Mainebiz

V O L . X X I N O. I X M AY 4 , 2 0 1 5 20 S tarting in late March, hundreds of fi sher- men leave the cozy warmth of their homes, prepared to spend the freezing night or dawn hours along coastal estuaries. Navigating slippery banks and rocks, wading in frigid water, enduring bad weather, staying awake through the tide cycle on three or four hours of sleep, they await the arrival of millions of tiny, translucent creatures called elvers that have traveled 1,200 miles from the Sargasso Sea. Using dip nets or funnel-shaped "fyke" nets, each fi sherman is authorized by the state to harvest a tiny quota of elvers (sometimes called "glass eels") as they swim from saltwater to freshwater, throughout a season that lasts until the end of May. e harvested elvers were originally destined for life on the East Coast, growing to adulthood as "yellow eels" and spending years in freshwater before migrating back as "silver eels" to the Sargasso to spawn and die. (Names refl ect changes in pig- mentation.) Instead, they're in for an unexpected detour. Treated with care to ensure they stay alive, Maine landings are shipped to aquaculture facilities in Asia, where they will be grown to adult size, then processed for an ever-increasing food market. Maine is the heart of the East Coast elver fi shery — one of only two states allowed to harvest the tiny creatures (the other is South Carolina, where only 10 licenses are issued and fi shing locations are limited). Landings for Maine's elver fi shery, constrained for the fi rst time in 2014 by an overall state quota, declined by more than 8,000 pounds, from 18,076 pounds in 2013 to 9,690 pounds. Value also decreased by more than $24 million to a total of $8.47 million, attributed in part to the quota constraint and a decline in per pound value from 2013 of nearly $1,000. e decline in value for the elver fi shery moved it from the second most valuable, a position it held for two years, to fourth. Even so, enormous profi ts in recent years have made those cold, dark nights more than worthwhile. And some predict there are more opportunities to come, both in Asia and the United States. Dramatic price spikes "When I fi rst got in, it was known as a 'secret society'" says Julie Keene, who lives in Trescott Township. Keene has been involved in the fi sh- ery since 1994 and is secretary of the Maine Elver Fishermen Association. "It was done in the dead of night, and it was a very small fi shery where you had your spot, or a couple of spots. People didn't bother each other. en the price went through the roof." A price boom in recent years had a Wild West- like start characterized by pickup truck dealings, cash transactions of tens of thousands of dollars and ram- pant poaching. en, the industry organized and new regulations were implemented to sustain legitimate harvesting for continued export; stakeholders are now discussing how to leverage the value of elvers by creat- ing domestic eel farming and processing operations. Although yellow and silver eel fi sheries have a long history in Maine, elver fi shing is relatively recent. It began in the early 1970s as a low-key, sporadic, but worthwhile operation for anywhere from a hand- ful of fi shermen to a couple of thousand, at times, attracted to earning as much as several hundred dol- lars per pound for the Asian market. With its short springtime season, the fi shery is just one of several fi sheries that contribute to the annual income of many fi shermen. e fi shery took a dramatic turn in recent years due to intensifi ed demand from Asia stemming from declines in the European stocks that Asian eel farmers had been using. With a small but experienced fi shery already in place, Maine was poised to fi ll the gap. "All of a sudden, the people who'd kept the market in Maine alive said, 'We can sell a lot of glass eels," says Jeff rey Pierce, an industry advocate and a state legislator from Dresden who serves on the Marine Resources Committee. "With none coming from the European Union, all of a sudden buyers said, 'We can get this product in Maine.' And they paid dearly for it." e spike in prices was dramatic. In 2010, Maine's elvers were worth less than $200 per pound. In 2011, they averaged nearly $900 and reached more than $2,000. By 2012, "everybody and his brother wanted to be an elver fi sherman," says Pierce. at year, elver prices reached $2,600 per pound and averaged $2,000. In 2013, fi shermen earned $1,700 to $2,000 per pound. Landings jumped from a pre-boom 3,000 pounds in 2010 to 20,000 pounds in 2012. Overall value soared, from $584,000 in 2010 to $38 million in 2012. Landings and value dropped slightly in 2013 and then plummeted to 2014's $8.47 million catch due to the quota constraint and a decline in per pound value from 2013 of nearly $1,000. Not surprisingly, harvester numbers shot up, from fewer than 300 in 2004 to 658 in 2013. In 2014, the total statewide quota was 11,749 pounds, but for 2015 it will be 9,688 pounds, which is the total harvested last year. Despite the price and quota fl uctuations, longtime Ellsworth fi sherman Darrell Young says he and his wife did fi ne in 2014. Each had a 68-pound quota, and earned between $500 and $1,000 per pound. About 20% of the quota was set aside for Maine's federally recognized Native American tribes, which have a parallel management system, co-adminis- tered with the state, in recognition of their histori- cal fi shing rights. Among tribal members of the Penobscot Nation, for example, 48 fi shermen cur- rently hold licenses, with about 100 on a waiting list. "It's great that some of our tribal members are able to bring in some needed revenue, practicing an activity that is part of our culture," says John Banks, the Penobscot Nation's director of natural resources. P H O T O / DAV I D C L O U G H A wild fishery tamed Maine elvers are in demand in Asia, but quotas limit catch B y L a u r i e S c h r e i b e r F O C U S Patricia and Paul Bryant, involved in the elver fi shery since the 1970s, tend their nets during a recent dawn trip to favorable river spots in Bristol.

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