to exit to the ocean but the swell comes from the
southwest – so it’s like a rock in a stream that leaves
gyres behind it. Fish have easy access because it’s deep,
and the gyre helps the spawn to intermingle.
Albula are broadcast spawners, releasing eggs and
sperm into the water in a big cloud. “Because they’re
just basically squirting their eggs and sperm into the
water, there needs to be a lot of fish to make sure
the gametes meet,” says Filous. “So, what they do is,
every fish from every corner of this entire atoll, after
the full moon, swims right out here, forms a big, big,
big-ass school, thousands of fish. And then it’s like,
too-to-too-to-toooo, charge! They just rush through
this corridor” and out to sea.
Those gametes that get lucky develop into
plankton-like eels – leptocephalus –while the current
disperses them. Finally, at about two months old, the
leptocephalus metamorphose into juvenile fish.
From the sex ratios of
catches throughout the
season, Filous worked out
that the bulk of the female
population moved through
the migratory corridors to
spawn between March and
May, at which time they were being heavily exploited
by an ingenious trapping method.
The traps, locally known askaua, are weirs made
from dead coral and rocks that the fishermen drag
across the ocean bottom and pile into heart shapes. “It’s
like a perfect work of art,” Filous says admiringly of the
technique. “I don’t know how they did it.”
Filous knew the best way to allow the bonefish
population to recover to above 20% would be to close
the fish traps from March to May and shift the fishing
towards the end of the season when the proportion
of males was greater, and females had completed
their breeding. But he also was certain that there was
no way the fishermen – who were among the many
people he had befriended on the island – would take
the traps down.
Bagnis said to Filous at the time: “Well, you have
done what we asked you to do. Now it’s my turn to
negotiate with those people and hopefully find a
solution.” To which Filous replied, “They’re going to
kill me if you say that.”
“He was really freaking out,” recalls Bagnis.
“Because it was like asking those people to lose a
bigger part of their income.”
Bagnis asked Filous to create a poster to help
people understand the life cycle of the fish and to
explain the problems with current fishing practices.
Enter eccentric, singing school principal Jean
Pierre Beaury, an enthusiastic student of the island’s
historical songs and traditions, and passionate
advocate for the children’s future. When Filous sought
his help to translate the poster into the local languages(French and Tuamotu), Beaury recognised how
important it was to address the issue. He had applied
to the French government to create an educational
marine area where the students could learn about
environmental management and conservation – and
he saw the migration corridor as the perfect location.
The students also understood the importance of
conserving the fish, saying “this is our island too, this
is our future”, says Bagnis. The students decided to
explain to their community what was at stake, and
went door-knocking to gather signatures for a petition
to reinstate an ancient Eastern Polynesian tradition- rahũi– which would pull down the traps for three
months each year.
“It’s like a gentlemen’s agreement,” says Hagnis.
“We are respecting this area and we are all agreeing
that during three months there will be no traps.”
Although it can’t be legally enforced, she adds,
“In the ancient time, if
you were not respecting
it, they were cutting off
your head. So they were
very serious about that,
because the rahũi is meant
to preserve the resource
for the whole population.”
Filous was so worried when the children went out
to gather signatures that he wedged a bed against his
door. But of the 300 people the students spoke to, 297
signed the petition to pull down the public traps, with
fishermen who sold their catch accepting compensation
from the Island Initiative for lost income, using profits
from the newly established fly-fishing enterprise.
In 2019, the traps came down for the first time,
in tandem with the reinstatement of a marae – a
temple made from rocks – by the children in the area,
accompanied by a traditional ceremony and music.
The rahũi’s success will be monitored over the
next five years by the islanders, with Filous visiting
each year.
“We don’t expect to haverahũiand then for all the
fish to fall from the sky,” he says. But they expect the
fish born now will grow, and 50 centimetre fish will be
bigger, so the SPR ratio should increase.
“So, the past and the future met, the science and
the traditional too, so it was quite amazing to get
it that way,” says Bagnis. “I was very proud because
it really embodied the meaning of what we were
trying to create with our organisation, you know. It
started out with a Tahitian girl knowing some issues
and willing to do something and now it’s not about a
Tahitian girl anymore.
“It’s really about the island taking over and
proposing a way to manage their resources.”
NATALIE PARLETTAis a freelance science writer based
in South Australia.“We don’t expect to have
rahũi and then for all the
fish to fall from the sky”FROM TOP, L-R: HUTCHINS; GEORDIE TORR; D MCCOY; PHILLIPE BACHET
Issue 86 COSMOS – 85SUSTAINABILITY BIOLOGY