The (deputy) director's cut

Scorpio. The eighth sign of the Zodiac. According to myth, our scorpion friend spent a lot of time trying to kill the great hunter Orion, and depending on which version you read either was or was not ultimately successful. Which seems odd, since the sky makes it appear that Orion is the one giving chase. Just as the scorpion disappears on the western horizon, Orion appears to the east.

Why am I telling you this?

Because almost every night for the past two weeks, after days spent looking for pirate fishermen, occupying longliners and planning our next steps, we've had a remarkable view of these constellations from the deck of the ship, a sky full of stars stretching across the vast Pacific Ocean on which we sail.

There's got to be a metaphor in there somewhere for our work in this region. The hunter and the hunted, maybe, as it relates to fish? I guess it'd be better if I was talking about Pisces, and supposedly autumn at the equator is the time and place to see this constellation.  But for the life of me I can't seem to find it. Who came up with these things, anyway? I can't see an image of two fish when I have the lines drawn out for me in a book entitled "Astonomy for Kids".  How am I supposed to see it in the sky? Anyone who looks up and says "Hey look! There's Pisces" is obviously bluffing or toying with you.

Scorpio and Orion, however, are much easier to see. I'll stick with constellations that pass the laugh test.

More on this later.

As for life onboard, things have come down a notch since our night on the longliner. The morning we returned to the Esperanza, our surveillance data showed roughly 40 fishing vessels in our vicinity, near the Gilbert Island Chain of Kiribati waters. The next day there were 12. The day after that, none. Like roaches scattering when you turn on the light. Guess word got around we were doing inspections. Think they had something to hide?

On Friday we came across a reefer (large ship that loads supplies and unloads cargo from fishing vessels), headed for Tarawa. Reefers provide a significant hurdle to stopping illegal fishing, as they allow boats to unload their catches on the open ocean.  This in turn provides the opportunity to catch fish without reporting it. One of our demands in this region is to end these so-called "transhipments" at sea.

After doing a bit of research, we discovered the reefer in question was Panamanian, which presented additional intrigue given the questionable status of the country in this region. It also had an expired license. Seemed to be more than enough to board the ship, inspect its operation and potentially arrest a vessel that represents a huge part of the problem. Game on.

Then word came from the Kiribati government that we were not to board it; that we were to allow it to proceed to port. Like walking up to the plate thinking you're gonna swing for the fences and getting the sign that you have to bunt. Once in port the ship was given a renewed license and allowed to proceed with offloading its cargo, no questions asked. I guess a reefer full of fish and the associated financial benefits to the fisheries agency were too much for them to pass up.

Dance with the devil and all that. At least I now have material for my next novel. Something along the lines of the Sopranos go Pacific Island. I think it'll sell.

Soon on the heels of this latest disappointment our patroling work in Kiribati came to an end. We departed the country's waters and set a northeast course towards Hawaii, the ship's next destination. Our arrival will mark the end of the Esperanza's time in the Western and Central Pacific, and will usher in the U.S leg of the Defending our Oceans tour.

Which leaves me to reflect on what's happened while we've been in this region as I stare at the stars. We didn't get the big iconic arrest of an illegal vessel we were looking for. And it still stings to think about what we might have found had the Dong Won 117 not made a break for the high seas.

But we've learned a lot during our time here. From the nature of illegal fishing and overfishing in this region to the enforcement challenges that face Pacific Island Countries who rely on fish for their economic survival. Our newfound knowledge should serve us well as we continue to work through regional forums such as the Tuna Commission to better manage fish resources in the Western and Central Pacific, work with island countries to realize their collective power in dealing with Distant Water Fishing Nations, and push them to manage their waters in a sustainable fashion so their countries can depend on fish for years to come.

These were but some of my thoughts as I sat on the deck last night and watched Scorpio disappear beyond the horizon, then turned to see Orion make his ascent on the other side of the sky. I'll spare you the attempt to turn these constellations into some wingnut stretch of a metaphor. Let's just say it helps put things in perspective and leave it at that.

Then again, our motorized inflatables, which are storied symbols of Greenpeace for our work in the oceans, are often referred to as Zodiacs.

Sunrise over the Pacific was beautiful this morning.  It was just a bit surreal seeing it from onboard a Korean longliner, where I'd spent a sleepless night making sure the Shin Yung 51 didn't make a run for it after we found possible fishing violations.  It was also an opportunity to witness and document their operation from a front row seat.

Yesterday afternoon we'd boarded the vessel as part of our ongoing enforcement efforts.  We found convincing evidence of tampering with the Vessel Monitoring System (VMS), which led to an order from the Kiribati government for the boat to remain where it was until they could further investigate.  Kiribati did allow the ship to set its lines, which actually worked to our advantage as fishing through the night would make it more difficult for them to pull a runner and head for the high seas.  It also gave us a rare opportunity in our enforcement capacity to spend a night on a longliner and document the operation as they hauled their lines and landed their catch.

It's more than a bit intimidating to be on a ship where very little English is spoken, where they aren't exactly happy to see you and their ultimate intentions aren't known.  My question was, how much of a barrier did our presence provide if they wanted to make a break for it, as Kiribati's fisheries enforcement agency is far from strong and they have very little resources available to them.  We were pretty much counting on the humanity of Shin Yung's captain and crew to conclude that a valuable fish stock wouldn't be worth throwing overboard their undesirable guests.
 
They started hauling lines around 8:00 pm.  The fishing was a bit slow at the start, but soon they had a run on tuna, mostly Yellowfin.  The fish ranged in size between 40 - 100 pounds, and the process from line to onboard freezer was efficient and brutal.  I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that fish at the market counter will never look the same.  By the time the sun came up and they completed their haul, they had taken in over 2000 pounds of fish.  Our photographer and videographer got some excellent footage, with powerful images of bycatch that included sharks and a turtle snared in their lines.  The Shin Yung finished hauling its lines around 7:00 am, and an inflable was sent from the Esperanza with a replacement party for those of us who'd stayed onboard.

In the end, the Kiribati government didn't take action, so we were once again left without the arrest we're looking for to define illegal fishing in the Pacific.  But more and more we're finding that, with the boats we're inspecting, the amount of fish onboard and time at sea don't add up, which points to undocumented offloading and unreported fish.

What we seem to be finding is that pirate fishing in this region isn't like what Greenpeace found off the coast of Africa last spring, where the vessels were clearly illegal, inhumane and barely seaworthy.  Illegal operations here are more under the surface, and one has to dig a bit to find them.  Comparing it to illegal fishing in Africa is a bit like comparing gang looting to white-collar crime.  In many ways that makes the problem here harder to address, yet it's no less destructive of a practice.  It's estimated that up to $400 million in fish is taken illegally from the Pacific each year, and until that's thwarted the effort to stop overfishing in this region will be almost impossible.

One of the tools on the Esperanza that helps us patrol the ocean is a helicopter.  It sits bound to the small heli-deck on the back of the ship when not in use, and takes off from there when we need it.  It greatly expands our reach in searching a vast ocean for pirate fishermen, and captures photo and video images from the air that help us tell the story about the beauty and threats currently facing our seas.

The helicopter is a Hughes 500d. It's small, fast and maneuverable.  The Hughes is flown by Hughie, who lives in Scotland and has been with Greenpeace for over 16 years.  Hughie has flown in campaigns all over the world, including last January when the Esperanza engaged the Japanese whaling fleet in the Southern Oceans.  Not only do his skills give Greenpeace the ability to work more effectively at sea.  They also provide access to remote areas on land we couldn't get to otherwise.

Yesterday I went up in the helicopter with Hughie to try and find illegal fishing vessels in the vicinity.  Taking off from the ship, which is routine for him yet anything but for me, got the blood flowing right off the bat.  We rose into the air and began scanning the horizon for ships.  The view from above was amazing.  There were some beautiful low-lying cloud formations, a bit of mist in the air and isolated showers at three places on the panoramic horizon.  And it was sunset, with some stunning colors.

In the midst of blue waters that seemed to stretch to infinity was the Esperanza, a lone beacon in a vast sea.  It was almost symbolic - a small ship on a huge ocean it naively thinks it can save, with a sign from the heavens that encourages us and tells us to never give up.  Although it was a stark reminder of the scale of our efforts and aspirations, it also seemed a testament to the fact that we take on issues much bigger than ourselves.  A world of Goliaths needs more Davids.  It was a comforting reminder of what it means to be Greenpeace.

So, get this.  Right after hitting the send button for my last blog entry about how we haven't found illegal fishing operations since leaving Pohnpei, I was called to the bridge to see a boat that had just appeared on the horizon.  A clue that something foul is afoot with a fishing boat is when you know it's there but it's not projecting a Vessel Monitoring System (VMS) signal, which all registered fishing vessels in this region are required to have on at all times.  The boat we saw, which turned out to be a Korean long liner named the Dong Won 117, wasn't transmitting, so we decided a boarding party was in order to see if smoke did in fact mean fire.

The boarding team, which included the Kiribati enforcement officer as well as Yours Truly, took a Rigid Inflatable Boat to the Dong Won.  Once onboard, we introduced ourselves to the captain and told him the records we needed to see. These included his license, fishing log, flag registration, ship's log, captain's log and engine log, all of which can help us paint a picture of what they've been doing since the boat was last in port.

Turns out the boat has been at sea for 13 months, which to me is unfathomable. One of the first questions the crew asked us when we boarded was who won the World Cup.  I'm guessing the internet isn't part of day-to-day life on the Dong Won.  Upon looking at their logs, the amount of fish onboard didn't seem to add up to their time at sea.  This could mean they transferred cargo (called a transhipment, onto a boat called a reefer), which isn't exactly illegal for a long liner but is evidence of unreported fish catch - a big fat no no.  Acronym junkies like to throw around IUU in this context, which stands for Illegal, Unreported and Unregulated fish.  We inspected all possible storage areas, including freezer holds that felt rather nice for a moment given our current location near the equator.  They had enough fish onboard that I can't exactly say we caught them with their pants down, but the Kiribati officials agreed that it didn't add up.  We were also able to verify that the ship's VMS component has been operating intermittently since they've been at sea, and hasn't been operational at all since early September.  And despite official notification from the Kiribati government that they weren't transmitting a signal, they continued to fish.   Without an operational VMS they could have been doing anything during that time.  The violation gave Kiribati officials enough to escort the vessel back to port, and grounds for further exploration of an unreported fish catch.  The Dong Won is a good example of the shadiness of illegal fishing, as most of it is done by licensed vessels who turn off their monitor systems and break the rules.  A flagless vessel with ex-cons for a crew and a captain with mafia connections would probably be a better story.  But the Dong Won is more representative of the problem, as boats that fit its profile steal fish from the Pacific every day.

Early this morning, before the Kiribati enforcement boat could arrive, the Dong Won made a break for the high seas.  We tried pursuing, but they are faster than us and we couldn't keep up.  This morning we sent Taremon (the enforcement officer) up in the helicopter to demand that they stop, but they didn't answer the radio.  Our pilot positioned the helicopter right in front of the ship in dramatic fashion, but the effort was to no avail.  It appears the boat is headed back to Korea.

In addition to an apparent admission of guilt, their flight has further illustrated the sheer lack of enforcement resources available to Kiribati and most of the island nations in this region.  Kiribati has only one patrol boat for the waters it controls.  Juxtapose this to the recent story of an illegal fishing vessel the US Coast Guard apprehended in its waters off of the Howland/Baker Islands, which sit about 1,700 miles southwest of Hawaii.  They seized a purse seiner with $350,000 worth of illegal skipjack tuna by making use of a C-130 airplane and two Coast Guard cutter ships.  By comparison, you get an idea of the near impossible task Kiribati faces with only one boat at its disposal to effectively patrol its waters for pirate fishermen.

It was hard to watch the Dong Won disappear over the horizon, as further investigation of the vessel will now be nearly impossible.  At the same time, their escape to the high seas further illustrates the challenges of addressing pirate fishing with few resources, and the brazen nature of those who do it.  And I guess every good fishing story wouldn't be complete without the one that got away.

Saturday morning at about 6:00 a.m. we crossed the equator just east of the island of Nauru.  It was rather unceremonious for something that would seem significant, and I'd heard from more than one source that crossing the line at sea has historically been a rite of passage.  So I did a bit of research on the matter, and apparently the traditional ritual is often brutal, humiliating and on more than one occasion fatal.  Okay, I was looking for significance, not savagery.  I keep hearing whispers around the ship that something's in the works for those of us who crossed the equator for the first time (Pollywogs, according to Neptune and his court), but to date nothing's happened.  My speculation is that the masters of ceremony have a desire to use creativity and cleverness instead of sheer brutality to mark the occasion, and imagination is far more difficult to utilize than ruthless force.  With that in mind, could it be that our world leaders are simply suffering from a lack of creative thinking?

It's now Wednesday on this side of the dateline, and we've been at sea for nine days.  Upon leaving Pohnpei our route initially took us southeast towards Nauru.  We sailed north then southeast around the island nation Friday evening, crossed the equator Saturday morning and passed Banaba Island around noon.  Banaba (also called Ocean Island) is part of the Republic of Kiribati.  We did a fly-over with the helicopter to get photo and video documentation, and saw a stark contrast between beautiful reefs, a small community concentrated in a corner of the landscape and extensive devastation caused by the island's history of mining operations.  Phosphate mining from 1900 to 1979 stripped away 90% of the surface, and for an island of only 1500 acres that was once lush tropical land, only 150 acres remain unexcavated.  The majority of the island has been left with unsightly towering limestone pinnacles, which rise to upwards of 80 feet in places and make the island's interior impassable.  Today Banaba stands as a monument to the devastating effects that mining and an insatiable appetite for resources can level on a once pristine and vital ecosystem.

We continue to look for illegal fishing operations, and whereas we have a lot of data available to help with the search, it's still a vast ocean.  Pirate fishing contributes considerably to the problem of overfishing, as it currently accounts for up to 30% of the global catch to a tune of roughly $9 billion a year.  Even with so many tools at our disposal and a perpetual influx of useful information, finding them is still a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack.  There's some comfort in knowing that most of our successful campaigns at sea, which collectively comprise the lore of Greenpeace, had their moments where the size of the ocean and blankness of the horizon seemed like overwhelming hurdles.  At one point many years ago, while looking for the Russian whaling fleet, the crew became so desperate that a wind up toy was placed on the map and the course for the search was determined by the direction of the toy.  Guess what.  They found the fleet, and we ultimately stopped Russia's whaling operation in one of our greatest victories.  Maybe there's a lesson in there somewhere, like we should be a bit more Jedi Knight about all this and not so technological.  Don't worry, we're not turning off the radar in favor of the I Ching or pulling out the Ouija Board.  We'll keep searching for illegal vessels and pushing to expose the scandal of pirate fishing.  Maybe one will appear on the horizon right after I hit the send button.  Come on, Neptune, a little help here.  The Pollywog stuff can wait.