Hamilton Reef
08-03-2007, 10:04 AM
Dark days for whitefish
Ecosystem, economic changes threaten commercial fishery
http://www.mlive.com/outdoors/flintjournal/index.ssf?/base/features-0/1186068046199070.xml&coll=5
08/02/07 Flint Journal By Elizabeth Shaw eshaw@flintjournal.com 810.766.6311
FLINT - Every Saturday at the Flint Farmers' Market, Mark and Carla Ebener add a slice of Great Lakes history to every fresh whitefish fillet they sell.
The couple's Great Lakes Whitefish Supply Co. can trace its roots back nearly four hundred years, when European explorers first entered the upper Great Lakes to find American Indian villagers harvesting whitefish along the mighty water's shores.
Carla is a member of the Bay Mills Indian Community, one of five tribes granted commercial fishing rights in parts of lakes Huron, Michigan and Superior by the historic 1836 treaty with the Ottawa and Chippewa.
Mark is a fisheries biologist for the Chippewa Ottawa Resources Authority, which governs those tribal fishers. He first came to Sault Ste. Marie as a young college graduate in the early 1980s, then returned in 1990 and never left.
"By law, tribal fishing rights are guaranteed so long as the fish resources aren't depleted. My primary job is to protect the treaty rights by ensuring the fish populations are protected," said Mark Ebener.
"Whitefish are the bread and butter of the tribes, the only really valuable commercial fishery left. I see it more personal than anything because my wife and children are tribal members. My work is ensuring those future generations will still have their tribal rights."
Whitefish also support hundreds of nontribal commercial fishers licensed by the U.S. and Canada, some with family ties in the industry going back nearly as far as the Ebeners.
But it's a tradition at risk, said Manitoulin Island native George Purvis, whose Scottish great-great-grandfather founded Purvis Fisheries Inc. in 1882. Today, the northern Lake Huron family is one of Ontario's last surviving Great Lakes fishing dynasties.
"It's getting tougher to make a living. Nowadays, a lot of kids grow up and don't come back. Many go to the oil fields now, where there's work," said Drew Purvis, George's son.
Simply put, the prices paid to commercial fishers aren't keeping pace with the rising cost of fishing.
"Simple economics is why the whitefish market is in trouble," said Mark Ebener. "There's tremendous costs in fuel, workman's comp, Social Security. When you're only making 50 or 60 cents a pound, you can't make any money unless you're selling 200,000 pounds of fish or more. For the average guy, it's just not profitable anymore."
Still, despite drastic changes in the ecosystem and the industry itself, whitefish remains the biggest commercial catch of the entire Great Lakes region, valued at about $14.5 million.
In all, eight U.S. states, the Province of Ontario and at least 35 Native American governments independently manage Great Lakes whitefish. More than any other species, the future of Great Lakes whitefish is as much about politics and money as it is about biology.
Changing waters
Unlike salmon, whitefish seem to be surviving the zebra and quagga mussel invasion into the Great Lakes. The mussels clean the nutrients from the middle and upper layers of the lakes, wiping out the shrimplike diporeia, alewives and other food sources of larger fish species. Of Michigan's waters, Huron was hit first and hardest, but many fear lakes Michigan and Superior aren't far behind.
When their food supply vanished, bottom-feeding whitefish began eating the mussels themselves. But the mussels have proven to be a poor substitute for the nutrient-rich diporeia. Catch rates are high, but whitefish are thinner, reducing their market value and forcing fishers to throw back much of what they catch.
The nutrient-cleared water also lets in more sunlight, resulting in massive algae blooms. As early as 1994, commercial fishers in lakes Michigan and Huron began reporting green slime clogging nets, destroying gear and reducing catches.
"We're going deeper all the time because of the clarity. You can see bottom at 70 feet. The algae hangs on the nets like angel hair so fish can see them. On one full moon, we caught no fish in 10 days," said Drew Purvis. "We're trying finer nets, but the lake trout tear right through them. It's a full-time job for two people or more just to do the nets."
Changing markets
Once, Great Lakes whitefish was a high-demand delicacy from New York to Chicago. Today, buyers will pay only a fraction of former prices for the less meaty fillets. Many believe only Lake Superior whitefish, where diporeia remain plentiful, retain their full former flavor and size.
Farm-raised lake trout and salmon also are taking a chunk from the market, along with ocean species.
"We've been told every high-end restaurant in Flint used to have whitefish on the menu, but nobody does now," said Mark Ebener. "They're serving frozen pollock and cod and calling it whitefish, and most of them don't seem to know the difference."
But the worst competition comes from Ontario's inland lakes, where government-subsidized whitefish are frozen, processed in China, then refrozen and shipped to U.S. markets. Many claim the cheaper, lower quality product is ruining demand for whitefish and undercutting the market for Great Lakes fishers.
"Their low price keeps us competing with the government. We think our product's better, but as a group we've never gotten along well enough to join together and make a strong marketing campaign," said Denise Purvis, George's daughter.
Michigan Sea Grant is hoping to turn that around by funding a public relations campaign similar to that promoting Michigan's wine country.
Changing practices
Much of the historic conflict between commercial and recreational fishing has been over the use of gill nets - highly efficient for commercial fishing, but lethal to lake trout and other species caught by accident.
To protect the state's valuable sport fisheries, all of Michigan's commercial fishers and many CORA tribal fishers now use less deadly trap nets.
"But we haven't seen any progress on the Canadian side of Huron, especially in the main basin," said biologist Jim Johnson of the Department of Natural Resources' Alpena Fishery Research Station.
"Most of them are just miles away from our lake trout and chinook salmon fisheries. A big percentage of the lake trout stock that get caught in gill nets end up dead."
Trap nets might not kill other fish - but they're catching a growing number of recreational anglers.
"We've seen major strides in marking nets. The problem is net locations change almost on a weekly basis. And even if you know where they are, when the fishing is good and you're busy setting lines, you can come up on them very quickly," said Johnson. "If your downrigger cannonballs get hung up on the nets in rough seas, it can swamp a boat fast."
The problem is growing in and around Saginaw Bay, where the sport walleye fishery is coming up against commercial fishers harvesting 800,000 pounds of whitefish a year.
"Our objective is to reduce the amount of gear in the bay by buying out the smaller licenses. But we just don't have the resources to do it," said Johnson.
The Alpena station and angling groups like the Flint Steelheaders track net locations, but it's almost impossible to keep up, said Johnson.
Another concern: DNR studies show whitefish reproduction in Thunder Bay has dropped to almost nothing since 1998 -- coinciding with a rise in cormorants, a fish-eating migratory bird.
Researchers are hoping whitefish will benefit from an ongoing federally funded $160,000 cormorant management program.
Will whitefish - and those whose livelihood depends on them - survive?
"It isn't just the commercial fishers we should be worried about. There are a lot of intangibles involved, like communities that depend on whitefish for tourism," said Johnson.
"When we think about funding for research, we should think about that trickle down through the whole economy."
Ecosystem, economic changes threaten commercial fishery
http://www.mlive.com/outdoors/flintjournal/index.ssf?/base/features-0/1186068046199070.xml&coll=5
08/02/07 Flint Journal By Elizabeth Shaw eshaw@flintjournal.com 810.766.6311
FLINT - Every Saturday at the Flint Farmers' Market, Mark and Carla Ebener add a slice of Great Lakes history to every fresh whitefish fillet they sell.
The couple's Great Lakes Whitefish Supply Co. can trace its roots back nearly four hundred years, when European explorers first entered the upper Great Lakes to find American Indian villagers harvesting whitefish along the mighty water's shores.
Carla is a member of the Bay Mills Indian Community, one of five tribes granted commercial fishing rights in parts of lakes Huron, Michigan and Superior by the historic 1836 treaty with the Ottawa and Chippewa.
Mark is a fisheries biologist for the Chippewa Ottawa Resources Authority, which governs those tribal fishers. He first came to Sault Ste. Marie as a young college graduate in the early 1980s, then returned in 1990 and never left.
"By law, tribal fishing rights are guaranteed so long as the fish resources aren't depleted. My primary job is to protect the treaty rights by ensuring the fish populations are protected," said Mark Ebener.
"Whitefish are the bread and butter of the tribes, the only really valuable commercial fishery left. I see it more personal than anything because my wife and children are tribal members. My work is ensuring those future generations will still have their tribal rights."
Whitefish also support hundreds of nontribal commercial fishers licensed by the U.S. and Canada, some with family ties in the industry going back nearly as far as the Ebeners.
But it's a tradition at risk, said Manitoulin Island native George Purvis, whose Scottish great-great-grandfather founded Purvis Fisheries Inc. in 1882. Today, the northern Lake Huron family is one of Ontario's last surviving Great Lakes fishing dynasties.
"It's getting tougher to make a living. Nowadays, a lot of kids grow up and don't come back. Many go to the oil fields now, where there's work," said Drew Purvis, George's son.
Simply put, the prices paid to commercial fishers aren't keeping pace with the rising cost of fishing.
"Simple economics is why the whitefish market is in trouble," said Mark Ebener. "There's tremendous costs in fuel, workman's comp, Social Security. When you're only making 50 or 60 cents a pound, you can't make any money unless you're selling 200,000 pounds of fish or more. For the average guy, it's just not profitable anymore."
Still, despite drastic changes in the ecosystem and the industry itself, whitefish remains the biggest commercial catch of the entire Great Lakes region, valued at about $14.5 million.
In all, eight U.S. states, the Province of Ontario and at least 35 Native American governments independently manage Great Lakes whitefish. More than any other species, the future of Great Lakes whitefish is as much about politics and money as it is about biology.
Changing waters
Unlike salmon, whitefish seem to be surviving the zebra and quagga mussel invasion into the Great Lakes. The mussels clean the nutrients from the middle and upper layers of the lakes, wiping out the shrimplike diporeia, alewives and other food sources of larger fish species. Of Michigan's waters, Huron was hit first and hardest, but many fear lakes Michigan and Superior aren't far behind.
When their food supply vanished, bottom-feeding whitefish began eating the mussels themselves. But the mussels have proven to be a poor substitute for the nutrient-rich diporeia. Catch rates are high, but whitefish are thinner, reducing their market value and forcing fishers to throw back much of what they catch.
The nutrient-cleared water also lets in more sunlight, resulting in massive algae blooms. As early as 1994, commercial fishers in lakes Michigan and Huron began reporting green slime clogging nets, destroying gear and reducing catches.
"We're going deeper all the time because of the clarity. You can see bottom at 70 feet. The algae hangs on the nets like angel hair so fish can see them. On one full moon, we caught no fish in 10 days," said Drew Purvis. "We're trying finer nets, but the lake trout tear right through them. It's a full-time job for two people or more just to do the nets."
Changing markets
Once, Great Lakes whitefish was a high-demand delicacy from New York to Chicago. Today, buyers will pay only a fraction of former prices for the less meaty fillets. Many believe only Lake Superior whitefish, where diporeia remain plentiful, retain their full former flavor and size.
Farm-raised lake trout and salmon also are taking a chunk from the market, along with ocean species.
"We've been told every high-end restaurant in Flint used to have whitefish on the menu, but nobody does now," said Mark Ebener. "They're serving frozen pollock and cod and calling it whitefish, and most of them don't seem to know the difference."
But the worst competition comes from Ontario's inland lakes, where government-subsidized whitefish are frozen, processed in China, then refrozen and shipped to U.S. markets. Many claim the cheaper, lower quality product is ruining demand for whitefish and undercutting the market for Great Lakes fishers.
"Their low price keeps us competing with the government. We think our product's better, but as a group we've never gotten along well enough to join together and make a strong marketing campaign," said Denise Purvis, George's daughter.
Michigan Sea Grant is hoping to turn that around by funding a public relations campaign similar to that promoting Michigan's wine country.
Changing practices
Much of the historic conflict between commercial and recreational fishing has been over the use of gill nets - highly efficient for commercial fishing, but lethal to lake trout and other species caught by accident.
To protect the state's valuable sport fisheries, all of Michigan's commercial fishers and many CORA tribal fishers now use less deadly trap nets.
"But we haven't seen any progress on the Canadian side of Huron, especially in the main basin," said biologist Jim Johnson of the Department of Natural Resources' Alpena Fishery Research Station.
"Most of them are just miles away from our lake trout and chinook salmon fisheries. A big percentage of the lake trout stock that get caught in gill nets end up dead."
Trap nets might not kill other fish - but they're catching a growing number of recreational anglers.
"We've seen major strides in marking nets. The problem is net locations change almost on a weekly basis. And even if you know where they are, when the fishing is good and you're busy setting lines, you can come up on them very quickly," said Johnson. "If your downrigger cannonballs get hung up on the nets in rough seas, it can swamp a boat fast."
The problem is growing in and around Saginaw Bay, where the sport walleye fishery is coming up against commercial fishers harvesting 800,000 pounds of whitefish a year.
"Our objective is to reduce the amount of gear in the bay by buying out the smaller licenses. But we just don't have the resources to do it," said Johnson.
The Alpena station and angling groups like the Flint Steelheaders track net locations, but it's almost impossible to keep up, said Johnson.
Another concern: DNR studies show whitefish reproduction in Thunder Bay has dropped to almost nothing since 1998 -- coinciding with a rise in cormorants, a fish-eating migratory bird.
Researchers are hoping whitefish will benefit from an ongoing federally funded $160,000 cormorant management program.
Will whitefish - and those whose livelihood depends on them - survive?
"It isn't just the commercial fishers we should be worried about. There are a lot of intangibles involved, like communities that depend on whitefish for tourism," said Johnson.
"When we think about funding for research, we should think about that trickle down through the whole economy."