Willow Glen Resident

Letters & Opinions

No more fish, that's a whale of a tale

By Moryt Milo

Papa use to wake me when the sun was barely cresting on the horizon. I wanted to sleep; after all I was on vacation. But once awake I remember it being a very special time of the day. There was a certain calm in the air that mixed perfectly with the heavy Miami humidity and the smell of the ocean.

Papa was my grandfather. He would wake my brother and me to go fishing. I would throw on my shorts and T-shirt and find him in the kitchen preparing sunnyside up eggs, toast and slices of Florida oranges.

While the rest of the house was asleep--my grandmother and parents--my grandfather, brother and I would discuss which pier we thought would bring us the best luck. Would it be Sunny Isle, which always seemed too far? Or maybe the pier near Bal Harbor? It was closer, and we had brought home a fish or two over there.

My brother and I had our own fishing pole. Every time we visited my grandparents, one of the first things we did was run to the shed to make sure the poles were still there alongside the tackle box. It was one of the few things in the house we knew belonged to us kids.

It was common for the three of us to spend an entire day on the pier, waiting patiently for those nibbles that we hoped would lead to a big catch. But it was more common to snag our lines in the coral or seaweed. We would lose the sinkers, and find ourselves reeling in nothing more than a torn nylon line waving helplessly in the sea breezes. I can say without hesitation that we definitely fed the crabs on the ocean floor well.

But I didn't care. It was great fun to be there, to check out what the old-timers had caught and to see how far I could cast my line. Even today, when I walk onto any pier, those wonderful days spent with my grandfather come rushing back like the tides that created them.

It is unfathomable to imagine those warm Atlantic waters could be void of even a nibble in a mere 42 years. Yet, according a recent report by marine biologist Boris Worm and his research team, our global waters and the fish that swim it are in grave danger. The system could "collapse" due to overfishing, which in turn would disrupt our oceans' ecosystems.

After reading the story, I recalled an exhibit at the Monterey Aquarium. It showed the demise of the sardine industry in Monterey, which had thrived from 1916 through the late 1940s. Then the fish briefly returned but have since disappeared. The warming of the waters is credited with the vanishing sardines, not overfishing, but the exhibit is a striking example of how quickly our oceans can change.

The good news is we can reverse the loss of fisheries worldwide if countries around the globe take a proactive approach toward protecting our marine life.

In 48 locations within the United States, including areas of California and Florida, where marine preserves have been established and fishing has been closed, declining species are once again becoming plentiful. I realize this creates friction between commercial fishermen and everyone else. The ultimate price, however, will mean that these fishermen are out of a job permanently.

Although groups such as the National Fisheries Institute argue fish stocks are sustainable and fish farming is filling the void, fishing in a stocked trout pond is like dropping a net into a goldfish tank. You will definitely catch something, but its not very rewarding. And it certainly can't match casting your line into the ocean and imagining the whopper that will take the bait. It would be a sad day indeed if all those fish tales became lost at sea.

Moryt Milo is the editor of the Willow Glen Resident. She can be reached at 408.200.1051 or via email at mmilo@community-newspapers.com.