The Giovanni Padre

The Sun Sets on Small-Scale Fisheries in the Gulf of Naples

It was early morning when an autumn breeze rose off the Mediterranean Sea and pushed the curtains into the stillness of my room. Outside, lights blinked on the horizon from small boats that were returning from pulling their nets. A storm rumbled in the distance as layers of thunderheads clashed in the sky. Backlit by lightning flashes, the clouds looked like boxing Javanese shadow puppets. I watched as the boats drew close and deftly weaved their way into the channel. Later, down at the dock, fishermen handpicked the catch from their nets into white buckets. Then they dumped the contents onto a marble countertop in the public market area. A few chefs from local restaurants and several housewives gathered around the display of fish and exchanged friendly banter. The fish were sold individually for the larger species like the rare small tuna, or by the handful in small boxes for the tiny anchovies.

This is the rhythm of Lacco Ameno's harbor on the island of Ischia. The ebb and flow of the fishermen, the passing of storms, changing seasons, advancing years. But this ancient way of life is disappearing. Most of the fishermen of Ischia are gray-haired now, in their sixties or even older. A generation of young fishermen — apprenticing to learn the way of the sea and how to catch the fish — finally to replace the old men is lacking. They are rare at the dockside; the lure of safer and more lucrative professions has pulled them away. They've become tourist guides and taxi drivers on the island, or left for the promise of riches to be found in Naples, Rome, or maybe America.

In 2011, I traveled to Ischia and learned about problems that traditional small-scale fishermen face: depleted fish stocks, mostly from overfishing; increasing competition from larger, more modern vessels; constricted areas where they can set their nets; an aging population of practitioners; government programs to grant fishing rights to a privileged few; and the struggle against the political power of big industry. These changes are happening not only in the Mediterranean, but all over the planet: Norway, Chile, Africa, the United States of America — you name it.

Ischia lies in the Gulf of Naples and is the largest of the Phlegraean Islands. Greek legend tells us that Zeus had mythic battles with his monstrous enemy Tifeo (Typhon) near here. Tifeo had some mean seeds sprouting from his loins. He fathered a pride of nasty offspring, including Cerberus, the three-headed hound guarding the passageway to the underworld; the eagle of Prometheus, the Chimera, the Sphinx, the dragon of Colchis, and the Hydra of Lerna, among many others. When Zeus finally killed Tifeo, he buried him in chains at the foot of Pithecusae, now known as Ischia. The rumblings from Tifeo's grave are blamed for the many earthquakes that shake Ischia's residents.

The island was colonized in the eighth century BC by the Greeks. It has swapped hands like the queen of spades in a game of hearts, having been conquered over the centuries by the Roman Empire, Spain, France, and England. The Ottoman Turks and Barbary pirates — including the infamous Redbeard — raided and pillaged Ischia. Finally, the island was annexed by the government of Naples.

Ischia isn't known for its tradition of fishing. Rather, it is green and agricultural. The island's rich soil grows grapes and tomatoes exuberantly. Cuisine-wise, Ischia is recognized for its wine and rabbits. The sea was used to ship the island's wine to the mainland, and to a lesser extent for subsistence fishing and to feed the local market. More recently, the fishermen of Ischia received a boost as the island became a tourist destination and the visitors wanted seafood on the menus of upscale restaurants.

Neptune's Garden

One of the old men off-loading his catch in Lacco Ameno's harbor had a weatherbeaten face and kind eyes. He wore a faded black cap and a baggy blue sweater, and his trousers were tattered. His name is Paolo Vespoli. He fished alone on his small boat, the Giovanni Padre. (On this island of Ischia, there is a tradition to name your boat after your father.) Paolo dumped and quickly sorted his catch on the community table for waiting buyers: a meager bucket of small silver fishes for a night's labor.

Morning at the harbor smelled of fish and diesel. I tried making small talk with Paolo using a few phrases I'd translated and memorized.

"Lo sono un amico di Lorenzo di America," I said. I am a friend of Lorenzo in America.

"Ah, Lorenzo," Paolo responded with a smile.

"La cattura del pesce è piccolo," I said. The catch is small.

"Sì, piccolo."

My colleague at home, Lorenzo Ciannelli, had told me to look for Paolo. Lorenzo's father had been a fisherman on Ischia. I was trying to talk my way onto Paolo's boat for a fishing trip.

"Is that your boat? Err ... vostra barca?" I asked, realizing that I was running out of Italian words to make small talk.

"Sì, il Giovanni Padre," he answered.

My broken Italian began to crumble. Spanish and English words got tossed into the mix.

"I want to go ... puedo ... andare pesca," I said, panicking.

He looked perplexed and said, "Non capisco" with a shrug, arms raised and palms opened toward me. Gulls chortled and cawed in the harbor.

There was a suggestion of finality in his gestures, making it clear that the conversation was over. I think he knew what I wanted, but maybe I would disrupt his solitude at sea. I would be a bother — after all, I was just a tourist, one of many here, and he was trying to make a living. He turned from me to attend to his business.

Later I learned it was illegal for Paolo to take me on his boat. To do so, we'd have to get permission from the Italian bureaucracy, and by the time it arrived I'd be long gone.

The next time I saw Paolo I had a friend along to interpret, and now he talked freely with me. I asked about his history fishing. Paolo told me that he has always had a passion to fish, even when he was six or seven years old and would fish with his father. One day the seas were rough, and his father left home without him. Paolo remembered how upset he was about being excluded; he never let that happen again.

Paolo said that fishing is different now. There are fewer fish than when he was...