Three parts to the puzzle

In trying to piece together the internal tickings of at least one fishery here in Newfoundland, it seems like three factors come into play, and have a huge influence on all island fishermen and a noticeable effect on entire rural communities. Although unrelated, I throw all three together here. Keep in mind that I’m attempting to showcase the perspective of island fishermen I’ve spoken with and so in turn my information may be biased, slightly incorrect, and is certainly under-researched. It is, however, the reality for the fishermen I’ve met.

The Moratorium
In 1992, after conceding that the Grand Banks groundfish stock was showing unmistakable signs of a complete collapse, the Canadian government (FAO) closed Newfoundland waters to all fishing which targeted groundfish. Foreign vessels still fished waters, while even subsistence fishing was prohibited. Communities which had been created around cod fishing were abruptly altered. Unemployment and alcoholism rates rose, and people began leaving the small towns for St. John’s or headed off-island. I’m told that the moratorium effectively killed the nearshore fishing fleet. The midsized fleet quickly diversified to target other fish, and the existing non-cod fishermen (say, lobstermen) were suddenly competing against a crowd.

Today, 16 years after the moratorium, the event is still a bitter subject on the docks, causing widespread head shaking and cynicism, and many fishing grounds are still closed. Although some have pointed out that the value of upstart fisheries (mainly crab and shrimp) since the initial moratorium exceeds the highest value ever attained in the peak of the Grand Bank cod fishery, fishermen are quick to point towards a common sight in many of the outport towns- the rotting skeletons of small fishing boats. Clearly, the internal structuring of the island’s fisheries was significantly altered, and fewer nearshore boats survived.

Employment Insurance
Known locally as pogey, EI is the Canadian parallel to collecting unemployment in the US. This social program, for better or worse, plays a significant role in the dynamics of Newfoundland fishing communities. The design is interesting in that a person can collect from EI only if he/she has a work history from that year, and increased wages earned while working qualify a person for higher EI benefits. This is intended to help seasonal workers, such as fishermen, make it through the offseason.

Fishermen are entitled to two claims per year, for as long as six months per claim. I’m told that some fishermen are strategic about their work: they fish for an intense period in the spring, collect EI for the summer, fish for another spell in the fall, and return to their pogey for the winter. As far as I could tell, there is no stigma attached to collecting EI. A few younger fisherman had their own nickname for the program- unenjoyment insurance- and spoke of how dull winter life was in the outports, with no work to make the time pass by. Nothing to do but spend money, drink, and get into trouble, they told me. Work was more fun than this.

Out of curiosity, I wandered into an employment assistance office one day, and began asking a friendly lady who worked there about the specifics of their EI program. She told me unabashedly, but in a quiet voice, “Everybody around here collects in the winter, and then goes and works on top of it. I mean everybody. I even used to collect and then work part-time here in the office. It’s just part of life, how we get by. But don’t tell my boss, I’m not sure if she does that.” In Newfoundland, it seems that pogey is in bed with fishing, and that seems to be fine.

Tar Sands of Alberta
Newfoundland has a population of 450,000 people or so, and is losing a trickle of people every year. In recent years, a major draw out of Newfoundland has been the lure of quick money working in the oil fields/tar sands of Alberta. Who cares, eh? Well, young males from the island outports are the main group heading out west, and this is the demographic that in years past would make up the bulk of up-and-coming fishermen.

By enticing a particular slice of rural Newfoundland off-island, petro-based work in Alberta has a indirect, but significant, effect on Newfoundland fishing communities. Young fathers are away from home for much of the year, or young families decide to emigrate west. Reliable deckhands are hard to come by, and so turnover on the boats is high, accidents are more likely, and skippers’ jobs are more stressful. In some families the fishing baton isn’t relayed to the next generation. Perhaps this in an inevitable transition, but the effect is apparent and has come up a bunch in conversations around town.

Just one perspective on three issues facing Newfoundland outports. Perhaps this spoils the simple, romantic image that some have about commercial fishing. Perhaps it should.