A few weeks ago, I attended a New York Marine Resources
Advisory Council meeting. Striped bass
were on the agenda. Quite a few anglers
were in the audience, and a number of them chose to address the Council, to let
them know that they were concerned about the steady decline of the bass
population.
One older gentleman, who has been haunting the striper coast
for a decade or two longer than I have, suggested that along with reducing
harvest, fisheries managers should consider raising bass in hatcheries, so that
there would be more for anglers to catch.
I didn’t say anything, but inside, I started to cringe.
It doesn’t really matter what the species is, or what coast
you’re on. When fish run into problems
someone, somewhere, is going to talk about supplementing natural reproduction
with hatchery fish.
Here on Long Island, out in the town of East Hampton, they
wanted to open a winter flounder hatchery to augment that crashed.
The state Department of Environmental Conservation wisely kiboshed the
idea.
Down in the Gulf of Mexico, hatcheries are an accepted means
of augmenting numbers of red drum and speckled trout, to spare
anglers from the burden of regulations needed to conserve a natural population when
spawning success declines.
It sounds like a wonderful idea. Replace—or at least supplement—natural
reproduction with hatchery fish, and we won’t have to worry about such things
as overfishing, biomass thresholds or the state of the spawning stock. We can just keep killing a bunch of fish, and
if they start to get scarce, we can just dump another load from the hatchery truck, just like folks dump trout into the warm and
weedy (and generally unsuitable) ponds on Long Island, where most are caught by anglers before they can succumb to the conditions and die.
Hatchery fish could relieve us of our obligation to be
responsible stewards of the resource and, after all, who doesn’t want to be
relieved of responsibility?
We could go out and kill fish without guilt.
And that is, from a philosophical and ethical standpoint, why
hatcheries are a bad thing. Hatcheries
represent a failure of fisheries management; they evidence the abandonment of
the traditional concepts of stewardship in favor of the artificial production
of what Ted Williams—my favorite conservation writer—refers to as “rubber
fish.”
Hatchery fish are a poor substitute for native fish. More than anything else, they remind us of what we have lost.
In fresh water, we have degraded so many waters through
pollution, impoundment, taking out water for irrigation, introducing non-native
species, “flood-control” projects, etc. that many native
species can no longer successfully reproduce and compete in the lakes and
rivers where they once thrived. In such
cases, where the damage is so severe that it is practically irreversible,
hatcheries may represent the only opportunity to have anything to fish for at
all.
In salt water, though, robust, wild-spawned fish are
still generally the rule, and native fish stocks have not slipped below the
point of no return. There, hatcheries are the serpent in the garden, who whispers
seductively in our ears, telling us that virtue and responsibility are not
really needed; accept the hatcheries, and we can escape regulation and indulge
our desire to kill ‘til the cooler is full.
So far—mostly—we’ve rejected such blandishments on the
Atlantic. They have had only a limited impact the Gulf. However, on the Pacific coast, where
impoundments, irrigation and overfishing have combined to destroy native fish
populations for the better part of a century, hatcheries have long been a fact
of life, pumping out many, many billions (yes, billions) of “rubber” trout and salmon.
Folks concerned with the resource have long criticized such
programs for diluting genetic lines that had suited particular “runs” of salmon
for their natal rivers, but now it appears that even using local broodstock is
no substitute for natural reproduction.
That doesn’t matter in a strict put-and-take fishery, such
as we find in many urban and suburban trout waters, because the man-made fish (usually
rainbow trout) that are dumped into such troubled ponds and creeks aren’t
expected to reproduce. However, in a
salt water situation—or in Pacific salmon rivers and healthy freshwater
streams—hatchery fish will survive until spawning season, when they will compete with naturally spawned fish for
spawning sites, mates and other resources.
In such situations, the reduced reproductive success of
hatchery fish can impact the productivity of the stock.
The Oregon study said
Even before that study was completed, hatchery fish were
recognized as a potential threat to wild stocks. Early this year, a federal
judge in Oregon decided that hatchery fish in the Sandy River posed a threat to
endangered native salmon and steelhead, and limited their introduction. Similar lawsuits have been brought elsewhere,
with various degrees of success.
To date, most of the studies, and most of the lawsuits,
related to hatchery fish have dealt with salmon and trout. However, there is no reason to believe that
other fish would be immune from similar effects.
The Texas Parks and Wildlife Department, on the other hand,
believes that stocking red drum is a good thing, saying that
However, it also notes that such stocking
Apparently there, as in too many fresh waters, stocking is merely a way to let people keep killing
fish, and assuring that “harvest levels are sustained” without the need for
burdensome regulations.
There’s no evidence that
the Texas folks did a comprehensive study on the impact of the hatchery drum on
the reproductive success of native fish.
Personally, I have no desire to catch “rubber stripers,”
“rubber flounder” or “rubber” anything else.
Here on the coast, even our weaker stocks can be
restored, with a little sacrifice and a lot of good management. We don’t need stainless steel tanks and piped-in
water.
We can still bring fish populations back the old-fashioned
way—by giving fish a chance to do what they’ve done for millennia—producing young
which have been tested by predators, prey and the ocean itself from the moment
they left the egg behind.
We can still hold a bit of wildness in our hands every time
we venture out to the shore, a creature of flesh and blood and bone that has
proved its ability to survive the worst that nature can throw its way.
Something that brings us back a step closer to what we once
were, and reminds us of what we traded away for the comforts and security of
civilization.
We should never let hatcheries seduce us and take that away.
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