Canada loses bid for more tuna, rebuffs push to protect sharks

Canada’s attempt to increase the amount of a vulnerable species of tuna that can be fished out of the Atlantic Ocean has been shot down by other countries but Canadian negotiators have managed to block international efforts to protect an endangered type of shark.

Officials with the Federal Department of Fisheries were in Morocco over the past week to take part in a meeting of the International Commission for the Conservation of Atlantic Tunas, which is responsible for protecting the stocks of tuna and other similar species that live in the Atlantic.

That includes the massive Atlantic bluefin tuna, which the federal government is considering labelling as an endangered species under the Species At Risk Act and which scientists around the world say is in need of protection. The Canadian government has said fishing is the main threat to the tuna’s viability and, despite efforts for the past 30 years to rebuild the population, there is little sign of an increase.

Still, Canada proposed at the ICCAT meeting that the quota for bluefin caught in the western Atlantic be increased from 1,750 tonnes to 2,000 tonnes. The other countries in attendance said no.

The government did not respond Monday to questions about its position. Environmentalists say Canada is clearly offside with the international community when it comes to bluefin conservation.

“I think it is fair to say that there was a general feeling across the meeting that [Canada’s proposal] was out of step, that there was very clear scientific advice that said maintain the quotas,” said Amanda Nickson, the director of the U.S.-based Pew Environmental Group’s global tuna conservation program, who was in Morocco for the gathering.

“The least risk to the population is to maintain the quota at 1,750 tonnes,” Ms. Nickson said. “And the feeling in the room was all in line with that, with the exception of Canada and their proposal.”

But, even if Canada didn’t manage to increase the bluefin quota, it successfully defeated a move by the European Union to require that any porbeagle shark caught in an ICCAT fishery be released, said Pew shark expert Elizabeth Wilson.

“Unfortunately that proposal was not something that Canada was willing to accept,” Ms. Wilson said. “We were hearing that there were some other countries that, when they heard rumours of things like an exemption for Canada, they said ‘Well, if Canada is going to get an exemption, we want an exemption too.’ And then the whole thing starts to fall apart.”

The porbeagle is also known as “Canada’s shark.” Like the bluefin, it has been declared endangered by the Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife in Canada and is awaiting a designation under the country’s Species At Risk Act.

Overfishing of the porbeagle, which started in the 1960s, reduced its population by about 90 per cent over four decades but quotas have started it on the road to recovery.

As for the bluefin, its population on the East Coast has been severely depleted and currently stands at about 36 per cent of the 1970s levels. Japanese sushi aficionados consider it a delicacy and it can retail for upwards of $1,000 a pound, which makes it a valuable catch for East Coast fishermen.

Robert Chisholm, fisheries critic for the federal New Democrats, said it is critical that players on all sides of the Atlantic work co-operatively on the preservation of fish species.

“I am concerned about the obstreperousness of our negotiators because things aren’t getting resolved,” he said. “I know how important the bluefin tuna is to many communities on the Atlantic coast. But we’ve got to work with those organizations that have a mandate to conserve the stocks, to manage the stocks, and we’ve got to make sure that the fishermen and communities that count on that resource are going to be able to count on it for many years into the future.”

PORBEAGLE SHARKS

Potential threat to human beings: Not much. None have ever been implicated in unprovoked attacks on humans.

Size: Up to 3.7 metres (12 feet)

Lifespan: 25-46 years

Reproductive cycle: Oddly mirrors that of humans. Females become fertile at 13 and have a gestation period of about nine months.

Status under the Species At Risk Act: Endangered

Population estimate: 180,000 in the Northwest Atlantic. The sharks have lost 90 per cent of their population in the past 40 years.

The decline of the species: The porbeagle is one of the fastest swimmers in the sea but its numbers were severely depleted by overfishing in the 1960s, especially by the Norwegians.

The return of the species: Quotas that were introduced in 1998 and then cut in 2001 and 2006 have started to bring it back.

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Clownfish, the orange-, black- and white-striped fish made famous in the movie "Finding Nemo," are a gossipy bunch, popping and clicking amid their anemone homes to defend and reinforce their social status, according to new research.Unlike the 360 other species of territorial marine fish in the Pomacentridae family,clownfish don't make a peep when mating. Researchers wondering why clownfish would bother to make noise in other circumstances discovered that their chatter helps maintain the rank and file among group members.

"Sound could be an interesting strategy for preventing conflict between group members," lead study author Orphal Colleye, a postdoctoral fellow at the University of Liège, Belgium, told LiveScience. "In terms of cost energy, you don't have to interact with another individual to determine which is the dominant and which is the subordinate, you just need to make a sound."

Clownfish have an unusual home life: Up to six fish form a group around a single sea anemone. The largest of the group is a female, the second largest is a male, and the rest are immature fish that do not have a gender. (Once they do, they will be able to change their gender as mating pairs die out.)

The researchers found that the larger clownfish that dominate the social circles with aggressive moves, such as chasing and charging, make popping sounds distinct from the static-like sounds of the smaller, more submissive clownfish. [Spectacular Photos of Sea Creatures]

Both in the wild and in captivity, a single clownfish can make both sounds: a pop toward a smaller fish, a click toward a larger fish.

"In general, fish don't make sounds unless they have a specific need to, because sound production potentially invites predators. The question then is, Why do they need to make sounds during aggressive interactions? Why risk advertising to predators then?" said University of Massachusetts professor Rodney Rountree, a fish acoustics expert,who was not involved in the study.

Colleye said the sounds are unlikely to endanger clownfish since they live symbiotically with sea anemones, which would sting any invaders.

"This fish lives in groups in the sea anemone and they are protected by it," Colleye said.

Deciphering fish sounds

Researchers also hypothesize that individual clownfish make slightly different sounds from each other, both in frequency and duration, as a way to reinforce their individuality.

However, that interpretation is open to question, since the signals of the submissive clownfish sound very similar. [Listen to clownfish chatter]

"It's unclear to me what aspect of the signal distinguishes two individuals of the same size (though I note that in natural groups there are rarely two individuals of similar size)," Paul Buston, a biology professor at Boston University who was not involved in the study, wrote in an email.

Colleye said the researchers next would separate a mating pair in different tanks and then test visual, chemical and acoustic factors in identifying individuals.

The researchers also plan to examine the factors that underlie a clownfish's ability to change gender. If the dominant female dies, the male becomes the alpha female and the next largest in size becomes the breeding male. What factors, chemical, visual or auditory, cause this to happen are currently unknown.

However, for mating, sound is not necessary. "The male doesn’t need to produce sounds to attract females; there is no competitor," Colleye said.

The research appeared today (Nov. 7) in the online journal PLoS ONE.

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In Ireland, optimism is in the air

Ireland — There are no people on Earth as romantic as the French. No one is punctual like the Swiss. The Germans have defined a sense of order. The Italians know how to eat. And no one, I mean no one, does misery like the Irish.

Ireland's well-chronicled story of rags to riches to rags again is a cautionary tale of the early 21st century. A country reared on hardship, famine and oppression has, after a brief turn in the economic sun, been cast back into the misty gloom of struggle.

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FOR THE RECORD:
Ireland: In the Sept. 30 Travel section, an information box accompanying an article about Ireland said that prices for a double room at Ashford Castle range from $114. That rate is per person. The article also said that the $486 airfare to Dublin, Ireland, included taxes and fees. It did not. The correct airfare, including taxes and fees, is about $1,000. —

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But lately I've begun to notice that a mischievous quality has sneaked in under the cloak of misery the Irish have put back on with disarming ease after the good times ended. There is still plenty of suffering to go around, but the place has begun to get a buzz about it again — one that reminds me of the country I knew and loved so well.

PHOTOS: Ireland

I first landed in Ireland 25 years ago, and as it is today, The Misery was on the land. The '80s were a dreary time of inflation, double-digit interest rates and a stagnant economy.

Yet the very direness of the situation swung doors wide to me that might never have opened had the people's necessity not dictated. I paid strangers just a few pounds to sleep in their spare rooms. I ate breakfast at the family table and in the evening watched the Rose of Tralee beauty contest on a black-and-white television beside a mother and father with a vested interest.

Of course, I drank too much in smoky and welcoming pubs, and I played bad golf on wild, spectacular and deserted courses. For a few hundred dollars I joined one such club in Lahinch, and to this day I receive my annual bag tag, one of my most prized possessions.

I returned to Ireland every year — until I missed a year, and then another, and then nearly a decade had passed. When I finally returned, the economic upturn known as the Celtic Tiger had begun its voracious assault on the land — a change that seemed at first as miraculous as it did unlikely.

Changing fortunes

Within a few years at the turn of this century, Ireland began to transform from a charming bog to the poster child ofEuropean Union dreams. Farmers put down their beloved Guinness and picked up Pinot Grigio. Dublin morphed from a dank backwater into a sophisticated metropolis. Helicopters were chartered to fly across the country for a lunch of fresh Galway oysters at Moran's, and then back to the posh suburb of Dalkey in time for dinner. Property prices soared, and credit was easy. The going was good.

I too succumbed to the fever that was gripping the land and bought a home. Yet from my outsider's perspective, something in the auld sod was being lost along the way to prosperity. The pubs banned smoking, but the warm welcome also seemed to go up in smoke. The playful twinkle in the eye and the friendly slag were replaced by an aloof disinterest. The good-natured blarney had become boasting bluster.

Neither people nor countries get rich quick gracefully, I concluded. I was glad the Irish were finally having their moment in the sun, but for me, the place had begun to lose its magic.

And then it all went to hell. Seemingly overnight, housing prices plummeted (and are down 55% from their height in 2007). Unemployment recently hit 14.9%. Many of the Eastern European laborers who had flooded the land have gone home.

The Irish have been left alone to nurse a vicious hangover.

Yet in the midst of all this hardship something strange has begun to happen: The restaurants appear packed again, pubs are overflowing onto the street, there's laughter around town. Could the Irish really be rising up and dusting themselves off?

Is this just wishful thinking on my part — a desire to recapture an earlier time of innocence? I decide to head to the one place in Ireland a man goes when looking for answers to life's bigger questions.

At the bustling bar in Kehoe's Pub on South Anne Street in Dublin, the Guinness is flowing and the chat is in full swing. On first glance, not much has changed since the gold rush days of 2004.

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