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By Tom Dunkel
Bill Blue named his boat, a 97-year-old converted tug, Morning Light because that’s his favorite time of day. Dawn always brings the promise of better things to come. And, he hopes, lots of fish.
But right now, it’s 1 a.m. and pitch-black. The town of Morro Bay, California, sleeps soundly this September night, quiet but for the barking of a few insomniac sea lions in the harbor. Captain Blue and his deckhand push off from the dock and into the darkness. Morning Light curls right and then chugs north, hugging the coastline, bucking slightly in choppy waves.
Ahead lies one of Blue’s favorite spots, known as Eight Mile Area. He’s hoping the fish there are in the mood to swallow a hook. A haul of 300 fish generally constitutes a good run, but nothing’s guaranteed. A few weeks ago, Blue set out 1,800 hooks and pulled in all of 82 fish. That was on a trip southwest of Morro Bay, which may explain why he’s currently headed due north. The ocean is a saltwater casino. You play your hunches.
“I don’t need Vegas,” says Blue. “I go to Vegas every time I untie my boat.”
After more than three decades as a commercial fisherman, the 53-year-old Blue is taking the gamble of his professional life. He’s one of four Morro Bay boat captains participating in an experiment conceived by The Nature Conservancy and a diverse array of partners. Participating fishermen work together on a harvest plan, agree on a course of action and fish in coordination with one another. The aim is not only to conserve and restore the Morro Bay fish population but also to create a market for fresh, higher-quality, locally caught fish. That, in turn, should help preserve the fishermen.
Today, that concept is known by the buzzword “sustainability.” But really, it’s an old idea: Sustain the fishery and you sustain a livelihood. “If our fisheries collapse, it’s bad news for fish, it’s bad news for people who make their living off of fish, and it’s bad news for people who eat fish,” says Michael Bell, who manages the Conservancy’s Central Coast groundfish project.
But as simple as the idea sounds, the devil is in the details. Blue must accept restrictions on where he fishes, the size of his catch and what equipment he uses. He’s got to attend meetings and file reports — literally logging where and when he drops each hook into the water. Cameras monitored by the National Marine Fisheries Service, a partner in the project — have been installed on Morning Light to record every wriggling fish that comes over the side. In addition, a paid observer accompanies Blue on every trip, taking notes on each species caught — even those throwaways that regulations prohibit him from keeping, the so-called incidental “by-catch.” On a small boat that has just one bunk and no toilet, that extra body complicates the room-to-maneuver math.
And all those details can get to a guy. Despite Bill Blue’s soft-spoken demeanor, he is fiercely independent and proudly self-reliant. He loves being his own boss. He loves being on the water—in other words, he’s a typical fisherman. “There was more than one time I talked with my wife about it,” he says of his decision to participate in the Conservancy project. “I wonder if I’m doing the right thing.” He adds: “At times I go to bed, and my heart’s not happy ’cause I’m not fishing the way I used to.”
Nature picture credits: Photos © Bridget Besaw
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