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lundi 24 septembre 2018

Inuit, Global Climate Change, and the Need for Arctic Social Science Policy Processes

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Abstract The Inuit people are fortunate that our social structure and systems remained relatively intact up to modern times. Since 1977 much has changed, and the environment is still changing rapidly as new developments and national economic interests change. There are three areas of concern where we feel the need to bring in a new dimension of social science research to bridge a gap in arctic research policy processes: trans-boundary pollution, industrialization of the Arctic, and economic change. The re-evaluation of social sciences in the far north needs to be considered in relating to a group of hunter people interacting with mainstream societies and advanced to promote healthy living in a critical time of global climate change for the fishing peoples of the north and all societies affected. As we respond to change, this need for arctic social science policy and processes would influence a positive new social science framework with understandable social values. Introduction My Inupiaq Eskimo name is Aniqsuaq. I was born in Barrow, Alaska, but I was raised at Iviksuk about 30 miles south of Barrow in a little community of five sod homes among 18 people. I was the youngest of the community who lived in the old Inupiaq way of life, living off the land. We wore traditional fur clothing and traveled by dog team. In 1954 we walked to Barrow to move there permanently, because the government required us to attend school. I still recall the first English words I ever heard. Who is your name?” my teacher asked. That was my introduction to the modern world.
Inuit circumpolar peoples We Inuit are an international community sharing a common language, culture, and a common homeland along the arctic coasts of Siberia, Alaska, Canada, and Greenland. Although not a nation-state, as a people, we do constitute a nation. As we Inuit gathered for the first time in Barrow in 1977, the Mayor of the North Slope Borough, Eben Hopson, commented in his address, “Our language contains the memory of four thousand years of human survival through conservation and good management of our arctic wealth.” That year, we began the Inuit Circumpolar Council to address the modernization of our arctic environment and its impact on our cultures, economies, and other human dimensions of our arctic systems of survival as a hunter-fisher society. We are fortunate that our social structure and systems remained relatively intact up to modern times. Since 1977 much has changed and the environment is still changing rapidly as new developments and national economic interests change. I am reminded of an elderly woman, at our 1980 Inuit Circumpolar Conference in Greenland, as she made a comment that put the Inuit global perspective into focus when she said, “Our land is so big, and yet, it is so small.” To thrive in our circumpolar homeland, Inuit have the vision to realize we must speak with a united voice on issues of common concern and combine our energies and talents toward protecting and promoting our way of life. Because we are hunting societies who use the arctic marine environment to cull food from the bounty of the sea, we consider the Arctic Ocean as our garden around which our social systems and culture are based. In remote villages our hunting and fishing traditions remain strong. We still hunt seals, walrus, whales, beluga, and the polar bear, and fish for arctic char and other arctic fishes from the land and sea. Need for social science involvement The Arctic is an environment that has remained unmolested until the 20th century. However, our social relationship with the outside world is now fraught with unresolved issues that stem from introduction of a modern world and social interactions with new peoples and their cultures. Our social systems are now impacted with new problems and few solutions to resolve the need for modernization of social sciences for the arctic people. Critical theory is a school of thought that stresses the examination and the critique of society and culture, by applying knowledge from the social sciences and the humanities (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Critical_theory).
bring in a new dimension of social science research that hopefully will bridge a missing gap in arctic research policy processes. They are trans-boundary pollution, industrialization of the Arctic, and economic change that impact arctic societies. My point is that there is an important and growing need for the incorporation of social science and policy processes to address human environmental relationships in the far north, in the continuing modernization of our arctic communities and societies. Trans-boundary pollution Most people think of the Arctic as one of the last great unspoiled environments on earth. As science advanced to study climate change in the Arctic, we now know our citizens and denizens are highly contaminated. Arctic researchers have discovered that arctic people and animals carry chemicals that in subtle ways may injure the health of people and predators alike. Yet we Inuit and other fishing peoples of the North continue to depend on the arctic food chain for sustenance. The trans-boundary contaminants that our food resources carry may be able to mutate genes, damage cells, and possibly cause cancer among people and animals alike. As we hunt and fish for food we feel somewhat helpless because we know it is an unseen crisis getting worst over time. Yet my good friend from Qaanaaq in Greenland, Uusaqqaq Qujaukitsoq, whom I met on the Monzino Polar Expedition in 1972, would say “peqqinnartoq,” it is healthy food. And so it is as compared to store bought, factory processed foods from the south we now purchase in local markets. Our diets of seal, narwhale, walrus, and polar bear are more fitting to our arctic environment, compared to farm raised cows, pigs, and chickens of the south. It is also much cheaper to rely on our own nutritionally balanced arctic natural resources to maintain a healthy body for arctic survival. The shock by modern scientists to find transboundary pollutants within our bodies in the Arctic may have initially raised alarm. “Stop eating these foods!” was the outcry. But what about the socio-cultural impacts of switching from a hunter’s diet of arctic animals to farm-raised diets that may have chemicals that cause obesity and diabetes among other illnesses foreign to arctic residents? What I describe here opens the need for application of social sciences and policy development in a new way. I don’t mean anthropology—we already have plenty of that going on, but other branches of social research focusing on social processes in microeconomics, and in education based on the struggles and triumphs of daily life of arctic residents. And it is important to address law from the socio-cultural context, so we may understand the moral and ethical aspects of legal policy applied from distance places to the north. New social science research and processes may address innovative environmental relationships to bring about a balance of the common wealth for the northern and southern lex in a critical time of global climate change affecting all arctic residents, especially the fishing peoples of the north.

Community Interpretations of Fishing Outside Legal Regulations: A Case Study from Northwest Russia

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Abstract Salmon fishing has become a key local resource in several villages on the White Sea coast as a result of post-socialist transformations in Russia. Management of this resource was heavily regulated by the state during Soviet times. The situation changed after the collapse of the socialist regime, when fishing for salmon individually became more easily available. Depending on whether they are local or incomers, people tend to ascribe different values to salmon as a resource. Both groups are involved in the commodification of salmon. Incomers, however, tend to focus more on a commercial meaning of salmon. Although local people also ascribe high commercial value to salmon, they attribute noncommercial meanings to it at the same time. Local people share fishing resources with others more generously compared to incomers. In this paper I look at the difference in meanings ascribed to salmon by local people and incomers, as it reveals itself in people’s attitudes toward fishing outside legal regulations. Introduction Salmon fishing has become a key local resource in several villages on the White Sea coast in northwest Russia after the collapse of the socialist regime. Management of this resource used to be heavily regulated by the state during the Soviet period. The situation changed after the end of Soviet rule, as fishing for salmon individually became more easily accessible. Depending on whether they are local or incomers, people tend to ascribe different values to salmon as a resource. Both groups are involved in the commodification of salmon. Incomers, however, tend to focus more on a commercial meaning of salmon. Although local people also ascribe high commercial value to salmon, they attribute communal meanings to it at the same time. By “communal” I mean those aspects of resource significance that reflect local values and habitual ways of dealing with things in the village. One such value is disinterested sharing of resources with others. By “commercial” I imply those qualities of resources that can bring material profit. In this paper, I look at the difference in attitudes toward salmon among local people and incomers, as it reveals itself in people’s attitudes toward fishing outside legal regulations. I relate my research findings to insights from literature on compliance in natural resource harvesting (Forsyth et al. 1998, Muth and Bowe 1998, Dietz et al. 2003, Gezelius 2004, Hauck 2008), with a particular focus on the role of morality in fishing outside legal regulations (Wilson 2002, Gezelius 2004). I explore these themes within a context of postsocialist transformations in the remote Russian countryside. The paper introduces the place where I conducted fieldwork and comments on my methodology. This is followed by a section on the history of salmon fishing in the area. Next I discuss the variety of people’s attitudes toward illegal fishing and introduce a distinction between communal attitudes toward salmon fishing as expressed by local people, and commercial attitudes as expressed by incomers. In the final section of the paper, I situate my research findings in a wider context of post-socialist transformations in Russia. Research context and methodology The paper is based on data that I collected in several villages on the White Sea coast in northwest Russia throughout 2005-2011. I made about 15 fieldwork trips to different villages, of no longer than two months each. I had a part-time job as well as other commitments during that time and therefore could not conduct a long-term continuous fieldwork. I spent about 20 months in the field altogether. I do not provide further geographic details or names of villages for the sake of confidentiality, as I touch upon a sensitive subject such as fishing outside official regulations. I use a collective designation “the village” throughout the text. People living in the village belong to a local group of Russians who traditionally have been called “Pomors,” from Russian “po moriu” which means “by sea.” The name has been historically applied to Russians living along the White Sea and Barents Sea coasts. Pomors are considered to share certain economic and cultural features that distinguish them from other Russians. Russian people first came to the White Sea coast in the middle of the 11th century, attracted by fishing and hunting opportunities (Ushakov 1972).
The process of Russian people settling and resettling in the area of the White Sea coast continued over a long period of time, and encompassed vast territories. Therefore no single Pomor identity formed and the name was used differently from one area to another. In the course of the 18th century, the name Pomors was extended to all Russian people living along the White Sea coastline (Bernshtam 1978 p. 78). In the village, hardly a day passes without somebody visiting or leaving the place. There are two main groups of incomers: people who have relatives or friends there and people who do not. Among the latter, there are mainly fishermen and tourists. Not reflected in official statistics, this population dynamic reveals itself in collective designations such as “mestnyi” (means local) or “priezzhii” (means incomer), which describe people’s positions in relation to the village and which people sometimes use to draw distinctions between each other. In this paper, I differentiate between local people and incomers as the two groups reveal different attitudes toward salmon as a resource. By local people I mean those who live in the village permanently, or are former permanent villagers who now come to the village for temporary visits. Incomers are people who come from elsewhere and are not kin or close friends to anyone in the village. They can be both permanent dwellers and temporary visitors. There is no rigid opposition between the two groups; they are not homogeneous and there are differences within each group. However, it is secondary to the main difference between attitudes toward fish among local people and incomers. I collected most of my ethnographic data through participant observation. My daily life in the village mainly consisted of participating in people’s quotidian activities, such as walking, fishing, having tea, and socializing. During my stay in the village I also recorded public events, interviewed people, and conducted informal conversations on various village matters. I paid particular attention to the role of salmon in the village and to how people obtain fish and share it with others. In the course of fieldwork, my own status in the village shifted from that of a guest to that of a friend. The shift was reflected in changed ways of obtaining salmon. In the beginning, people would often come to me a few days before my departure and give me fish to take home. As I kept returning to the village, people gradually stopped giving me fish like that and if I wanted to take home some salmon, I had to make a specific effort to obtain it. The word salmon is hardly ever used by people in the village. Instead, they normally say “fish,” as the following example from my fieldwork illustrates: Walking through the village in the afternoon in early December I meet Tania, a young woman in her late twenties. Tania stops for a smoke and a chat. After we habitually exchange our opinions on weather Tania says: the fish is coming now. “What fish?” I ask. Tania looks at me in astonishment, “Are you stupid?” I feel rather embarrassed and hesitatingly ask, “You mean… salmon?” “Of course!” she replies. Examples of this kind helped me to gain further insight into the role of salmon in villagers’ everyday lives. “Without fish, there would be nothing here!” The role of salmon fishing in the local economy People in the village say, “without fish, there would be nothing here.” The fish that attract the majority of incomers to the village today have been the main attraction of the area for centuries. Lajus (2008) makes the point that salmon fishing has never been a means of subsistence for Pomors, but rather a source of living as they traded fish for other goods. Pomors maintained very close contacts with their agricultural past; they traded fish to buy grains and other food that constituted an integral part of their diet. The fishing season in the village usually starts in late May, lasts through summer, and finishes in late autumn. During this period salmon come into the river from the White Sea and travel upstream. Peaks of the fish run are during the high water period from late spring until the end of June and from the end of August until middle or late autumn. Salmon fishing in the village has always been done both in the river and at sea. While in the past sea fishing was on a larger scale compared to the river, nowadays it is the other way around. There are not enough people or equipment such as big boats and longlines to carry out extensive fishing at sea. Before the Soviet period, fishing was done by individuals within a community and by monasteries (Lajus et al. 2010). For sea fishing, the coastline was divided into sectors called “toni” (plural of “tonia”), which were distributed among fishermen. Each tonia had a specific name. It included part of the sea, a stretch of coastline, and houses. With the start of the fishing season in spring those fishermen who possessed a tonia moved with their families from the village down to the coast and lived there in a fishing house until the end of the season in the autumn. Often several families shared a house. Fishing was done with the help of longlines. Several longlines were set up one after another, starting from the shore and perpendicular to it and stretching out toward the open sea. Usually fishing was a job for the men, whereas women were busy with work around the house such as cooking or looking after children. However, it was not uncommon that women were involved in fishing too, when there were no men in the family who could do that.

The Aha Moku: An Ancient Native Hawaiian Resource Management System

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Abstract Over the last 40 years, there has been movement for Hawaiian Native people to return to being a Kanaka Maoli. Kanaka Maoli are guided by an ancient chant with generational knowledge. In the ancient system, experts were brought together to create a council to ensure that management of the resources would continue to provide for the people at its fullest potential. This was called the Aha Moku, a system that has defined areas within each island, puts the resource first, and makes use of respectful protocols. In 2007, following several statewide gatherings where resource generational knowledge was shared, the Aha Moku process was introduced as legislation in Hawaii as Act 212. The Act would ensure that the people of their respective Moku were allowed to be part of resource management decisions that affect their Moku. Today Kanaka Maoli continue to work with legislators to formally recognize the Aha Moku system. Federal agencies that have embraced the system include the U.S. Army Corp of Engineers in Hawaii, the Western Pacific Regional Fishery Management Council, and Haleakala National Park. Introduction It is difficult to write a scientific manuscript for a people’s cultural belief and social structure. Using a “Western science format” to measure or even statistically show an ancient practice is impracticable. It is especially difficult to use a scientific format with knowledge that has been relayed through oral history. What was written was censored, changed, and even misunderstood. When our Native Hawaiian people were exposed to the truth on what has happened to our culture, it became the mission for some Native Hawaiian people today to instinctively bring back our traditional ways. These traditions have been proven to work. The last 232 years of Western influence has led our Native Hawaiians to near extinction, including a complete ban of our language, practices, traditional culture, and most importantly, our management of natural resurces. Kanaka Maoli and the Kumulipo There has been movement, over the last 40 years, for our Native people to return to being a Kanaka Maoli (Kah-NAH-kah Mah-OH-lee). In very general terms, Kanaka Maoli is a Native Hawaiian. The Kanaka Maoli are guided by an ancient chant called the Kumulipo (Koomoo-LEE-poh). This ancient chant, with over 2,000 verses, has been passed from generation to generation since the beginning of our people. We call this passing of knowledge from one generation to the next “generational knowledge.” The timeline defining the beginning of our people has been debated among the scientific and Native communities. However, the sacred Kumulipo has been referred to as our “creation chant” or “the beginning of our time.” This chant profoundly describes how, what, when, where, and why Native Hawaiian resources and people came into existence. The Kumulipo probes deep by explaining how things became livable for our people. The feats of our spiritual beliefs are complicated and cannot be explained in a single document such as this. However, it is important to understand that our belief is that the natural resources are always first priority. Our people believe that people are to be the guardians of theses resources, and the best guardians of resources are those who depend on them. The Kumulipo inventories, guides, and reflects the importance of what truly defines our culture. It is our beginning, our roots, our responsibility, and our honor. It separates us from others, and this is okay. Accepting that we are different is good. It leads to mutual respect. It is when we ignore that we are different and force our ways onto others that leads us to division. Aha Moku A series of gatherings, called Puwalu (poo-VAH-loo), occurred on the island of Oahu in 2005, 2006, and 2007. The Puwalu brought Kanaka Maoli from the Hawaiian Islands together to share our generational knowledge. Knowledge was shared between farmers, fishermen, medicinal leaders, aquaculturists, spiritual leaders, hula experts, resource managers, gatherers, and teachers of our traditions.
One Kanaka Maoli, the late John Kaimikaua, a hula master from the island of Molokai, shared his knowledge of an ancient system called Aha Moku (Ah-hah-MOHkoo). He left us a message that forever will change our views of what being Kanaka Maoli really is. He left us the Aha Moku prophecy as it was passed on to him; it is the foundation for our being in existence today. The Aha Moku system is an ancient concept that was created during a time when our Native people were so abundant that the management of resources was inevitable. Management methods developed in a way that was so natural that it can be described as instinctive. Once our Kanaka Maoli understood that the goal for our survival is to put our natural resources first, it was easy to understand the concept of the Aha Moku. Ancient spiritual leaders observed that the fresh waters from land that meet the salt waters of the ocean were a natural phenomenon. The baby fish that were spawned in these waters were so abundant that they appeared as a mass that moved back and forth, like a cloud cutting through the sky. These baby fish were known as “kiole” (key-OHleh). When the spiritual leaders looked onto the land, they saw that the abundance of people mirrored this cloud of fish. It was decided then, that a resource management system was needed, hence the creation of the Aha Moku system. “Aha,” in simple terms, is a natural fiber cord woven from smaller cords, so precise that each smaller cord shares the workload when the larger cord is in use. Metaphorically, it is more complex. The smaller cords of the Aha represent persons who are experts. In our Puwalu these were the farmers, fishermen, medicinal leaders, etc. In the ancient system, these experts were brought together to create a council of experts. The council would combine their observational and generational knowledge to ensure that management of the resources would continue to provide for the people at its fullest potential. The experts came together, evenly sharing the workload, focusing on their responsibilities, making the Aha strong. In many instances, restrictions were placed to protect resources and allow for natural reproductive cycles to occur. The people followed protocols for these restrictions to observe natural processes and gain valuable knowledge to be passed to the next generation. Our people knew that nature, unlike people, has no protocols. Hawaii is made up of many islands. The eight larger islands are commonly known as the “main Hawaiian Islands”: Maui, Molokai, Lanai, Kahoolawe, Oahu, Kauai, Hawaii, and the privately owned island of Niihau. Every area on each of these islands is different, as tiny as they may be. Each island has different areas that are dry, wet, windy, rocky, with mountains, wetlands, shoreline cliffs, beaches, sand, etc. The amount of freshwater within these areas will differ, and therefore the resources and styles of fishing will differ. “Moku” are regional boundaries on each island formed to ensure that the protocols that were placed among the people were applicable for that area. When these Moku were established they included five common elements: land, shoreline, ocean, water, and air (to include celestial bodies and heavens). For example, the island of Maui has 12 Moku (Fig. 1). Once the Moku were established, then, like the Aha cord, smaller land divisions known as Ahupuaa (ah-hoo-poo-AH-ah) were placed within the Moku to evenly share the workload. Each individual and each family would be responsible for their role in managing the resources within the Ahupuaa. An important point to make is that the people of each Moku set their appropriate resource management protocols. Each Moku had their site-specific Aha councils to ensure that the balance between nature and people was intact and properly functioning. Equally important, the people of each Moku had mutual respect for the resources, and the people in other Moku were respectful of the protocols for that Moku.

Resisting the Imminent Death of Wild Salmon: Local Knowledge of Tana Fishermen in Arctic Norway

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Abstract In 2009 the Norwegian Directorate of Nature Management warned that the Atlantic salmon population in the Tana River in arctic Norway was dramatically reduced. Active measures had to be taken to prevent extinction. Local fishermen protested against this description of the cause of events. On fishing expeditions, expert claims were continuously discussed. Such conversations were, and are, a substantial part of everyday conversation among local fishermen. In this article, the fishermen’s conversations are used as an entry into particular aspects of local knowledge, its relational nature, and the implicit epistemological politics. As their witness, during hours of fishing and conversing, I observed how the fishermen scrutinized scientific knowledge claims. They didn’t just question and compare the expert’s knowledge claims with what they themselves knew. Significantly, the fishermen made comparisons of how knowing was done. The ongoing conversations of the fishermen enacted a resistance more complex than was visible at first sight. Positing fisheries science as the “Other,” local knowledge was enacted and assembled as fluid and heterogeneous, including numerous unequal and loosely assembled entities. Introduction In the years 2009-2010 the Norwegian Directorate of Nature Management and related environmental institutions all claimed the urgent need to protect the wild Atlantic salmon populations in the Tana River in arctic Norway. According to environmental authorities, active measures had to be taken to prevent a further decline of local salmon species. In the Tana Valley, many fishermen did not agree with this description. In their opinion, ebbs and flows in the fishing populations were part of life. Fishing restrictions were therefore an unwelcome prospect. As the Directorate attempted to reduce both the fishing time and the number of fishermen on the river, protests came in many forms. This article is about the fishermen’s ongoing commentary on the experts’ predictions of the state of the Tana River Atlantic salmon populations. I wish to make these daily conversations, undertaken in the course of fishing and other salmon-related practices, my point of access into local ecological knowledge (LEK). Although a substantial number of the population along the Tana River in Finnmark consider themselves to be Sami, many are not so clear on their ethnic identity. There are also a number of non-Sami, Kvæn, and Finnish along the river. I therefore choose not to engage in a discussion regarding differences between indigenous knowledge (IK) and local ecological knowledge. All of us who work with groups that rely on centrally governed natural resources will recognize this kind of ongoing commentary of an expert’s opinions. In this text, I suggest that these conversations offer particular insights into local knowledge. Local knowledge may, as we all know, complement scientific knowledge. For the last three decades, many fishery scientists have substantially benefited from the collaboration with fishermen (Ludwig et al. 1993, Johannes 1993, Mackinson 2001). Fishermen, for example, have contributed to fish science on subjects central to their professional exercise, such as observations of fish behavior and distribution, as well as feeding habits, habitats, and fish movements (Johannes 1993, Eythorsson 1993, Mackinson and Nøttegård 1998, Pinkerton 1989, Mackinson 2001, Aswani and Lauer 2006). Articles on such exchanges of knowledge provide the impression of that local knowledge being in a form immediately available to science. In this article, I am interested in less specific kinds of local knowledge, the kinds that scientists, at least in the Tana River, show little interest in. There are several reasons why this knowledge is not of interest to fish scientists: part of it relates to its form, which is not specific enough to suit scientific purposes. However, this knowledge does, in my opinion, provide us with insights into the particular nature of a local knowledge. By use of the interface between science and fishermen’s knowledge, this chapter provides insight into local Tana fishermen’s epistemology, to how the fishermen know what they know, and what the fishermen think about how scientists and fishery managers know what they know. These insights are useful for purposes such as understanding processes of the collaboration between experts and local knowledge holders (Ween and Riseth 2011), preparing the grounds for co-management structures (Pinkerton 1998), or the joint planning of future regulation (Pinkerton 1989, Berkes and Folke 2000)
The ethnographic material that this article is built upon is assembled from fishing expeditions on the Tana River. It highlights the intersectionality and relationality of local knowledge, as local knowledge is produced and practiced in dynamic adaptive processes (see Berkes 1999, Davidson-Hunt and O’Flaherty 2007). Knowledge is ordered, according to Law and Mol, by structured routine performances that make cause-and-effect relations, and cluster elements and attributes in assemblages (1994: 643). These assemblages often emerge as entangled. I make notes of the topographies of knowledge displayed in the fishermen’s accounts, and the materialities involved (Verran 2002). Local knowledge not only responds to changes in the local environment or to technological innovations, but also engages with other knowledge practices, such as fish management or fish science. In my ethnographic material, the fishermen’s conversations made apparent the complexities of the present knowledge interfaces: how such sites may not necessarily involve smooth mergers, but could involve rubbing or even clashes (Law 2007). In this material, the rubbing involved in these interfaces makes epistemological politics visible, as the fishermen with me as witnesses attempted to translate, comment, and object to what they perceived to be expert knowledge claims (Roth 2005). To my argument it is significant that these ongoing reflections are acts of resistance in more than one way. First, they manifest an objection to the hierarchical relations between scientific knowledge and local knowledge. While scientific knowledge, as already described, is regularly employed to verify the accuracy of local knowledge (DavidsonHunt and O’Flaherty 2007), local knowledge is here applied in similar acts of “Othering,” to confirm or discredit scientific knowledge. Second, as I will show, the fishermen not only question what is known, i.e., the expert claims that salmon are disappearing, but also how scientists and other experts come to know what they know. Let us turn to the Tana River. Salmon trouble in the Tana River Its size and its salmon populations make the Tana River the third largest Atlantic salmon river in the Northern Hemisphere. Along with other key salmon rivers in Norway, it has been protected from salmon farming (NOU 1999: 9). Originating in the far north of Finland and Norway, smaller rivers join up in Tana Valley to form the border between the two nations. Its position as a border river partly explains why the Tana has always been special, both in a Norwegian and a Finnish context. It has also made the regulation of the river cumbersome. The management of the salmon fisheries is a matter of international negotiations. Its management has moreover been complicated by its particular colonial as well as its postcolonial recent history. Colonial relations at the turn of the 19th century made Norwegian authorities introduce a particular kind of user rights for those who farmed land adjacent to the river. Farming, as proper sedentary life, was encouraged by the state and the king. In 1888 such practices became rewarded with the right to fish with nets and for commercial purposes. Provided that the household produced hay for one cow (2000 kg), one member of the household was given the right to fish with nets for commercial purposes. The people in the remaining population were only allowed to fish with rods. In the 1970s the holders of net fishing rights, called Laksebreveiere, became powerful stakeholders, many of whom consider themselves to be Sami. Some three decades later, management of the Tana River changed again with the establishment of the Finnmark Estate (FEFO). When this independent legal body was formed in 2005, the land and resources in the county of Finnmark were handed over to its inhabitants in recognition of the unlawfulness of the state appropriation of Finnmark, as well as the indigenous rights obligations of the Norwegian state (International Labour Organization 169) (Ween and Lien 2012). Following up on the obligations of the Finnmark Act (2005), negotiations to establish local fishery management were started in 2008 and were completed in 2010 with the establishment of the Tana Fiskeforvaltning (Local Fisheries Management). During this process of regulatory changes, negotiations with Finland over the regulation of salmon fisheries were placed on hold. Fishery regulations on the border stretch of the river have effectively not changed since 1989. Local fishermen on the Norwegian side, however, have experienced several restrictions to their fishing times and fishing practices since the 1980s. The fishing season is becoming shorter, fewer salmon fishing lots are renewed, and several restrictions on fishing gear have been introduced (Niemelä et al. 2009, Ween 2010). Despite these restrictions, there are no bag limits in any kind of salmon fishery on the river. The Tana River is also one of the very few salmon rivers in Norway where net fishing is still legal. The salmon here are fished with pursed seine along the coast and in the fjords; they are fished with standing nets in the river too, as well as by local rod fishermen and visiting anglers. When I first came to Tana in May 2009, the future death of Tana wild salmon was prophesied with increasing frequency by natural scientists and environmental institutions1 (see also Niemelä et al. 2009). According to the County Councillor’s Environmental Protection Office, catch reports from 2009 were less than 30 tons, and the average fish weight was a meager 3.27 kilos. To the scientists, this showed a dramatic decrease in the large salmon that the Tana River previously had been so famous for (Niemelä et al. 2009). According to Statistics Norway, the 2009 catch implied an almost 50% decrease from the year before (http://www.ssb.no/elvefiske/). Comparing the 2009 catch with the top seasons in the 1970s, when catches could be up to 250 tons, it further underlined the alarming nature of the situation (Niemelä et al. 2009).

Fishing Audit Technique Guide

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A fishing business is defined as the conduct of commercial fishing via definitions detailed in the Magnuson-Stevens Fishery Conservation and Management Reauthorization Act of 2006, 16 U.S.C. §§ 1801-1884 (2011) ("Sustainable Fisheries Act"). Commercial fishing is fishing in which the fish harvested is entered into commerce through sale, barter or trade. Fishing income is defined as income from catching, taking or harvesting of fish (this includes all forms of aquatic life). The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s National Marine Fisheries Service (NMFS), a division of the Department of Commerce, is the federal agency responsible for the management, conservation and protection of living marine resources within the U. S. Exclusive Economic Zone (water three to 200 miles offshore). Its six Regional Offices and eight Regional Fishery Management Councils have oversight of fishing activities and compliance with fisheries regulations. NMFS publishes information in its annual statistical report, Fisheries of the United States. For 2009, the report states that commercial landings by U.S. fishers at ports in the 50 states were 7.9 billion pounds valued at $3.9 billion. Over 1/3 of both the catch and the value was caught in Alaska. The next three states based on dollar value were Massachusetts, Maine and Louisiana, respectively. The type of vessel and gear, size of crew, and fishery regulation will vary based on location and species. Types of Fishing Operations Generally, there are two types of fishing operations - shore-based and offshore. Shorebased operations use a net from shore to catch fish, dig, or pick aquatic life. Offshore operations use fishing vessels and either nets, lines, pots, traps, or diving gear to catch finfish, shellfish or other aquatic life. There are two basic types of nets used - encircling nets and entangling nets. The encircling nets are purse seine, haul seine, or trawl seine. The fishing vessel circles around the target fishing area, dropping the net in a circular pattern. Once the net is in place, the net is closed, trapping the catch in the net. Entangling nets, also known as gill or trammel nets, catch the fish when the fish try to swim through the nets. The many types of fishing vessels used in the variety of fisheries use different gear and equipment. Some vessels participate in more than one kind of fishery. Some vessels solely catch fish, some vessels catch and process fish, some vessels solely process fish, and some vessels transport fish from the vessel catching the fish to a processing vessel or a shore-based processor.
Most state websites will provide information regarding reporting requirements, licensing and permit information, and the state’s commercial fishing laws. What follows is a limited description of fishing around the country to aid in understanding that not all fishery operations are alike. New England New England’s fishing business consists primarily of owner-operated vessels. The largest are approximately 100 feet long, and most are less than 50 feet long. In spite of the various regulatory agencies, many of the fishing areas are undersupplied, resulting in declining income for the fisherman. The New England Area is primarily known for harvesting the following species - lobster, scallops and ground fish. Income is also derived from seaweed and sponges. Licenses are required in New England for harvesting various sea "products" - lobster, crab, shellfish, quahog, mussels, marine worms, commercial fish, commercial shrimp, and seaweed. The Maine Department of Marine Resources issues lobster licenses, which determine the number of individuals permitted to harvest lobster under the license. A Class 1 license allows only the license holder to harvest lobster. A Class 2 license allows the license holder and one crewmember to harvest. A Class 3 license permits the license holder and two crewmembers to harvest. A single operator license covers the licensed activity for the license holder only. The crew license covers the licensed activity for the license holder as well as all crewmembers. The number of crewmembers allowed to fish under one fishing crew license is unlimited. As long as the fishing license is on the boat, the license holder is not required to be present. The City of Portland, Maine owns a Fish Exchange, which provides seller representation through daily auctions and handles over 90% of Maine’s total catch of regulated ground fish. The Exchange weighs, grades, and sells fishery products, and services financial accounts. Sellers from all over Maine maintain control of their products up to the point of sale. Daily and weekly price reports are available on the Exchange’s website.
Alaska Commercial fisheries in Alaska fall within the mixed jurisdiction of state and federal management authorities. In general, the state has management authority for all salmon, herring and shellfish fisheries, whereas the federal government has management authority for the majority of ground fish fisheries, except for those within three nautical miles of shore and a few others. Commercially important species of seafood from Alaska include five species of salmon, five species of crab, walleye, pollock, Pacific halibut, Pacific cod, sablefish, herring, four species of shrimp, several species of flatfish and rockfish, lingcod, geoducks, sea cucumbers, and sea urchins. The Alaska Department of Fish and Game website is an excellent resource for Alaska fishing information. It provides details on the season, licensing, vessels, gear, catch and ex-vessel price (the price sold by the fishers). The website has descriptions accompanied by pictures of vessels and gear. Gulf Coast All of the Gulf Coast States harvest shrimp from the Gulf of Mexico, commonly referred to as the Gulf. Brown shrimp and white shrimp are most common, although pink, river, rock, roughneck and Royal Red varieties can also be found. Shrimp are sold wholesale by size grade, expressed as the average number of shrimp per pound. The lower the number of shrimp per pound, the larger the average shrimp. For example, 16-20 grade shrimp are larger than 21-25 grade shrimp. Larger shrimp command a higher price than smaller shrimp. Shrimp are sold "head-on" or "headless." Headless shrimp are more expensive because more are required to make a pound and "heading" shrimp (removing the heads) is labor-intensive. Specialized boats (trawlers) use large nets that are dragged through the water to scoop up the shrimp. Due to the type of trawl net used, a variety of other species of aquatic life, called bycatch, is also scooped up. Federal law protects certain species of shark, turtle and dolphin, and requires the use of turtle excluder devices (usually called TEDS). Limited bycatch of some species, such as swordfish, may be retained. Depending on what bycatch occurs, it may be retained for sale to the wholesaler/buyer, eaten by the crew while on the water, or frozen and taken home by the captain and/or crew for personal consumption or casual sale. Catfish are also common to all the Gulf Coast States. In the wild, commercial fishers generally harvest fresh or saltwater catfish by stringing a "trotline" from which are suspended large multi-barbed hooks (treble hooks). The fisher baits the hooks with "trash fish" and "runs the line" morning and evening to pick up the catfish caught by the treble hooks. Sales to the wholesaler/buyer/ processor are usually of whole, fresh, not frozen, fish.
Type of Vessel In your pre-audit analysis, you should review Accurint for business information. As part of the search, obtain a watercraft report. It will provide the vessel name, number, make, use, year, type, length, breadth, depth, gross tons, net tons and propulsion type. Based on information obtained during the initial interview, determine the number of days offshore and the type of vessel(s), and reconcile that information to fuel consumption. Determine the vessel types in service. Processed catch will sell for a different price than catch sold whole. Licenses/Permit Data The state fisheries regulators and the NMFS Regional Offices will have information with respect to licensing and permit requirements. You can obtain this data from most states. If the permit was issued by the NMFS, you can go to its permit page and search types of permits by vessel name. Fishing Season Each fishery has a specific season for each location and species harvested. It is important to understand this in relation to your taxpayer. Does the reported fishing activity correspond with the season? If not, why not? The answer may simply be that the quota for the fishery had been met. See the Alaska Fish and Game website for Commercial Fishing Seasons in Alaska for a good example of fishing seasons, species and permitted method of catch.

Pursuing the Exceptional Buck

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Without a doubt, most deer hunters daydream about putting their tag on a truly exceptional buck sometime during their hunting career. Some hunters eventually get such a buck by pure luck. Others devote most of their deer hunting time specifically to locating what, in their view, are better-thanaverage bucks. Occasionally they are successful at putting themselves in the right place at the right time, but by and large, the vast majority of the legal bucks tagged in California are young deer of average size. When you think about it, there's really nothing wrong with that. The biggest deer in the state are, of course, Rocky Mountain mule deer, which range throughout the West and inhabit the eastern edge of California roughly from Mono County north to the Oregon border and east to Nevada. It is interesting to note that even in the good old days of few restrictions, California's mule deer have not made much of a splash in the record books. However, that does not mean that there are no large, mature bucks taken in California, only that they don't score well Left: This is the only typical mule deer entry from California in the Boone and Crockett records. It was taken in 1943 by Sulo Lakso in Lassen County. John Higley photo. Below: This magnificent nontypical mule deer was taken in Shasta County in 1987 by Artie McGram. Currently it is #8 in the Boone and Crockett all time records.
according to the Boone & Crockett Club (B&C) or Pope and Young measurement systems. Perhaps the biggest limiting factor, in the availability of high-scoring mule deer bucks in California, is the limited number of Rocky Mountain mule deer present here to begin with. When you consider how many thousands of mule deer bucks are taken throughout the West, and how few actually qualify for the book, you must conclude that very few deer in any herd develop antlers that score well from the standpoint of B&C. Finding one of those mossyhorn monsters is a lot like winning the lottery—you always have high hopes but the odds really aren't very good, are they? In the 1991 edition of the official Records of Elk and Mule Deer (published by B&C), the state of Colorado has 167 entries in the typical mule deer category while Nevada, a state also known for big mule deer bucks, has only 10. Nevada, which has far more Rocky Mountain mule deer than California, obviously produces scads of big once-in-a-lifetime bucks that do not score well for B&C. The difference between Nevada and Colorado, besides a lower buck harvest in Nevada, may be attributed, in part, to the configuration and symmetry of the antlers found in various regions. Meanwhile, California has only one typical mule deer listed, a buck killed by a hunter named Sulo Lakso in Lassen County in 1943. Interestingly, the buck was not recognized as a candidate for the B&C records until 1987! Incidentally, the body size of these record bucks doesn't mean a thing and you'll find that adult mule deer in good condition from California compare favorably with same age bucks from any other western state. That said, it's entirely possible that other potential record-book mule deer bucks were taken occasionally in the old days by hunters who simply tossed the antlers in the barn or discarded them. The obvious question is, have our deer gotten smaller? Probably not. While it's true that there were some absolutely monstrous deer (body-wise) reported in the 1930s, including a confirmed report of a buck from Lassen County that apparently weighed 320 pounds field-dressed, some reports from that time indicate that there were actually fewer deer to begin with. And certainly there was less hunting pressure. To produce really big-bodied and big-antlered mule deer takes a combination of good feed, proper minerals and longevity. A buck's antlers really don't reach their full potential until the animal is between 4 and 7 years of age. One DFG biologist explains it this way, "I've kept track of some of the biggest bucks taken in northern California and I've seen a pattern. Genetics are important, but it appears that genetics dictate the configuration of a buck's antlers while nutrition has a lot to do with size. However, there's more to it. Not only does a buck have to have the right genes and nutrition, but he also has to live long enough to develop fully, and very few California bucks have that opportunity." Surprisingly, California hunters have done a bit better with mule deer bucks in the non-typical category, placing 4 in the B&C book, including a monster buck taken by Artie McGram in Shasta County in 1987. McGram's buck is currently listed as number 8 in the all-time B&C records. Other nontypical bucks include two from Modoc County and one from Mariposa County, which was killed in 1972. The Mariposa buck, taken by Harold Laird, is currently number 4 in the book. All of this is not meant to discourage you from looking for a big buck when you have a tag for one of the areas that might produce such an animal for you. Just remember, “exceptional” is in the eye of the beholder and the truth of the matter is that the vast majority of the large mule deer taken throughout the West simply do not score well enough to be entered in the pages of the B&C records book. That brings up another point. Perhaps there is too much emphasis these days on how well a particular buck scores and too little emphasis on the rewards of an enjoyable, challenging hunting experience, successful or not. When you get right down to it, a big adult of any of the subspecies of mule deer found in California is truly exceptional even if it isn't qualified to enter the book. Bear in mind that the only subspecies of mule deer listed in the records separately from mule deer are Columbian black-tailed deer and they qualify only if they come from an area specified by B&C. Any black-tailed deer outside of the area must be measured as a mule deer because the deer in question is apt to be a hybrid of the two. (See the black-tail deer range description that accompanies this chapter.)

A Hunter's Code of Ethics

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1. When hunting private land, I will consider myself an invited guest of the landowner, seeking permission to hunt and conducting myself so that I, and others, may be welcome in the future.
 2. I will not misuse or abuse public property upon which the future of hunting depends. Indiscriminate shooting, littering, and other acts of vandalism destroy these places for everyone.
 3. I will obey the rules of safe gun-handling and will courteously but firmly insist that others who hunt with me do the same.
 4. I will obey all game laws and regulations, and will insist that my companions do likewise.
 5. I will do my best to acquire those marksmanship and hunting skills which assure clean, sportsmanlike kills.
 6. I will support conservation efforts which can assure good hunting for future generations.
 7. I will pass on to younger hunters the attitudes and skills essential to a true outdoor sports person.

The ethical hunter recognizes the need for these laws which help perpetuate hunting. Poaching is an activity contrary to regulated hunting—it actually amounts to stealing from legitimate hunters and other people who value wildlife resources. Hunters should take pride in their role in the conservation of wildlife and wildlife habitat. Sportsmen and sportswomen will not, and cannot, accept poaching as a normal part of the outdoor scene. Neither should they ignore the actions of those people identified as slob hunters for the latter damage the reputation of all hunters simply by association. Safety and ethics go hand in hand. When both are properly observed they contribute greatly to your personal self-esteem and your image, as seen by others. Ideally, hunting teaches responsibility not only to yourself and fellow hunters, but to wildlife resources, as well. reporting game violations. In this day and age it's important that we do not ignore violations in the field involving California's fish and wildlife resources. That's why the CalTIP program (which stands for Californians Turn In Poachers) became reality. If you witness a poaching incident, or have information regarding such a violation, dial the toll-free Department of Fish and Game number 1-888-DFG-CalTIP (888-334-2258). This number is answered 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Your identity will be protected. You will not have to give your name and you won't be required to testify. You will be assigned a code number and that will be your only way to identify yourself. If and when the information leads to an arrest, you may claim your reward—an amount up to $1,000.

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