, this decision the council is facing, it’s really a landmark decision. They are deciding between a fishery that has a hundred-year tradition of being commercially exploited by small boats — community based, this is a really important fishery to Alaska — and this fish being taken as bycatch, wasted in the industrial, Seattle-based fleet.”

But whether the Council sees it that way is up in the air. The Council is expected to vote on bycatch caps this weekend.

New research on the Nushagak River, one of the largest Chinook salmon runs in the world, used chemical tags in a fish’s ear bones to tell where it was born and raised. Sean Brennan is a post-doctoral student at the University of Washington’s School of Aquatic and Fisheries Sciences. He and his team hope the study research will help managers better understand how their fisheries work.

When you catch a salmon in the bay, how do you know where it came from? That’s long been a challenge put to fishery managers who need that information to make decisions about catch and escapement.

A new study, published in the May 15 edition of Science Advances, hones in on habitats where Chinook salmon are born and raised by tracking chemical tags in the fish’s otolith.

Sean Brennan, then a doctoral student at the University of Alaska Fairbanks School of Fisheries and Ocean Sciences, led the research in Bristol Bay’s Nushagak River.

In June of 2011, Brennan spent several days on the docks of Peter Pan Seafoods in Dillingham, dissecting the heads of Chinooks that were on their way to be processed. He collected 255 otoliths, or “ear bones,” using tweezers to pull out the thin white discs.

Brennan wanted the otoliths because they contain a chemical souvenir of the fish’s travels: the element strontium. And as he puts it, “not all strontium is created equal.” Some of the strontium in earth is heavier, and some is lighter. Those different weights, called strontium isotopes, are found in the bedrock of Bristol Bay. Water flowing over these rocks picks up dissolved strontium, which makes its way into the bodies of fish.

Over a fish’s life strontium isotopes are deposited onto the tiny ear bone in layers.

“The different stretches of rivers the fish are in are essentially tagging the otolith at that particular time in that fish’s life,” Brennan says.

Co-authors Diego Fernandez and Thure Cerling at the University of Utah analyzed these chemical tags, reading the strontium layers like rings on a tree stump. Matthew Wooller and Megan McPhee at UAF also co-authored the study.

Using ear bone data from juvenile fish in the upper Nushagak, researchers put together a map of the strontium isotopes in different areas of the watershed. By comparing that map to the strontium in ear bones, Brennan and his team were able to reconstruct each fish’s life history.

One exciting result of the research, Brennan says, is that he can now identify seven distinct zones — seven strontium isotope groups — in the Nushagak watershed.

“So when we catch Chinook salmon in Nushagak Bay, we now have the ability to determine which of those seven groups produced that particular fish,” he says.

This is a big deal to scientists like Brennan. Other tracing methods, like genetics, paint broader strokes; there’s just not enough genetic variation between Chinook populations in Bristol Bay. But the strontium isotope method can tell the precise tributary where a fish hatched in the Nushagak, and how long it stayed there.

Brennan’s results indicate that 70 percent of Nushagak Chinook stay in their natal streams until they make a beeline for open ocean. But 20 percent, he says, move earlier, spending an extended period of time in the lower main stem Nushagak before migrating to the ocean. It’s like a small group of teenaged salmon have a hangout spot that scientists didn’t know much about before.

“What’s interesting about that,” Brennan says, “is the common thought is that the lower Nushagak doesn’t produce that many fish.”

The new research shows that, in fact, the lower Nushagak is home to a fifth of juvenile Chinook for a significant time period before they leave the river.

These results also indicate the life histories of Nushagak-born Chinook are more varied than previously expected; some juveniles stay in their natal streams longer, while some move out earlier.

It’s this variety of behaviors and life histories that make the Nushagak Chinook population so resilient to changes in the environment, says Christian Zimmerman, a USGS ecologist who advised and co-authored the study.

“Say it’s a really cold winter; that might benefit fish that leave later,” he says. “But a warm winter pays off for fish that leave sooner.”

This new tracking tool is just another way to understand that resilience.

On a broader scale, Zimmerman says the strontium isotope method could help fishery managers in Alaska and beyond better understand year-to-year changes in productivity. Knowing where a catch comes from, he says, gives you more power in determining how many fish you can sustainably harvest.

“One of the things we hear throughout Western Alaska is that when we see declines [in salmon returns], it’s a bit of a surprise,” Zimmerman says.

Scientists hope this tool will take some of that surprise out of the equation, helping predict changes to the environment that may affect salmon runs.

“Our hope is to better understand how freshwater habitats relate to productivity,” Zimmerman says. “So you wouldn’t suddenly find a year where commercial or subsistence fishing would have to be regulated, like it has on the Kuskokwim River. You would have some idea that it was happening beforehand.”

That may be a few years off, but Zimmerman says researchers intend to use isotope tracking on the Kuskokwim and Yukon Rivers soon.

For now, Brennan is working with Daniel Schindler at the University of Washington, where they will expand their research to include sockeye salmon on the Nushagak. They plan to collect three years of Chinook data and two years of sockeye by the end of the project.

But it doesn’t end with fish. Brennan says strontium isotopes could help track migratory mammals like caribou or seal as well.

“Being able to link highly mobile species to the critical habitats that they use in the critical times of their life is a fundamental piece of information when you’re trying to come up with some sort of conservation strategy,” Brennan says. “This tool provides a reliable way to do that.”

The Marine Stewardship Council will facilitate mediation for the salmon processors who disagree about who can participate in the client group that has the council’s sustainability certification. Back in April, ten of Alaska’s major salmon buyers asked to rejoin the label they dropped in 2012, saying it will help them tap back into picky European markets.

Chris Hladick, the state’s new commissioner of commerce, community and economic development, said the department is keeping an eye on the process.

“They will provide a mediator in Seattle between the groups,” Hladick said. “APSA is the group that has the MSC certification, and then there’s a host of other processors that want to join in to the MSC certificate so they can sell their fish in Europe this summer.”

Alaska Governor Bill Walker sent a letter to the MSC on May 18 about the issue. Hladick said the state doesn’t have a role in the mediation process, and doesn’t plan to apply for certification right now.

“The letter was sent strictly to try to get some movement on the issue,” Hladick said. “Of course the issue is, for the state of Alaska, we want to sell salmon.”

Hladick says the European markets are important for selling Alaskan fish, particularly given the strong runs forecast this summer.

A small Juneau business launched a Kickstarter campaign this week to crowdsource funds for a unique line of apparel and accessories. Tidal Vision is hoping it’s onto the next big thing: garments sewn from discarded salmon skin and crab shells.

Craig Kasberg, the founder of the company, pulls out a wallet from his back pocket. It’s a muted jade color, shiny with a slightly bumpy texture.

“It’s much different than what you see when you throw a skin away in the garbage when you’re cooking up your dinner or something,” he says.

The wallet is made entirely from salmon skin sourced from a processor in Kodiak, and then sewn at a tannery in Washington State.

The odor is different than what you might think.

“I would say it smells quite similar to any vegetable tanned leather really,” he says.

The skin has gone through a 24-step process that dries it out until it turns into leather. The material doesn’t stink because the fish oils have all been removed.

“And then replace those with all natural based vegetable tanning oils.”

Alaska has a long history with fish leather. Historically, Alaska Natives across the state have used salmon and other fish skins to craft durable garments, bags, boots and other items necessary for village life. These days, a few Native artists continue the time-consuming tradition of processing fish skins.

The material was also marketed to tourists and fashion houses in the 1990s until those ventures fizzled. Over the last few decades numerous Alaska entrepreneurs have tried their hand at the fish leather business, prompting speculation that it could be a new cottage industry for the state.

Kasberg says the biggest hurdle is convincing consumers byproducts are cool.

“When people think of fish waste, they almost plug their nose in reaction. When people haven’t seen it, smelt it, felt it, I think there is a challenge there,” he says.

Kasberg owns a gillnetter and has fished commercially in Southeast Alaska for almost a decade. He recently sold his commercial fishing license to help fund the new business.

His partner, Zach Wilkinson, has a background in economic development in agriculture. He says the agriculture industry already uses animal byproducts to make high-end items, like shoes and handbags, so why not Alaska fisheries.

“Clearly this stuff is valuable and useful and we could be doing something with it,” he says.

Some seafood processors sell byproducts for pet food, fish meal and vitamin supplements.

“What I’m particularly excited about it is kind of moving those things up the value chain and producing higher value products,” Wilkinson says.

Another item Tidal Vision plans to roll out is clothing made from chitosan extracted from crab shells. The fabric is antimicrobial, so it’s perfect for socks, underwear or gym shirts.

“We’re still going to recommend you wash your clothes but as far as odor goes, you won’t have to,” Kasberg says.

The use of chitosan is common in many industries. It’s usually stripped away from crustacean shells with formaldehyde, but Tidal Vision has a patent pending on a greener, more environmentally friendly method. They’re hoping to eventually expand the product into bandages and other medical supplies.

“The sutures that dissolve into your bloodstream are made out of a chitosan,” he says.

If the products take off, Kasberg says the business could add an overall boost to revenue for fish processors in Alaska. He would be giving them a dollar a pound for the skins, which he says is 90 percent more than fishmeal manufacturers pay. And that money could trickle down to commercial fishermen who supply the processors, like Juneau fisherman Anthoney Sine.

“That would increase our price. That would increase the money that we would be getting on our end,” he says.

Sine owns a boat called the Fortune and is preparing for the upcoming gillnet season. He says the price of seafood can fluctuate; alternative revenue streams could provide more stability.

“It greases the wheels,” Sine says. “Our seasons are short, especially the salmon season. Being able to get a little more money for my product strengthens my business for sure.”

Kasberg’s Kickstarter campaign has already raised more than half of the money it needs to begin mass production. They’re starting with wallets and plan to roll out one item at a time.

The U.S. House on Wednesday evening began debate on a bill by Alaska Congressman Don Young to renew the Magnuson-Stevens Act, the nation’s primary fishing law. Actually, lawmakers just debated how they’re going to debate the legislation. Meanwhile, the White House has issued a policy statement criticizing Young’s bill, suggesting the president would veto it.

The White House, like environmental groups and some small-boat fishermen, disapproves of the flexibility written into Young’s bill. It would give regional management councils more leeway to set catch limits and rebuild stocks. The White House says Young’s flexible approach would put fish stocks at risk. Young spokesman Matthew Shuckerow says the Congressman is still listening to stakeholders and he says the bill is likely to change in the legislative process ahead.

“We believe, and Congressman Young believes, it’s entirely premature for the president to discuss vetoing the legislation at this time,” Shuckerow said.

Young says some regions of the country don’t have enough fish data to employ the rigid science-based model that’s been so successful in the North Pacific. Critics, though, say if catch limits aren’t tied to science, councils will be pressured to let fishermen take too much, depleting the resource.

That very debate played out on the other side of the Capitol today, in a Senate subcommittee hearing on fisheries data. Sen. Kelly Ayotte, R-N.H., made a passionate plea for the cod fishermen of New England. Their catch limit, the senator says, was slashed 75 percent in a single year.

“And then when I look back over the course of five years, the total cut is 95 percent. I do not know a business that could take a 95 percent cut and continue to operate,” she said.

Kathryn Sullivan, the head of NOAA (and, incidentally, the first American woman to walk in space) told Ayotte she does care about fishermen, but she says the cod of New England are in dire trouble, in danger of never recovering.

“We’re obliged by law to set catch limits that ensure we do not have over fishing occurring on a stock, and with a stock that’s at 3 percent of its biomass. That is a disastrously low number,” she said.

Ayotte says that’s not her only duty: “You’re also obliged by law to think about the economic impact.”

Ayotte says the fishermen have no confidence in NOAA’s grim stock assessment because it doesn’t match what they’re seeing on the water. The NOAA Administrator told her there’s a place for fishermen’s observations, but it’s not always the most accurate picture.

“Cod are known to school in very large aggregations and when they aggregate that way it becomes easier to catch the fish and that can give … sometimes a false impression,” she said.

A Senate bill to renew the Magnuson Stevens Act hasn’t emerged yet. The full House is likely to begin debate on Young’s version of the bill in early June, after the Memorial Day recess.

At the Native American Fish and Wildlife Society Conference in Juneau this week, a panel of five discussed climate change and traditional knowledge.

Rick Edwards is the research aquatic ecologist with the U.S. Forest Service. He likened the observations of indigenous people to scientific models.

“If we focus on that part of this integrated body of spirituality, culture and knowledge, and if we focus on observation-based natural history parts of that, then indeed, that looks a lot like science to me,” he said.

In 2010, the Forest Service partnered with tribes nationwide to study the effects of climate change. Alaska Native tribes are also participating.

Ida Hildebrand is the tribal natural resource program director for the Chugach Regional Resource Commission, a nonprofit that oversees the stewardship of natural resources in the Chugach region. Hildebrand cautioned Native people to exercise sovereignty over their traditional knowledge.

“That is your tribal choice. You have that knowledge, you don’t have to share it. Or you can share parts of it and not all of it. There’s sacred knowledge. There’s common everyday knowledge. There’s all kinds of traditional knowledge,” she said.

The research is funded with federal money which means information gathered could become public record. The goal of the project is to preserve tribal culture in the face of changing climate.