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Factory fishing threatens Argentina's fragile waters

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USHUAIA, TIERRA DEL FUEGO, ARGENTINA — Patricio Bogan, owner of Beagle Fisheries in Ushuaia arrives at his plant at dawn and smiles to see his fishermen unloading 10 live red, spiky crustaceans, each fully three feet across.

Creepy crawlers worthy of an Alfred Hitchcock thriller, these are centolla, Spanish for southern king crab. In this town at the tip of South America that prides itself for being the "Southernmost City in the World," centolla are practically a civic symbol. Yet Patricio's smile fades as he looks across the Bay of Ushuaia, an inlet of the Beagle Channel, named for the ship that brought Charles Darwin here in the 1830s. The centolla harvest has declined dramatically in recent years, and those who know these chilly sub-Antarctic waters fear a total collapse.

To feast on fresh centolla at one of Ushuaia's cozy seafood restaurants is a must for tourists, who come to this town of 30,000 to enjoy winter sports in the nearby snowy Andes or to escape the blistering Buenos Aires summer. Restaurants sell a whole centolla for as little as $10, making it Ushuaia's top culinary attraction. It's either basted in garlic butter or served as part of a crème soup accompanied with shrimp and prawns. .

When someone mentions that this finite resource is on the decline, residents frown and often blame Chile, which shares the Beagle Channel where the crustacean is caught. A generally unregulated fishing industry has attracted pirate fishermen, leading to rampant over-exploitation. A quota of only 2 tons of centolla a year was recommended by the scientists to Argentina's federal fishing authority, yet there is little enforcement.

Gustavo Lovrich, a marine biologist at Ushuaia's Centro Austral de Investigaciones Cientificas (CADIC), has studied centolla for 15 years. He worries that fewer females are found every year, meaning that chances for the species to regenerate are also declining. "Centolla is at risk for a quick extinction," he says, sighing.

Another problem is that centolla require at least nine years to reach sexual maturity. That is also when they reach a size that might bring $30 a pound in export markets like the United States.

Do you remember the last time you ate Alaskan king crab? Are you sure it was from Alaska?

The demand for Alaskan king crab, a species that's also declining, remains high, and unbeknownst to consumers, is often satisfied with centolla under a false name. The similarities between the sister crustaceans and the difficulty tasting the difference make the market irresistible to illegal fishermen.

Argentina has an abundance of laws and quotas to protect fish species, but enforcement is stifled by corruption.

Ushuaia fish market owner Fabian Orquiza laughs at the idea of more laws being the solution to centolla over-exploitation. "If everyone followed the fishing laws, there would be no fish in my store!"

Local fishermen are also faced with a complicated application process for fishing permits and expensive fees they can't afford. Forced into fishing illegally, they are primary providers of centolla to Ushuaia's booming restaurant and hotel industry, which routinely buys centolla below market price, no questions asked.

This practice frustrates fisheries owner Bogan, the only legal processor of centolla in Ushuaia. "In this town, if you don't buy centolla from us, you got it illegally. Barely any restaurants or hotels buy from us, so you know centolla shouldn't be there." With no certification system in place, there is no way for the consumer to know whether they are eating centolla caught legally.

On the outskirts of Ushuaia, Federico Tapella of CADIC opens a large steel shed. Inside, a free-standing pool contains seven adult centolla. A series of smaller tanks holds younger specimens. After hatching, they are hardly visible to the naked eye. Even at three years old, they are barely the size of a thumbnail.

Although born to crawl freely on the bottom of 36-degree bays, some investors believe the centolla's future will be confined to over-sized fish tanks that resemble kiddie pools. "Cultivating centolla for consumption could save the wild species," explains Tapella, "but right now the cost of investing in a species that doesn't reach edible sizes until at least seven years is not feasible."

CADIC is working with the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations and with the United Nations Development Program to research what, if any, factors other than over-fishing may be contributing to centolla decline. For now centolla is still disappearing from the Beagle Channel, and Ushuaians have begun to realize that this comes at a cost they can't afford.