The fisherman carried his net to the boat and set out early in the morning to catch his fish. It was better to arrive before the others came in, and there were too many boats around. His youngest son sat at the bow, his head against the wood as he watched the sunrise. His eldest manned the stern, steering them in the water.
They were haggard, their eyes downcast and drawn like the gloomy water beneath them. The youngest yawned, loud and long, and soon the eldest followed, lousily rubbing his eye to stay awake. His sons were yet to learn the importance of catching fish early. But it would be their turn soon, the fisherman thought as he prepared their nets. They would learn, as he learned from his father, and him from his father.
Fishing had been in their family for years, providing food and income. It was sustainable and dignified work. The waters were rich, always having fish. But the number of fishermen multiplied like ants pouring out an ant hill. Last season, he barely caught any fish because he always arrived after the other men. By then, there was little left. He would have to wait hours to come home with a reasonable amount of fish.
This season, the fisherman prepared well. He got newer nets with smaller spaces for the fish to escape from. He would catch the tilapias in numbers and do the same thing tomorrow and the next day. His wife would have a barrage of fish to prepare for the market, and they would have more than enough money to last them the next few months. They would sell the bigger, more mature fish for a higher price and the smaller ones for less. Any other fish caught in the net can be for their home or sold for cheaper. All in all, they profited.
He explained this to his sons, hoping it would help them be ahead of others.
It worked for years until one day, they set out early in the morning, as they did in the past. His sons, already used to the time, were awake and agile. But they stayed for hours and barely caught enough.
Maybe it was an off-season, he told the boys. The fish were yet to come in.
So they went the next day and the day after that but caught less and less each morning.
Maybe the other fishermen had grown wiser. Fish were also active at night. What if they had been out the night before and taken most of the fish while he was asleep?
So, he went out with his sons that night, and still, they caught very little.
It went on for months, so he moved farther and farther into the ocean, hoping to catch more. They sold all they landed for double the old price, trying to balance the time they spent on the water with the amount of money their little catch would bring in.
The fisherman was heavy-hearted one early morning as he tossed his net into the ocean. He had got one with even smaller spaces for fish to escape. They will catch more this way, he reasoned. Sell whatever they can for as much as they can.
Still, it broke his heart that there was less and less fish in the water every day. It was the big men, he thought with contempt as he remembered the large ships he saw on the water day after day. They had larger nets and better engines to go farther than he did, and they caught the fish before he could get to them. They were on the water, day in and day out, leaving him and the other fishermen with little.
Because of them, his sons would barely make a living when they took over from him. Because of them, what fed his family for generations would not be enough to do so now. Their market, which used to be flourishing, was dwindling, and there was very little fish on their table.
Yet, despite the lack, the fisherman had hope. Maybe one day, the fishes would return to the waters in their numbers, he hoped as they dragged on their latest catch to the boat. The ocean was big. There was little that could dry out such a mighty body. So, he would keep his routine and hope that one day, things would be as before, with fish overflowing from their nets.
Photo by Jonny Kennaugh from Unsplash
