FERN’s Friday Feed: Did this guy catch the first bluefin tuna?
Welcome to FERN’s Friday Feed (#FFF), where we share the stories from this week that made us stop and think.
Who caught the first bluefin tuna?
Popular Science
“More than 30,000 years ago, the Strait of Gibraltar was a broad plain. Lapping several kilometers from the limestone cliffs that now tower above its blue, continent‑splitting waters, sea levels were roughly 120 meters lower than those in modern times,” writes Karen Pinchin. “In spring, as they had for thousands of years before the earliest hominid evolved, bluefin tuna migrated from the cold, deep Atlantic inward toward the Mediterranean … In the open ocean they were kings, but in the narrowing bottleneck of the strait they were suddenly transformed into prey themselves, now pursued by pods of canny orca whales … Blinded by an instinct to escape, some fish rocketed onto the shallow beaches and shoals, where, as they had for countless seasons, small groups of Neanderthals waited, arms outstretched, for a gift from the sea.”
The butchering
Emergence Magazine
“The sheep was not as large as we thought. There wasn’t enough sheep fat to create achii’, or sheep fat wrapped with intestines and grilled, a dish that is considered a delicacy. It’s best enjoyed with naneeskadi or Navajo tortillas. My aunt wasn’t worried, however. She showed me a way to make a medley of intestines, sheep heart, and liver with onions. “This was your dad’s favorite when he was young,’ she shared, as we enjoyed them over an open fire. And in that moment I was connected with my family in a way I had never been before, with their history, with their youth, their comfort foods, their upbringings. The power of it all held in my hands and devoured with some salt,” writes Jake Skeets. “We stayed around the fire into the evening, and right before we started to clean, there was a moment of silence. A sigh of relief. One long exhale. The sound of worries let go, troubles melted down, and pressures unsealed. A family sitting around a fire telling stories and eating them, too.”
How far will salmon swim for a craft beer?
Hakai Magazine
“Of all the traits that make salmon extraordinary migrants—their leaping prowess, their tolerance of both fresh and salt water, their attunement to the Earth’s magnetic fields—the most impressive might be their sense of smell. Guided by the odors they imprint on in their youth,” writes Ben Goldfarb, “most adult salmon famously return to spawn in the stream where they were born. No one knows precisely what scents young salmon memorize, but it’s probably some combination of mineral and biological signals, such as distinctive metals and the smell of their own kin. Several years from now, however, if scientists at the Oregon Hatchery Research Center have their way, some chinook salmon will be chasing a very different scent: the rich, beery bouquet of brewer’s yeast. The alluring aroma of ale is a bid to solve a sticky conservation conundrum: how do you get hatchery-reared salmon to come home?”
Italy’s vanishing breadbasket
The Dial
“In the last several years, Italy has become belatedly yet acutely aware of the existential threat that climate change poses to the nation,” writes Kenneth R. Rosen. “The Po Valley is a crucial economic area for Italy, supplying water to agricultural and commercial industries across the northern regions of Piedmont, Lombardy, Emilia-Romagna and Veneto, which together constitute one of the most important agricultural zones in Europe. The European Union’s Joint Research Centre said last year’s drought raised ‘concerns on water supply for human use.’ The director of the Po Delta drainage consortium warned of ‘permanent damage’ to the basin, as well as to the industries that it supports, which include wine, agriculture, wood, defense and tourism. Each one is critical to Italy’s livelihood, as well as to the idea of Italy itself.”
The country’s most controversial hunt
High Country News
“Christen Falcon, a Blackfeet hunter and entrepreneur, crouched on a snow- and sage-covered hillside in southwest Montana, slicing rubbery orange fat from bright red hunks of buffalo meat … The animal was one of at least 1,223 Yellowstone bison that hunters in Montana killed last winter, more than in any year since the 1800s. The vast majority were harvested by tribal members exercising long-dormant treaty rights in Beattie Gulch, a narrow strip of federal land just outside Yellowstone National Park,” writes Nick Mott. “Falcon’s harvest is a revitalization of Indigenous knowledge and culture. But the hunt is also a public lightning rod — part of an ongoing controversy over managing an iconic species that tribal nations, the federal government and the state of Montana all have deep and different interests in.”