Chad Balagna

c_balagna@yahoo.com
Walnut, Illinois
Senior in Anthropology at Utah State University

"I have learned that the key word to ethnographic field work is flexibility. I have learned more about methods and ethic responsibility than I have in any class.... The Peruvian culture is rich with history, it feels great being a part of preserving that culture for future generations."

The Last of the Pescadores

Introduction

A couple of weeks before traveling to Peru I flipped through a guidebook to the section about Huanchaco. I read about caballito de totora boats and was curious as to why The Lonely Planet stated, “The inhabitants of Huanchaco are among the few remaining people on the coast who still remember how to construct and use these precarious-looking craft…”

My first day in Huanchaco, the class participated in a tour of the reserve where the totora reeds grow. After the tour, Armando a twenty-two year old fisherman took me on a ride on the back of his caballito boat. That day I learned to appreciate the strength and skill that each fisherman must possess.

A week and a half later, I awoke early and decided to take a walk by the beach, and write down some of my thoughts. The idea was to try to make sense of all I had seen and heard since arriving in Huanchaco a week before. Instead of organizing my field notes, I watched as an older fisherman brought in the morning catch.

The old fisherman advanced slowly toward the beach. He did not ride a wave like most do; instead he continued his slow steady progress bobbing up and down as he paddled.

He wore a pair of faded black shorts, now sun died a reddish brown shade with a blue V across the front. His white t-shirt hung out from under a tight fitting blue gray sweater. It was not difficult to guess he had been fishing for a long time, if not his whole life. All fishermen, besides sharing kinship, share similar physical traits. His hands, face, and feet were brown and rough. They appeared wrinkled and weathered like a pair of old work gloves. His eyes were squinted against the morning sun. A ragged and faded denim baseball hat that looked as tired as the fisherman himself covered his corse black hair.

As his caballito rested on the shore, a women who had been standing by the sidewalk approached. She wore a black skirt down to the middle of her calf and a black cardigan type sweater, which covered a white t-shirt with a cartoon animal printed on the front. She was a stout woman probably in her fifties. The fisherman handed her a mesh bag with several fish in it. She took it without a word and returned to the sidewalk. The old man pulled his boat away from the surf and out of reach of the ocean. He began removing his equipment. A large nylon net was carried and placed near the woman who was sorting through the fifteen or twenty fish.

The fisherman dragged his boat 25 feet over the soft sand to its designated area. A younger man appeared out of nowhere and helped wrestle the boat upright to dry, as the woman finished her inspection of the fish she placed them all back in the bag and disappeared down one of the many streets. As she left, the two men began laying the net out to dry.

After the net was laid out, the old man handed the younger a fish (bigger than the ones the women sorted through), and the younger man left the beach and disappeared among the crowd of people searching for micros and taxies into Trujillo (field notes 2002).

Background

The art of constructing caballito de totora boats has been passed on from father to son since the time of the Moche over 3000 years ago. At the age of four or five, sons often help their father build small caballitos. With these small boats, the young boys learn control and balance in the sea as well as how to ride waves. By the age of fifteen, most young men bring in enough fish to provide for their family, and are ready to leave to deeper waters to catch more and bigger fish.

Twenty years ago, fishing in Huanchaco was a huge business. In a matter of a few hours, one fisherman could bring in 30 to 50 kilos of fish. Not only was the family provided for, but also there was plenty left over to sell to local restaurants and in the markets in Trujillo. The cold water was a fertile breeding ground for all types of aquatic life.

In 1983, the El Nino current replaced the normally cool abundant fishing grounds with warmer less life sustaining water. Mococho, a type of seaweed that once abound in Huanchaco, and a major food part of the aquatic food chain, also disappeared. Some believe the warm waters do not provide the necessary nutrients for Mococho to grow. Others believe that because mococho was an easy food source resident of Huanchaco over harvested it.

Over the next year, fish too followed the currents south along the Chilean coast. With the warm water came Lobos del Mar (sea lions). Not only are sea lions competition for fish, but they damage fishing nets and lines.

During these trying times, outsiders began discovering the quiet tranquil life that Huanchaco has to offer. People from Trujillo and the nearby mountains began visiting the beaches of Huanchaco on weekend trips. Word spread about the beaches and foreigners began arriving to relax from their travels. Behind the tourism came restaurants, hotels, and vendors. Now, twenty years later Huanchaco is in every guidebook and has been featured in several surf magazines. The little quiet town is growing, and outsider influence is changing the way people locals look at themselves and the world.

No longer does one see young boys practicing in mini-caballitos. Parents encourage their children to find other occupations, and make great sacrifices to provide a more secure future for their children.

It seems to me that caballito fishing in Huanchaco is in the process of transforming from a way of life to a recreational and touristic past time. As such, I feel it is important to document the daily activities of artisan fishermen before In light of all the changes that have occurred, what can be done to insure that this artisan fishing tradition lives on?

Methodology

In order to answer this question, I employed several different ethnographic techniques. I spent several hours observing and interviewing both formally and informally, but the most effective tool proved to be participant observation.

Discussion

The daily life of a caballito fisherman

It seems the most important thing to do at this juncture would be to describe the caballito boats. The boats are custom-made to fit each fisherman according to their size and weight. They are normally between nine and a half to twelve feet long and anywhere from twenty to twenty eight inches wide at the widest part. The front of the boat is pointed and curved upwards. The back end of the boat or the caja measures the same distance as from the ground to the fisherman’s chest. In the caja is where bait, supplies and fish are kept. The fisherman sits in front of the caja on top of the boat straddling it like one would a horse. The paddle is a hafted piece of bamboo three or four inches wide and about eight feet long. It is held with both hands and is used in a similar style to that of kayaking.

Physically, they share similar characteristics. They are all short stocky men with barrel chests. Their hands and feet are rough and worn by countless hours of sun and salt water. Though they often where baseball caps to protect against the bright sun which has browned their face and squinted their eyes. Many appear aged beyond their years.

A fisherman’s day typically begins at four or five in the morning. Most walk barefoot or in flip-flops to the beach where they load their caballito on their shoulder and carry it to the water’s edge. The caballito is set pointing toward the ocean while extra fishing line and bait are loaded into the back end. The boat is then pushed out into the surf and the fisherman fights his way through the waves.

Most fisherman are back on shore by late morning depending on how many fish were in their net or they were able to catch with lines and hooks. Each individual has their own techniques and methods for catching fish. Currently, on a good day, a fisherman will bring back fifteen to twenty kilograms of fish.

The afternoons are spent resting and repairing nets. In the late afternoon and early evening, the fisherman can be seen repeating the same routine as in the morning, but this time they walk to the beach carrying heavy metal hoops made of old rebar. Each hoop is the mouth of a large mesh bag that is used to trap crabs. Each bag will be have large pieces of bloody fish placed in the bottom and be dangled just above the ocean floor. While the traps attract crabs, most fishermen go to work with hook and line to pass the time. When they are satisfied with their catch, the nets are checked and they point their caballito toward the beach and head for home, often arriving after dark.

While crabbing only occurs a few evenings a week, the nets are each night. On the days when crabbing is not planned, most fishermen head to the totora reserve to work on their plots. Like the fishing zones, the totorales are divided up according to family and many have been passed on for several generations.

The totoras grow in dug outs about twenty feet wide by approximately thirty feet long, and fifteen feet deep. The water is a mixture of salt and fresh. The most difficult job in the totorales is to remove the old roots after they quit producing large reeds.

I went with Alfredo and Armando Uncanan to work in one of the families six pit. Alfredo explained how the reeds grow, and pointed out the area where they are dried and selected for the boats.

We got to the pit where we were going to work. The three of us took off our shoes and socks. Alfredo moved a bunch of reeds and pulled a shovel from under them. We made our way down to the water that came up to about mid thigh. The water was Luke warm. Half the reeds had been cut several months ago, and today we were cleaning out the roots to make room for replanting. There was a small pile of already cut roots which Armando and I threw up the fifteen foot sloped sides to the surface above. When the roots are dry, they are light and easy to handle. When they are wet they weigh about fifteen to twenty pounds, depending on how big they are cut. They are slipper, dirty and hard to handle. On several occasions, we had to throw them up more than once because we couldn’t get them all the way to the top (field notes 2002).

Though we were only there for a little while, I was able to appreciate the hard work that goes into caring for the totora reeds.

By the time the work is done for the day it is usually dark, and most of the fishermen head home to relax with their families before going to bed. Each day follows the same pattern except when the waves make it too dangerous to enter the water. This seldom occurs, but when it does it is a welcome rest to the fishermen who find odd jobs to earn money.

The real problem for fishermen

The natural effect of El Nino is something that local fishermen have learned to deal with, and in recent months, fishing has seemed to improve.

The real problem, as explained by Alfredo is the preservation of the totorales.

“Antes, la totora llego hasta aca (before, the totora reeds reached to here), ” he said pointing to one of the houses as we returned from working in the family’s pit.

From where I stood with Alfredo and Armando, I estimated the distance from where the reserve should be to where it was now to be about a kilometer and a half.

Two and a half blocks of houses, stores, and a hostel had been built since local government had set the boundaries of the reserve.

Not only has the totora reserve been affected by new development, but also by contamination. A road cuts the through the middle of the reserve and at times the cars pass within few meters of the pits. Dirt, dust, and other contaminants are mixed in the air, and the effects are quite visible. The majority of the reeds in the pit where we worked had dark gray tips on the top, which as Alfredo explained, is a direct result of this contamination.

Not only do the cars stir up dust and release carbon monoxide into the air, but the vibration of the ground as they drive by has an effect on the fragile reserve.

The bottom of the pit has course sand, which contains different properties than that of the fine sand on the outer part of the pit. With the vibration, the outer sand falls in and creates a fill. This fill smothers the roots and does not allow the reeds to grow to their full potential.

Neither Alfredo nor Armando fear that caballito fishing will disappear as long as the totora reeds are protected and preserved.

Results

Preservation is the key to the survival of artisan fishing. Change and growth are inevitable in Huanchaco. And though caballito fishing might not be the primary source of family income, as long as the totora reeds exist, the knowledge of caballito fishing will be passed on.

Several questions remain that hopefully some future student or ethnographer will be able to answer. Who is in charge of the totora reserve, and what plans do they have for its conservation? How can we be sure that the fathers continue to teach their sons the traditions of the fisherman? However, it is up to the people of Huanchaco, the fisherman’s association, and local government officials to work together to save this valuable piece of history for future generations.