Reflection of the SeaFishing Refuges - Part 3 of 4
By Alonso I. Rodríguez de la Parra, explorer and documentarian
"When there are no more fish and corals left in the sea, all that will remain is our reflection." — Alonso I. Rodríguez de la Parra, explorer and documentarian
Being on the ship with the Fishing Refuges team was one of the most illuminating experiences. On one hand, I felt young and excited to take part in a mission like that scientific expedition. Although my goal was always to offer my services as a photographer to contribute something positive to the oceans, I also felt a deep curiosity about how all that ocean data was gathered and what the scientific evidence was behind the nature documentaries I've loved so much. Even though the general news is still very bad, the Fishing Refuges expedition opened up an enormous panorama in my mind about how many things related to the conservation of Mexico's seas work — and let me witness a success story before my very eyes.
Arriving in La Paz always gives me a feeling of calm; there must be a reason they gave it that name. Although a lot happens there…
I was in Xcalak, in the south of the Mexican Republic, when I received a call from someone who would later become a great friend.
"Hi, Alonso, I'm Irene, and I'm calling because I came across your work and I'd like to invite you as a photographer to the 25th-anniversary expedition of Fishing Refuges," Irene said.
I had never heard of this in my life; the truth is I was unaware of many things about how my country works, the actions the government takes, and many more things I still haven't fully understood. Do I know the ocean? The truth is that the more time I spend researching and learning, the farther away I feel, with the new questions this stirs up in me.
"Yes, of course, that sounds fantastic. I can fly to La Paz in a few days," I said.
I set off with my camera and a microphone…
When I arrived in La Paz, I headed to the offices of an NGO called Niparajá. Every year they carry out a scientific expedition, sailing aboard "Quino the Guardian" — in this case — or another available vessel. There I met Florian, a French student and colleague who was doing science using a hydrophone to listen to the fish, corals, and other inhabitants of the reef, and, by listening to the sound of the reef, to identify different species. It would never have occurred to me to listen to the reef in order to study the life around the phonogram that a submerged hydrophone generated! In this world you can do many things in many ways. And if you focus on your senses and turn them into conscious actions, the things you can receive will make you question yourself with the right questions. Hearing, Seeing, Feeling, Smelling, and Tasting. It's through those five actions that we perceive and understand reality. And I explain this from that root, because despite the scientific proof these basic senses have allowed us to obtain, and the real data, it seems that many times we don't understand reality. Many are only hearing, seeing, being present, breathing, and swallowing, without truly appreciating the world with the beauty of intelligence and art, with the abilities we possess as humans. That feeling we have from childhood, which with age we numb, losing the taste for understanding our surroundings and why we exist.
To reach the vessel, we had to drive from La Paz to the coastal town of Agua Verde, a community mainly dedicated to fishing and ranching. From there, we sailed for about two hours in a panga until we reached the vessel.
When the moment came to board the vessel, I was already immersed in my role as documentarian and began to observe and record all the behaviors of the people on board. At first, I tried to interact as little as possible so that my presence wouldn't interfere with what was happening there. Everyone present seemed very busy with their own tasks: some checking their diving gear, others filling out charts and papers, others preparing equipment and tools, and a couple of people resting. Without a doubt, everyone there was committed to their role and the work they were doing. What surprised me most was seeing that most of the people there were local fishers from the communities that benefit from the areas we were analyzing and studying. There I understood that the only way to protect something is to care about the things close to you in your day-to-day life. These fishers live and depend on these waters; they depend on this corridor that is being studied and observed. The first to be affected if something happens to the ocean will be them — but I was also flooded with an enormous sense of guilt. Because in reality they are the ones most concerned about the health of the ecosystems near them, yet they are not the cause of all this degradation and loss of those same ecosystems. Almost all the problems that threaten these places are external: issues like marine pollution, industrial fishers who come from elsewhere, and the pace of life we lead in big cities that is being reflected in the ocean too.
Seeing these fishers not only worrying but taking action — studying the species in depth, understanding how their ecosystems work, speaking a far more elaborate and scientific language than many of my biologist and student friends, trained to become professional divers specialized in marine biodiversity monitoring, working as a team and attending to the needs of the whole group, not just for their own communities but for everyone else's — fills me with enthusiasm. While I see many biologist friends fighting over who publishes the best scientific paper and who secures the most funding to supposedly "do conservation," all these people were committed to the cause: saving the biodiversity that surrounds their communities and collaborating to address the problem promptly.
I was aboard this vessel for about 10 days, if I'm not mistaken, and I got to dive in many zones of this marine corridor. Each with a very distinct personality, a unique topography — some full of life and others with scarce abundance. The zones we visited are normally divided into three areas: fishing refuge zone, harvesting zone, and zones of interest. Refuge zones are meant purely for the conservation of the area; they are places where fish reproduce, spawn, or are known to spend a lot of time; they are protected zones where no one is allowed to fish, and they are well known and protected by the communities since this program began to be implemented. Harvesting zones are the places where fishing is permitted, always following the rules of closed seasons and fish sizes. In these places, the communities take advantage to fish and thus feed their families and bring products to local markets and different buyers. Finally, there are the zones of fishing interest, places that in the past were very productive and that, it's believed, if cared for and analyzed, could recover and continue to benefit people and the environment. Hence the famous phrase that goes more or less like this: "stop fishing today so we can fish tomorrow."
The biological corridor being studied in this expedition runs from Agua Verde to Punta Coyote, and in the case of this expedition, there are many other teams studying other localities as well. But more than writing about something you can read if you look it up on Google, I want to share my particular experience aboard this vessel. In each of the dives and the rest periods between them, I was able to observe many things about myself; I saw myself reflected in the collective needs of why this is being done. And although we all have very personal reasons that affect us directly and for which we should be concerned, all of this also serves a common good, since we are all affected as a community too. We not only have shared threats, but all of them threaten us individually as well.
The first blow of reality — the slap life gave me — was realizing that I had a mistaken conception and image of the problems a fisher faces, because in my mind I felt that a fisher had a peaceful life, floating on the ocean and fishing every day. And possibly in the past it may have been that way — and I say this without even taking into account the greatest fear anyone can have in this trade: the weather and nature. But to witness daily how, each day, the nets weigh less, fewer animals come up, and the hours one must spend in the panga are many more for the outing to have been worth it — along with the financial investment this entails — is a sad story to hear.
Many told me the same thing: that fishing was no longer as easy as their grandparents used to tell them, that now they had to go many more miles out to sea, and that this poses a risk since the sea and the weather can be very unpredictable; that sometimes the fuel is no longer enough to have a profitable day of fishing, and for this very reason many of them have now become monitoring divers. On one hand, the pay can be more beneficial, but the honor and joy this can give a person is also greater: knowing you're working for your community and to protect the future of your children is the greatest gift you can give to those around you and to the planet. This inspired me and reminded me why I do what I do.
The second blow of reality was seeing how this team worked, each one fulfilling their role to benefit the common cause; being able to document this opens your eyes. Cooperation is indispensable to achieve any project if you want it to become something greater than yourself. And although my only job here was to take photographs for the NGO that summoned me for this expedition, I believe that through writing and sharing this experience personally, I can make a few people want to join this mission to understand the ocean in all its facets and different points of view.
The day-to-day protocols and the activities to be carried out were very well organized. The first days, for me, were mostly about understanding what they were doing there, and although they had already explained it to me in the project introduction, it's true that you can't understand something until you truly live it. So day by day I prepared my diving gear, my underwater camera, and my camera for interviews, and one of the most enriching adventures I've had at sea began. An experience that changed the way I know the Sea of Cortez and its inhabitants, both human and marine animals.
The working methodology for studying this zone seems simple at first, but its analysis and understanding are a bit more complex, and I'll try to describe them as precisely as I can within my own understanding.
"When there are no more fish and corals left in the sea, all that will remain is our reflection."
— Alonso I. Rodríguez de la Parra
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