For half a century, Takeo Nakajo has been catching katsuo, or skipjack tuna — indispensable in Japanese cuisine whether eaten raw, dried or used as a base for the broth.
But he and other fishermen in Kure, in Kochi prefecture in southwest Japan, have seen something worrying in the past two years — an unprecedented number of unusually fatty katsuo.
While heavier katsuo means more money, locals and experts say it indicates climate change and a risk for katsuo numbers already under threat due to growing demand and overfishing.
Photo: Reuters
“The fatty katsuo must have something to do with the water temperature,” said the 70-year-old Nakajo. “I have a sense of urgency thinking what if katsuo doesn’t come to the bay some day.”
Noriaki Ito, the head chef at a century-old restaurant Tsukasa in Kochi City, said he too had “never seen such fatty katsuo during this season of the year.”
This is worrying as changes in the sea and climate have already wiped out some other fish “including a shellfish called chambara-gai that used to be Kochi’s speciality,” Ito added.
Photo: Reuters
Originally from tropical waters, some Pacific katsuo migrate northward on a warm ocean current every spring, making Kochi’s arc-shaped bay a fertile fishing ground.
The average surface temperature of the bay in winter has risen by 2 degrees Celsius in the four decades to 2015, local fisheries lab data shows, and the fatter katsuo may be due to ample prey in the warmer sea.
But longer term, this warming may prevent mineral-rich water from rising to the surface, resulting in a drop in plankton and smaller fish to feed on, leading to fewer katsuo, said Hiroyuki Ukeda, an agroscientist and vice president of Kochi University.
This comes as Japan’s aging population is threatening the sustainability of local fishing and related businesses such as the production of dried and fermented katsuo, and wasabi horseradish — an eye-watering condiment tucked under fish in a piece of sushi.
In Kure, a district in Nakatosa town, many fishermen have gone out of business in the past three decades, said Takahiro Tanaka, a fourth-generation owner of a fishmonger who calls himself a “katsuo sommelier.”
“We can distinguish different tastes of katsuo, just like ordinary French farmers may savor subtleties of wine ... this place might be one of Japan’s last communities where katsuo is part of the daily culture,” he added.
“But without fishers, this won’t last,” Tanaka said.
Fisherman Nakajo also rued the aging community and fewer successors. “I asked my grandson if he would take over, but he’s now studying to work at a government office,” Nakajo said.
SUSHI CULTURE AT RISK
Overfishing has already hit catch numbers and dealt a blow to the fishermen in Kochi who have stuck to traditional single pole fishing methods versus large-scale seine fishing across the western Pacific.
Government data shows catch numbers in Kochi are only at a quarter of their 1980s peak.
“We have observed a catastrophic decline in landings over the last 10 years or so,” said Ukeda.
“A growing number of people fear we may no longer be able to eat katsuo in the near future if things continue like this.”
Production of katsuobushi, dried and fermented katsuo, often used as a shaved condiment over traditional Japanese dishes or as a broth base, is already suffering.
The number of katsuobushi manufacturers in Kochi has plunged from dozens some 40 years ago to only a few, said Taichi Takeuchi, who runs one in the town of Usa.
“I’m really unsure if we can continue this,” said Takeuchi.
In Taiwan there are two economies: the shiny high tech export economy epitomized by Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co (TSMC, 台積電) and its outsized effect on global supply chains, and the domestic economy, driven by construction and powered by flows of gravel, sand and government contracts. The latter supports the former: we can have an economy without TSMC, but we can’t have one without construction. The labor shortage has heavily impacted public construction in Taiwan. For example, the first phase of the MRT Wanda Line in Taipei, originally slated for next year, has been pushed back to 2027. The government
July 22 to July 28 The Love River’s (愛河) four-decade run as the host of Kaohsiung’s annual dragon boat races came to an abrupt end in 1971 — the once pristine waterway had become too polluted. The 1970 event was infamous for the putrid stench permeating the air, exacerbated by contestants splashing water and sludge onto the shore and even the onlookers. The relocation of the festivities officially marked the “death” of the river, whose condition had rapidly deteriorated during the previous decade. The myriad factories upstream were only partly to blame; as Kaohsiung’s population boomed in the 1960s, all household
Allegations of corruption against three heavyweight politicians from the three major parties are big in the news now. On Wednesday, prosecutors indicted Hsinchu County Commissioner Yang Wen-ke (楊文科) of the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT), a judgment is expected this week in the case involving Hsinchu Mayor Ann Kao (高虹安) of the Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) and former deputy premier and Taoyuan Mayor Cheng Wen-tsan (鄭文燦) of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) is being held incommunicado in prison. Unlike the other two cases, Cheng’s case has generated considerable speculation, rumors, suspicions and conspiracy theories from both the pan-blue and pan-green camps.
Stepping inside Waley Art (水谷藝術) in Taipei’s historic Wanhua District (萬華區) one leaves the motorcycle growl and air-conditioner purr of the street and enters a very different sonic realm. Speakers hiss, machines whir and objects chime from all five floors of the shophouse-turned- contemporary art gallery (including the basement). “It’s a bit of a metaphor, the stacking of gallery floors is like the layering of sounds,” observes Australian conceptual artist Samuel Beilby, whose audio installation HZ & Machinic Paragenesis occupies the ground floor of the gallery space. He’s not wrong. Put ‘em in a Box (我們把它都裝在一個盒子裡), which runs until Aug. 18, invites