Kings of Their Own Ocean: Tuna, Obsession, and the Future of Our Seas - Hardcover

Pinchin, Karen

 
9780593471470: Kings of Their Own Ocean: Tuna, Obsession, and the Future of Our Seas
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 0593471474 ISBN 13: 9780593471470
Verlag: Dutton, 2023

Inhaltsangabe

**THE INSTANT INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLER**

Winner of the Evelyn Richardson Non-Fiction Award, the Margaret and John Savage First Book Award, the Axiom Book Awards Gold Medal for Business History, and the 2024 Taste Canada Culinary Narrative Award

Shortlisted for the 2024 Kobo Emerging Writer Prize and the Taste Canada Award for Culinary Narrative

This is a tale of human obsession, one intrepid tuna, the dedicated fisherman who caught and set her free, the promises and limits of ocean science, and the big truth of how our insatiable appetite for bluefin transformed a cottage industry into a global dilemma.

In 2004, an enigmatic charter captain named Al Anderson caught and marked one Atlantic bluefin tuna off New England’s coast with a plastic fish tag. Fourteen years later that fish—dubbed Amelia for her ocean-spanning journeys—died in a Mediterranean fish trap, sparking Karen Pinchin’s riveting investigation into the marvels, struggles, and prehistoric legacy of this remarkable species.

Over his fishing career Al marked more than sixty thousand fish with plastic tags, an obsession that made him nearly as many enemies as it did friends. His quest landed him in the crossfire of an ongoing fight between a booming bluefin tuna industry and desperate conservation efforts, a conflict that is once again heating up as overfishing and climate change threaten the fish’s fate.

Kings of Their Own Ocean is an urgent investigation that combines science, business, crime, and environmental justice. As Pinchin writes, “as a global community, we are collectively only ever a few terrible choices away from wiping out any ocean species.” Through her exclusive access and interdisciplinary, mesmerizing lens, readers will join her on boats and docks as she visits tuna hot spots and scientists from Portugal to Japan, New Jersey to Nova Scotia, and glimpse, as the author does, rays of dazzling hope for the future of our oceans.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Karen Pinchin is an award-winning investigative journalist and culinary school graduate. A recent Tow Fellow at PBS's Frontline, she graduated from Columbia Journalism School with a Master of Arts in science journalism and has since been supported by the Canada Council for the Arts and the Sloan Foundation. Her work has appeared in Scientific American, Canadian Geographic, Hakai Magazine, The Globe and Mail, and The Walrus, among other outlets. She lives, writes, and fishes in Halifax, Nova Scotia, with her husband, son, and a tankful of guppies.

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Chapter One

Hooked

Al and Amelia, Their Early Years

Deep below the surface of Rhode Island Sound on September 27, 2004, a bristling school of Atlantic bluefin tuna sliced above an inky-blue landscape of sandy sea bottom and glacier-sheared boulders. Brothers swam beside sisters, alongside cousins and distant cousins. They were all only a year or two old, but in the depths off Block Island they were already feared. The warm-blooded species has a voracious appetite, and the juvenile fish ate nearly everything they came across-shrimp, deep-water squid, jellyfish-near constantly, and in constant motion, since bluefin must swim to breathe. Their eyes, the sharpest of all the bony fishes', perceived filtered light from the surface as it dimmed and brightened around them, each night and day like those before.

Within the school, one half-meter-long female fish coasted, her pectoral fins splayed like airplane wings that helped her glide and tweak the power generated by her sickled tail. She had small, chartreuse-yellow triangular points running along the top and bottom of her back and belly in matching rows of prehistoric finlets. Her torpedo-shaped head was smooth, interrupted only by the downward-curved gash of her mouth and dark eyes. She was one of many, and during her lifetime she would be nicknamed Amelia by a scientist named Molly Lutcavage.

Many months earlier, back when she had hatched and grown into a three-millimeter-long larval fish, Amelia's eyes opened on the warm waters of the Mediterranean. Bluefin tuna spawn only when water reaches between 20 and 29 degrees Celsius. When they do, they breed in the dead of night, between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m., producing milky clouds of millions of eggs and sperm that drift five meters below the ocean's surface. Once fertilized, each egg measures about a millimeter across and will float on balmy currents for one to three days.

Amelia's first meal after hatching was an oil droplet contained in her own yolk sac. Her tiny body quickly developed huge black eyes and a digestive system, including a disproportionately large, hinged jaw with a toothsome underbite. Over the next two weeks she grew needle-sharp teeth, a stomach, and gastric glands to eat and digest crustaceans, including the copepods and water fleas that made up her earliest diet. When she struggled to find food, she ate smaller bluefin larvae to survive. By 25 days old, she had developed a swim bladder and a notochord, or early backbone, and started to swim with other centimeters-long bluefin her own size. They ate any fish smaller than themselves, evading predators and growing larger, eventually following their species' annual outward migration westward to the Atlantic's cold, nutrient-rich waters.

Sometime between her birth and 2004, Amelia accomplished her first feat of long-distance swimming, crossing the Atlantic Ocean's entire breadth before arriving off the coast of western Rhode Island. As she matured, she was on track to beat the odds, becoming one of only two of her fellow 30 million fertilized bluefin tuna eggs to make it to full-grown adulthood.

As Amelia cruised the waters off Rhode Island, it was a day like any other. But it was also a day for fishing.


A handful of kilometers away, on that same dark, predawn September 2004 morning, Al Anderson’s hulking black truck sped along the paved road that dead-ended into Narragansett’s Snug Harbor. Its headlights flickered between birch and alder, darkened homes and mailboxes, blurring them into stop-motion. Al had waved goodbye to his wife, Daryl, who flapped back from their porch with her dish towel, and he couldn’t wait to get fishing. Driving down the steep pitch toward sea level, tall, anvil-headed Al, with a wiry mass of black hair and his trademark trimmed mustache, parked into a prime pull-through parking spot beside a drooping tree. He killed the gas and stepped down, eyes scanning the dock for competition, then walked toward his boat, casting lanky floodlight-lit shadows on the dock’s gray, flaking planks. Dried-out iridescent scales glinted in the light under his feet, mirroring the fading stars above. There, in prime position near the diesel pump, rocked the Prowler, the third of Al’s boats to bear the name.

A 13-meter sportfishing craft, this Prowler was bone white, her hull made by a North Carolina builder named Alex Willis. Back when Al had made the leap to fishing full-time, he had spent long days searching the Tar Heel State for the functional boat of his dreams-one he could afford, of course. North Carolina has long been renowned for its curled-lip ocean yachts, and Al knew the boat would likely be the biggest he'd ever own.

That morning in 2004, Al had been hired by charter clients to take them out fishing, which he did nearly every day between the spring and late fall when the weather cooperated. This day promised to be a beauty. Al's mate for the season, Bryan, was already on the boat, and their clients were set to show up at any minute.

Those clients-32-year-old Jason Williams and his brother, David, and father, Richard-woke up that morning on musty-smelling mattresses at a nearby motel. The place was "kind of a dump," Williams told me, but it was close to the harbor. He had contacted Al by telephone a few weeks earlier after reading an article penned by the longtime charter captain about catching bluefin on a lightweight fly rod. Back then, Williams spent every spare waking moment either going on or planning fly fishing trips, and in the fall of 2004, huge numbers of bluefin had shown up just west of Block Island, powering within a strip of water known as the Race. So Williams took the bait, convincing his father to cover the $400 deposit and pay Al's higher-than-average $1,350 group fee.

As they got out of their car and headed to the marina in darkness, Williams walked toward the ocean. The wind barely whispered, blowing at less than five knots from the southwest. From the dock, Williams caught a glimpse of Al standing in the Prowler's wheelhouse. "Go ahead," Williams told his brother and father, who followed his instructions, striding down onto the pristine white of the Prowler's deck.

Descending from his perch, Al moved toward them, his arms spread wide. Williams immediately knew they weren't being welcomed. Instead, they were being pushed off the boat. "He hadn't invited us on yet. He just came walking at us and shoved us back off," said Williams. "It wasn't like, 'Good morning.' It was like, 'All right, you guys get off the boat and I'll tell you when to get on the boat.'" Walking backward, the shocked fly fisherman thought, "Holy shit. This is going to be a long day." The moment hung in the air, the three clients standing awkwardly on the planks. A beat passed. Then another beat, and as if nothing had happened, Al smiled and genially waved the group aboard.

By 6:30 a.m. the Prowler had powered out of the harbor. Over the roar of its dual motors, Al yelled for Jason, who carefully picked his way toward the helm. To his relief, Al only wanted to chat fishing. Previous trips that week had gone well, the old salt boasted with enthusiasm, and he had high hopes for their trip. At one point, Williams caught himself staring at Al's face, lit red by the dim glowing lights of the boat's crimson instrumentation and cockpit lights. It felt more cozy than spooky and was an effect in a fishing cabin he had never seen before. The barely visible lighting made perfect sense; red light doesn't kill your night vision, and the low lighting signaled to Williams that this was a boat devoid, as he felt, of "bullshit." Obviously Al knew what he was doing, and had done it thousands of times before. And the Prowler was immaculate: there were no buckets lying around full of rusty fillet knives, no smears of desiccated fish blood left on the...

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Verlag
Dutton
Erscheinungsdatum
2023
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0593471474
ISBN 13 
9780593471470
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
320
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Penguin Random House Ireland
https://eu-contact.penguin.ie

Morrison Chambers, 32 Nassau Street
Dublin
D02 YH68
Irland

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