The reef surrounding my village has been off limits to fishing for over 5 months. It is a cultural tradition to restrict fishing in respect of important people who die in the community. The ritual is done to honor the dead and also acts as a conservation measure. I have often been frustrated because the majority of my time in Chuuk has been during times of “mechen”. I have been unable to touch, swim or fish in the beautiful calm waters that lie at my doorstep. It is awfully ironic to be completely surrounded by warm inviting ocean and not be able to go near it.
The fishing restrictions may be a hindrance to my personal enjoyment of the lagoon, but they really do serve a legitimate purpose. Chuuk is overpopulated and extremely small. If all the islanders went fishing every single day then the fish, octopus, clams and all the bounty of the sea would be depleted. The reef would become over fished and unhealthy. The Chuukese survive on the resources of the ocean, if these resources are misused then people will suffer. The vast majority of people do not have jobs, so they depend on the ocean and jungle to provide food and sustenance for their families. The tradition of “mechen” is basically an informal law to control the resources of the sea.
This past Thursday, I saw first hand the power of these restrictions in restoring the fish populations. The mechen was opened and a fishing extravaganza began. The chief decreed that at sundown the wooden poles in the ocean would be pulled up and the fishermen could once again plunder the seafloor. On the first night of the opening of the mechen, a huge group of spear fisherman will be the ones who get the first chance at the unspoiled grounds. I was invited to join the fishing party and I gathered at the waterside as the final glimpses of sunlight faded behind the clouds.
In the darkness by the dock, a crowd of men had come together to await the signal to begin. We idly stood together for about a half an hour and then split into different groups on the motor boats. The chief gave the signal and we all piled into the tiny boats. 9 other fisherman jumped in my boat and we crept our way out to sea.
The sky was pitch black and the moonless night spread darkness to every corner. The line between land, sea and sky was barely visible. Everything was just black. The only visible area was the stream of light shining from the man with a flashlight at the front of the boat. He shouted commands to the operator as we veered around the big chunks of coral and came to resting point.
We dropped our makeshift anchor and strapped on our snorkels and masks to ready ourselves for our adventure. Men then started flipping over backwards and diving into the black sea to search for the unsuspecting fish victims below. A series of glowing orbs now floated along the surface and showed the location of the fishermen. I grabbed my 5 foot metal rod and giant rubber band and then plunged into the water.
It had been a long time since I had gone into the black depths of the night sea, but I was happy to be back and felt at home immediately. I kicked my fins and started on my journey to find the sleeping fish at the bottom of the sea. The great advantage of spear fishing at night is that the fish are usually sleeping or very lazy. You can often bring your spear tip within inches of the slumbering fish and then shoot its shiny point into the gut of the aquatic creature.
It is kind of a sneaky way to go hunting, but it’s not without its challenges. The utter darkness and mysteriousness of the open ocean is daunting on the nerves. Your only line of sight is the beam of light from your flashlight and everything else is unknown. A hungry shark, or poisonous urchin or stinging jellyfish could be two centimeters from your head and you wouldn’t know it (and they often are). Shark bites, infectious scratches and unknown injuries are not uncommon.
Holding your breath and diving to great depths also presents problems for the mind and body. Staying under water until you feel like suffocating is part of the game if you want to find the biggest fish. Your mind wants to come up quickly, but your body will be the ultimate judge of when its time to swim to the surface. Overcoming the anxiety of your mind to hold your breath for long periods of time is a difficult task, and its one that I have yet to master. My spear fishing prowess would increase ten fold if I could stay down for a couple minutes while searching for fish.
Finding the fish is also not easy. They may be sleeping, but they are also hiding. They hide in rocks, coral, seaweed and anything else on the sea floor. Fish are infamous for being great at camouflage. Their skin color, design pattern and body shape are all evolutionarily designed to blend in with a particular environment. Some look exactly like a blade of sea grass, others look like a patch of coral polyps and others look like sandy bottom. I will often look directly at a spot and not see a fish, then my partner will come up beside me and shoot at a chunk of coral and pull out a fish. To me there was nothing there, but his eyes are trained to seek out the fish and find them in their best hiding spots.
At one point I noticed a swaying black mass underneath a rock. At first I thought it was a large leaf, but after diving lower and getting a clearer view I confirmed that it was a giant fish. I dove down, got flat on belly and look the fish in the eye. I held the spear shaft with my left hand and pulled back the rubber band with my right. Then I released and shot the spear through the center of the fish. It wriggled in a violent series of twists and yanks and did all it could to release itself from its death trap. But it was too late, the spear was through its midsection and would not yield to the power of its fins. The big black fish retreated farther under the rock and made it almost impossible for me to pull him out. I called over to one of my buddies and beckoned him to come help. When he arrived, he shot his spear into the head and then we were able to pull it out. Two crossed spears sliced through the body and made it easy to wrangle the beast from his den. I pulled out my spear and then repeatedly stabbed it into the head of the fish. I was trying to pierce his skull and crush his brain. If I let the fish live, it would be thrashing on my belt and attract sharks. I scrambled its brains and he finally stopped struggling. I then stuck my wire belt through its eye socket and attached him to my waist. It was by far the biggest fish I have ever caught in my life. He was a vertically flat looking creature about 20 inches long and 8 inches thick.
A little bit later on, I found a red fish in the center of a small coral clump. I speared him at a downward angle, but could not easily pull him out because of the awkward position. I decided to dive down and pull him out with my hand. As I began to reach into the rock hole, I retracted in a burst of fear as an eel slithered out into the crevice. The eel pecked at the dying fish and tried to wrap around the carcass. He was trying to steal my fish! I was smart enough to refrain from putting my hand within the eels grasp, but I was stumped about how to get my fish out and avoid the eel. Eventually I captured my prize by sliding the spear through the other end of the coral clump and picking him up by hand. I retrieved my fish and left the eel hungry and angry.
I pulled myself onto the boat after a few hours of fishing and was proud to show off my plentiful belt of fish with the giant at the center. I was dismayed and impressed to see the giant mound of fish that the others had gathered. I had speared about 15 fish during the night and was happy with my catch, but the locals had each got more than twice as many. We counted the fish and totaled 300 from the 9 of us. That means each of them caught about 35 fish. However, my big boy was the monster of the bunch and still garnered me some praise.
We motored back to the dock and were greeted by throngs of people. The fish were thrown onto the grass and piled up with the others. The two other boats had similar numbers of fish, and together the mound equaled close to 1000 fish! A giant pile of multicolored fish sat on the dock and awaited the chief’s approval. He allowed a large number of them to be barbecued immediately and a fire of coconut husks was erected on the dock. We charred the outside of the fish and gorged into their fresh meat. They had been cooked hastily and most were still raw inside. It was like eating seared seafood. Crispy on the outside, gooey on the inside. I sat with a dozen other men and tore at the flesh of the fish while stuffing breadfruit into our mouths. It was a savage feast of epic proportions.
Two days later, the majority of the fish were prepared together in a giant feast. The entire village came together and ate a huge meal of fish, breadfruit and taro. Speeches were given and advice was shared before we all dug into the meal. The opening of the mechen and the feasting that followed was a perfect exhibition of the collectivist community lifestyle that prevails in Chuuk. Everyone obeyed the chiefs orders and avoided the sea, then the able bodied men worked together to round up a massive amount of fish, then everything was shared equally amongst all the community members. Nobody dared to break tradition and keep things for themselves. Life here is not about the success of the individual, it is about the thriving of the entire community.
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