Sea urchin fishing | “I like the feeling of picking with my hands”

(Port of Gros-Cacouna) The tide is at its highest. The waves in the St. Lawrence estuary are less than a meter, the wind is light. Rare weather, perfect for setting sail with the crew of the Bicois II, the fishing boat of a member of the Wolastoqiyik Wahsipekuk community. On board, there are the Maliseet captain, his second in command, three sailors and three divers. Colossi surrounded by their oxygen bottles and a hundred boxes for harvesting.

“You will see, divers are war machines. My job is to lead them to the water, in the direction of the current, where they want to fish,” says captain Bastien Gingras-Nicolas, flicking the rudder to starboard.

One of the methods for fishing for sea urchins consists of casting a large net mounted on a sled which will dredge the seabed before being hauled up mechanically. All while trying not to damage the ecosystem. The technique is authorized in rare fishing zones in Quebec, in the north of the St. Lawrence estuary.

The other method is artisanal. This is the method used by the indigenous community of Cacouna, more perilous, very delicate. And titanic. Fishing by hand does not damage the seabed and disturbs marine species less. This is what is very special about this type of fishing.

This technique consists of diving into freezing waters, several meters deep, then palming through the algae, lifting the stones one by one to find the sea urchin tillers and picking them by hand.

Once filled, a net that can hold several hundred pounds of green sea urchins is attached to a buoy. The diver then embarks on another underwater wake, another collection. To the limits of his oxygen tank.

Like strawberries

9:30 a.m. Antony Jean puts on his scuba gear after devouring a cake covered in cream sugar and marshmallows. The diver has several sea urchin fishing seasons under his belt. His hands are covered in cysts swollen from sea hedgehog bites. The strong fellow draws a parallel between sea urchin fishing and strawberry picking.

The captain listens to the divers’ instructions. Buoys are positioned in the water with the help of sailors. Antony and his two colleagues put on gloves, hoods and canisters. The boat has barely stopped when they have already disappeared into the waves.

On the deck, the sailors are busy. They line up four large boxes (pans in fishermen’s jargon) that can each contain 60 pounds of sea urchins. The first set of bins is marked with red ribbons. These are Antony’s boxes. There are the white boxes, those of diver Patrick Sharkey. And there are the roses, from Alexis Cousineau, a guy from Montreal, underlines the second captain, Nidal Bondidane.

Suddenly, there is movement around a buoy. The captain cuts the engines and activates the hydraulic system. The second catches the buoy using a long pole. An enormous yellow net is raised, hundreds of echinoids fall into the boxes, then are transferred by the sailors to a cart. The little ones are put back in the water, the ones that are too pale, the deformed or the too dark, too.

11:45 a.m. The boat’s hold is full of boxes. Nearly fifty. On deck, the sailors continue to sort sea urchins. These are those brought up by the diver “Sharkey”. With the help of a knife, he cuts some sea urchins in two to measure their quality. He grimaces as he throws some overboard. Then finally comes across a perfect sphere, which he holds out with one hand so that The Press can gauge the taste, sweet, iodized.

“Inside there are what we call gonads,” he explains. We are looking for a pearly, shiny orange, the perfect color. I’ve been diving here for years, I know where to find them. It works a bit like red meat. The better it is, the more expensive it is on the market. »

It’s around 2 p.m. Sailors are stretching, Guillaume Fortin-Leclair and Félix Massicotte have hands reddened by the cold water from sorting. Some change gloves. We’re freezing. Divers Alexis and Antony decide to make one last dive. They each ask for two fillets.

“We’re going to finish late today,” slips sailor Darcy Lévesque as he sweeps the deck of the boat to return the remains of the harvest to the river. The sun is setting when Alexis Cousineau takes off his diving suit. He says the last sea urchins are bright green.

It’s time to return to port. The captain explains the topography of the seabed. The day is far from over. The tide is at its lowest. Once at the port, you have to climb a long ladder and raise the boxes one by one using the hydraulic winch.

“We don’t have an unloading dock,” explains Captain Bastien Gingras-Nicolas. There was already talk of having a pontoon, but the project seems to have been abandoned. »

At the top, divers weigh the boxes before transferring them to a trailer. The cargo then takes the road to Trois-Pistoles. Two boxes will be purchased by chef Kim Côté, of the Côté Est restaurant in Kamouraska. The rest will head to Maine, in the United States, for processing. In the end, sea urchins will be sold at high prices in fancy restaurants.

“In Las Vegas, chefs compare sea urchin to caviar. A tasting plate can sell for $500,” the crew says. THE Bicois II will be at anchor for several days. Because of the winds, a hint of winter in April.

Zones and rules

There are nearly twenty sea urchin fishing zones in Quebec, five of which are conservation zones. The largest is found in the St. Lawrence estuary. In particular, it is prohibited to fish for sea urchins more than half an hour before sunrise and more than half an hour after sunset. A maximum of five divers per boat is permitted at any time. Total catch quota: 135 tonnes. Minimum size of the shell, without spines: 50 millimeters.

Source: Fisheries and Oceans Canada