Story

In the Sea of Cortez, Fighting for Scraps

July 28, 2013 | Pulitzer Center
By
Dominic Bracco II and Erik Vance

Seri fishermen begin a long day of work checking crab traps off the coast of Desemboque, in the Mexican state of Sonora. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

Early in the morning, a group of Seri fishermen from Desemboque traverse the desert to begin work at their tiny fishing camp on the Sea of Cortez. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

Yaqui fishermen use plastic bottles to keep their shrimp nets afloat in Guasimas, Sonora. In recent years they have seen a huge drop in the productivity of their waters. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

A local man in Kino who makes his living cleaning nets and assisting fishermen catches a few more moments of sleep early on a workday. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

Diver Javier Rodriguez surfaces quickly because a technical problem suddenly cut off his air. At least 10 Kino divers died the year that we visited the town. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

Fishermen sort the morning's catch on an industrial trawler in Guaymas, Sonora. Early in the season, there is plenty of shrimp (brown) but as the season wears on most of it will be bycatch (white). Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

There are still lots of fish in the Sea of Cortez, but generally they are smaller and never get to full size. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

After a long day of work, Seri fishermen prepare their nets for the next day. Despite many ancient traditions Seri members enthusiastically use technology, like television, Facebook and cellphones, bringing them into the global marketplace. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

A stray dog looks for scraps among discarded carcasses of rays. The fishermen sell their wings as imitation scallop and other low cost ingredients. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

A young boy in Kino trades work hauling anchors and nets for fish. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

Yaqui fishermen prepare for a long day of work at the height of shrimp season in Guasimas, Sonora. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

A young member of the Guardia Traditional — an ad hoc militia in Seri territory — patrols at night in Desemboque, Sonora. Guardia members look out for fish poachers, illegal hunters, and drug trafficking in the region. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

A group of outsiders fishing on Seri waters boil their catch of snails. They have purchased permits from the locals and will be sending the snails to South Korea. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

Diver Javier Rodriguez poses for a portrait with his son on the outskirts of Kino, Sonora. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

A fisherman from Desemboque, Sonora heads out to check his crab traps. Trawlers from the outside occasionally get caught up in their traps. Fishermen here worry that these outsiders are ruining their traditional fishing grounds. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

David Morillo navigates his panga away from an industrial trawler in Guaymas, Sonora. Tensions between pangas and trawlers are high, each accusing the other of ruining their fishing grounds. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

An industrial trawler struggles to haul in a net full of the morning's catch in Guaymas, Sonora. Image by Dominic Bracco II. Mexico, 2012.

Anywhere from 12,000 to 25,000 traditional fishing skiffs—or pangas—work the waters of the Sea of Cortez. Another 1,300 larger commercial boats patrol the deeper waters. At no time are these numbers higher than in September, the height of shrimp season. Every morning from 5 am until the afternoon, the horizon is littered with people tossing their nets into the water.

The largest concentration of fishermen is here, in the northern Mexican state of Sonora, where some 433,500 metric tons of fish hit the docks of towns like Guaymas, Kino, and Puerto Peñasco. Not even the rich, shallow waters of the eastern Sea of Cortez could have supported an effort like this for long. The scars from decades of nearly unregulated fishing are apparent everywhere you look. The writer John Steinbeck described giant schools of rays and dolphins in these waters but today very few adult fish end up in nets here. Unless they are fast-growing species like shrimp or sardines, they just don’t get the opportunity to reach adulthood before they’re caught. And those that are have to be caught further away from shore every year.

Everywhere we went, we talked to older fishermen who said they remembered when fish were bigger, older, and closer to shore. One could chalk this up to nostalgia except that the numbers back it up. In the last 30 years populations of turtles, dolphins, sharks, totoaba, and even the clam-like callo shells have fallen through the floor.

Those fishermen who are left behind know that something is wrong but don’t know how to stop it. Inevitably they blame outsiders or other fishermen who haven’t been there as long and hope that the government pushes out the interlopers while leaving the “real” fishermen.

Meanwhile, another far more insidious trend is creeping along. Older fishermen are dying and younger fishermen think of these diminished catches as the new norm. Like the frog that allows itself to boil in the pot as long the heat is turned up slowly, mankind may not notice its loss until the fish they treasure are gone.