Matuku has beautiful reefs and a wide variety of fish, but if you keep fishing like you do now, I’m afraid you’ll get into big trouble soon.”
Twenty pairs of eyes zeroed in on me. Polite smiles turned to grimaces. I had the room’s full attention.
About a hundred people had gathered at the assembly hall. I was part of a Red Cross workshop at one of seven villages on the island in Fiji’s Lau Group—and I had hijacked the event for my own purposes. Knowing that the island’s dignitaries would attend, I asked the main chief if I could address the audience before the lunch break. I had intended to speak with the entire group, but the chief sent out the women and children. Only the village leaders remained.
I started by praising their island, hospitality and beautiful nature. I explained that my husband and I had visited many island nations in the Pacific and had dived on countless reefs. I showed them pictures of healthy reefs where communities had used the resources sustainably.
Then I shocked them with footage of lifeless deserts. “If you don’t want Matuku to end up like this,” I said, “you should start protecting it now.”
Every wizened old face in the room looked surprised or concerned.
“Set aside an area of the lagoon, and declare it a tabu—a nonfishing zone,” I said. “Not for the government, not for tourists, not for me, but for your children. For the future.”
I expected some pushback, especially because I am a woman, but the chiefs and headmen were genuinely alarmed and grateful for my concern about their island’s future. They invited me to join them for lunch, where we agreed that measures must be taken.
Worldwide Problem
Ever since we started cruising in 2011 on our S&S 41, my husband, Christian, and I have been avid snorkelers and divers. Sailing from the Med via the Atlantic and Caribbean and on to the Pacific, we’ve experienced a large variety of underwater landscapes and ecosystems.
At first, we were impressed by every snorkeling trip, but soon we became aware of differences. In the Caribbean, we spent a week diving in the Bonaire National Marine Park, one of the oldest marine reserves in the world, and were enchanted by the teeming wildlife. After swimming with large, fearless fish there, we sailed on to the Kuna Yala province of Panama.
The contrast could not have been more extreme. The Kuna people rely heavily on fish as a source of protein. Near their villages, we encountered only small, timid specimens that scattered at the sight of a human silhouette in the water.
We continued to the Pacific in 2013 and spent the next nine years exploring the five archipelagos of French Polynesia, with tours to the Cook Islands and Tonga. We used every opportunity to check the state of the underwater world. Often, the correlation between human interference and the quantity and variety of underwater wildlife was obvious.
Tonga’s fish-free and often algae-overgrown reefs shocked us. The local fishermen turned to reef-fishing after foreign fleets depleted the pelagics—a field study by the Global Reef Expedition found that fish more than 16 inches long were essentially absent, and the biomass of the reefs was only one-fifth of those in French Polynesia.
The positive statistics for French Polynesia are most likely due to a lack of humans in remote areas. Parts of the Society Islands where the majority of the population lives are just as devoid of life as Tonga. In the lagoon of Tahiti, we watched countless fishermen go out every night despite the fact that only a few, small specimens were left. Underwater lights and spear guns have made fishing so efficient that a single diver can empty a whole area—picking off the sleeping, helpless fish one by one.
“When I was young, we went out fishing, and it was like visiting a blooming garden, and we just took what we needed, just a few fish for the family,” a 60-year-old Polynesian told us. “Now it’s a massacre. They go out at night and leave a desert behind.”
More and more villages and communities in French Polynesia realize that the current use of resources is simply not sustainable. They turn to a system their forefathers used before the arrival of European traders and missionaries: The village elders used to put a temporary ban on certain areas or species whenever their numbers were declining. They called this a rahui.
Many of the rahui along Tahiti’s coasts are short-term: six months to two years. Afterward, the fishermen go out for one big harvest that leaves the reef empty again. Others came too late. It is only logical that a few isolated fish will take a long time to repopulate a reef.
A recent study by Georgia Tech found that fish and coral spawn are attracted by the scent of healthy reefs, and are repelled by the smell of water from damaged coral. This means there is basically a point of no return after which a reef will not recover by itself, despite the installation of protected areas.
The key is that a reef needs fish to keep it clean, just as the fish need the shelter of the coral. This mutual dependency means that overfishing can cause coral collapse.
Two Different Tales
We visited beautiful little Rapa Iti, the southernmost inhabited island of French Polynesia, three times. We were impressed by the spirit of tradition, community and autonomy that the 500 inhabitants have. They were the first community of French Polynesia to reinstate the tradition of the rahui, in 1984.
“My father, who was the mayor then, went to Hawaii and was very impressed by the lively underwater world there,” said Katsumi Watanabe, the principal of Rapa’s primary school and a member of the local environmental organization, Raumatariki. “He convinced the people here to set up a protected zone as well. At first, many were against it, but soon they understood that everybody would benefit from better fishing all around the protected area.”
The rahui has been going for 40 years and now comprises the whole eastern half of the island. The rest of the waters are teeming with fish, and everybody on the island is proud of their success. They hope more islands will follow their example.
By contrast, in 2021, we sailed to Fiji. Jumping into the water, we were first impressed by the great variety of hard and soft coral, and dazzled by myriad tiny colorful fish—but looking closer, we met hardly any fish bigger than a hand, and many of the species we were familiar with from French Polynesia were missing.
The statistics are alarming. A survey going on in Fiji since 2014 found that half of the 29 most commonly fished species are below a reproduction rate that ensures sustainable use. Some 14 of them are below the international reference point for expected population collapse. Spear-gun fishing and gill-netting pose the biggest threat to reef fish sustainability in Fiji.
With the reefs around the main islands nearly empty, fishing boats venture out to more-remote islands. At the same time, the export from those islands has increased as newly installed solar-panel arrays and diesel generators make it possible for the islanders to store fish.
Raising Awareness
Conservation International and the Lau Seascape Initiative are setting ambitious goals to protect the ocean and its wildlife, but when we talk to people in the villages, we find that sustainability remains an abstract concept.
“God will provide,” they say, then blame climate change and pollution with a helpless shrug.
While the ocean provided for centuries to the islanders who were doing subsistence fishing (and farming), modern fishing techniques and export deplete the resources of a small island within a few years. Even in Fiji’s remote Lau group, we find many reefs nearly empty and overgrown by algae. Quite often, we return from a dive depressed, but sometimes we find a healthy reef. We try to talk to the fishermen. If they are interested, we are happy to share what we have witnessed elsewhere.
The people of Matuku in the southwestern Lau have made a big step toward sustainable fishing by installing three tabu zones around their island. In November 2023, we installed marker buoys (sponsored by the Tradewinds Marine Group and community members). A week later, the chief and the priest of the island made things official.
It took effort and education to get to that point. Matuku has fertile gardens, but fish is a cornerstone of nutrition. At first, they contemplated small, short-term tabus or just a ban on nighttime fishing. We managed to persuade them that having a complete, permanent fishing ban for a big area is the most efficient way to ensure good fishing for the community.
If you cruise in the Lau Islands of Fiji, stop at Matuku to enjoy the wonderful snorkeling. Praise the islanders for their environmental efforts. Leave a donation to help them maintain and patrol their no-fishing zones. Or visit pitufa.at to leave a donation.
As cruisers, we live close to nature. Too many of the reefs are overfished as it is. Aboard our boat, we troll during passages, but we don’t fish within lagoons, we don’t buy small or rare specimens from locals, and we ask at restaurants what species they use for their dishes—parrotfish are delicious, but their role in the ecosystem makes them too precious to eat. If we get lucky and find an anchorage that’s still full of life, we don’t see it as an all-you-can-eat buffet. We enjoy the opportunity to watch the diversity of life.
Even if you take just one grouper and one coconut crab, imagine what happens if all boats following in your wake do the same.
Sailors should still take nothing but pictures, and leave nothing but footprints.
Birgit Hackl and Christian Feldbauer have been cruising aboard their S&S 41, Pitufa, since 2011. Read more about their travels and projects at pitufa.at, or check out their books, Sailing Towards the Horizon and Cruising Know-How, on Amazon.
