ISLA CHIRA, Puntarenas – Traveling to this island, in the Gulf of Nicoya, is like traveling back in time. Life is simple and tranquil – it is a life before Nintendo games and movie theatres, a life before malls and supermarkets.
Isla Chira is one of Central America’s largest islands with five towns and about 3,000 residents, most of whom survive off fishing.
Residents wake up shortly before sunrise and head to the port to “sweep” the ocean for bait: sardines or prawns. They spend the rest of their morning fishing, return home for lunch and head back out to sea in the afternoon.
Although fishing is traditionally dominated by men, in Chira, women fish alongside the men as multi-colored fishing boats line up next to each other. Sometimes, more than half the town is out fishing at once, leaving the area empty except for the sounds of children and pigs squealing, hens clucking and cows mooing.
When the fish quit biting, the fishermen and women pull up their anchors and migrate – all together – to a different spot and begin all over again.
FISHING is a way of life for the residents of Chira. If the fish populations are low, their lifestyle and their livelihoods are in danger.
María Trinidad Pérez, founder and ex-president of the Association of Fishing Women in the town of Palito, was born in Chira and has been fishing almost her whole life.
“It’s not what it used to be,” she said, while grabbing a shiny sardine and jabbing a hook through its gaping mouth. “There used to be a lot more fish. To get two, three or four fish in a day is a lot now.” She throws the bait overboard and iridescent fish scales stick to her dark hands like dried glue.
In the boat next to hers, a man lays down with the fishing line between his toes and a straw hat across his face shading him from the sun.
Over-fishing has made life even more economically hard on this tight-knit community. Beginning in June, there will be an obligatory three-month fishing moratorium, Pérez said, to help the fish population regroup.
According to a United Nations project description sheet, “many fishermen do not respect the three-month break (when fishing is not allowed), nor the established requirements of the types of fishing nets permitted.”
The government will provide subsidies for that time period, but as of late May, Chira residents were still not sure how much money they would receive.
“The people either work on their homes or community projects during that time,” Pérez said. “My husband and I are thinking about going to San José to work, but we have two children in school.”
After four hours of fishing, Pérez and the rest of the fish harvesters return to shore to sell their catch. Anchors are dropped, knives are brandished, throats are slit and fish guts are thrown into the air to the delight of the circling pelicans, vultures and seagulls.
The tired workers trudge up the beach and line up to sell their fish, holding onto their catch by the gills. The fish are weighed – names and prices are yelled out. Pérez sells her four fish for a total of ¢5,400 ($12.50).
Family members await husbands, wives, fathers and mothers coming in from fishing. Among them is Teodora Medina, patiently looking toward the ocean, arms crossed, while her three children play around her. She is waiting for her husband Gabriel, who was lucky and caught several corbina.
“It’s been three weeks and we haven’t even seen a corbina until today,” Medina said. “Today, they took out 90 kilograms of prawns.”
“They’re going to finish them off. They’re going to finish off everything in the sea,” said Medina, shaking her head.
