Luak Bay fishermen want their rights protected

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Pukat fishing boats off the coast of Luak Bay. If the boats get too close to each other, they tear up the nets.

PICTURESQUE Luak in northern Sarawak lies between Kuala Bakam and Kuala Baram and forms an awesome and almost perfect C-shaped natural bay at the southern part of Miri city.

The bay’s northern cliffs are dotted with homes of millionaires, giving it a mini Monty Carlo look. Lights on a clear night from all the homes around the bay transform it into quite a fairyland!

There used to be a huge kampung and several smaller hamlets between the foothills of Tanjung Lobang and the Lusut River.

During World War II, Kampung Luak saved the lives of many Chinese and other races from the Japanese, according to oral history of Luak.

A few miles outside town but within walking distance, the Kampung was a safe haven, especially for Chinese refugees who knew they would be safe among the kind villagers.

Floats with markers on the pukat are quite expensive.

One way to get the kampung was by small jungle footpaths known only to the locals. Furthermore, the Japanese were afraid of the “swamps and wild animals such as huge snakes.” Wild buffaloes had also been known to roam the area before and during the Japanese occupation.

For at least two centuries, Luak Bay had supported fisherfolks and several villages belonging to Melanaus, Kedayans and Malays – from Tanjung Lobang right up to Kuala Bakam.

Many of their ancestors had even seen how the huge waves changed some of the topography of the area about 150 years ago. The small rivers flowing into Luak Bay were “broken” into two. Hence, their names – Sungei Lusut Putus and Sungei Lusut, and Sungei Tukau Putus and Sungei Tukau.

According to some of the older fishermen, years ago when Luak Bay had their penghulu, fishing activities were under his care and the villagers respected each other’s right to fish.

The penghulu controlled the adat of (bubuk) fishing. Bubuk is known as krill in English. It is a tiny shrimp from which prawn paste of belacan is made.

The penghulu had the final say in how the fishermen put their long nets or pukat into the sea, and also wielded great influence over how the local folks co-existed with each other.

Strangers wanting to fish there had to get his permission. He made sure all terms and conditions were observed in order to control “the daily search for food from the sea.”

Gabut, an elder of Luak Bay, still goes out to sea during the fishing season, especially after the Chinese New Year. He has a small boat for pukat, which is 300 feet long, with buoys and weights.

He uses two red-flag markers to let others know where his net is.

A poor catch for the day.

In the west, this method of fishing is called seine fishing. Even Stone Age people had used it. For example, salmon is one fish that can be caught by seining in the Columbia River, Oregon, USA.

Gabut sets out as early as 5.30am. He lowers the pukat slowly, then waits. For two or three hours, he will be sitting in his little boat, waiting and hoping to haul up a net full of fish.

At times, he even doses off under the morning sun. He and his friends in the other boats contact each other by handphones. If they think they should return earlier, they will. Sometimes they are guided by the clouds and the winds. When a storm is brewing, they have to hurry back.

Usually by 8.30am on a good sunny day, he will start bringing in his pukat, fold by fold, at the same time, plucking the different types of fish caught in the net, and placing them at the bottom of his boat. Soon, he will start his engine and sail back to the beach where his son and friend will be waiting.

He does not go very far out nowadays because he is worried illegal trawlers will spoil his net. Each pukat costs around RM400 or more, depending on the buoys, metal weights, markers and ropes. Some may cost up to RM700.

A fishing trip each morning costs RM10 in petrol. To save cost, some fishermen prefer paddling when spreading out their nets. Usually, a pukat fisherman works alone.

There are now only about 20 traditional pukat fishermen left. Life has been difficult and many young people are seeking jobs beyond Miri.

“Our lives are harder now because we continue to be disturbed by people who don’t respect the rights of local fishermen. At least, they should be polite. The sea is open and belongs to no one. We have slightly more rights because we have licence.

“A hobbyist is welcome to fish but he has no right to ram our nets and cause big tears, sometimes in three places, to render the pukat useless,” one sad-faced fisherman lamented.

If the bay and the coastal areas are kept under control with only licensed fishermen allowed to fish, the fish population will increase. And fish as big as this 6.8kg manchong can be caught with the pukat.

The illegal trawlers are fishermen or even businessmen from other parts of Miri. Even though their boats are not licensed, they still come into Luak Bay as and when they like.

Their boats are fast, often with double engines. Most are interested in prawn fishing which means they do make a very good living. But when they run into the local fishermen’s nets, they don’t even apologise.

“They simply don’t care or bother to be respectful,” said the wife of one of the fishermen.

“None has ever offered to pay compensation in the last five years, exclaimed another fishermen who recently had his net torn in three parts.

“When a net is torn like this, I will have little income for about three months. A net now is rather expensive. I often make RM300 from fishing a month – RM500 at most if I get a few duai or tenggiri (mackerel).

“My family and I have to eat. To bring home a bigger catch, I have to go further out to sea and that costs more – and I may also have to use my rods. It seems to be getting a bit risky with all the illegal trawlers around.”

One fisherman, named Mohammad, said he and his father often worried about their nets.

Nowadays, they start as early as 2am and also venture out into deeper waters (where pukat fishing is not normally carried out). But that’s because he is younger and his boat is big enough to have a second person on board. They usually return at 9am with a fairly good catch.

Pukat fishing is done nearer shore but it is not as profitable nowadays.

Mohammad’s mother opined: “During the bubuk season, we can say we make more money. We put in extra work by making belacan (prawn paste) and cincaluk (fermented krills) ourselves.

“These two products will fetch us more income. Those fishermen with small boats don’t make as much. So it is really bad for them when their nets get torn.”

Another fisherman, who wished to remain anonymous, believed it is high time for government agencies to invest in aquaculture at Luak Bay and help replenish the fish population there.

The ropes of this pukat have been torn away and cannot be repaired.

According to him, the local fishermen’s catch now tends to be smaller and they have to be contented with small fish like sam gey or ikan jarang gigi, ikan cermin, ikan puyu laut, small-sized tenggiri and senangin or thread-fin cods, anchovies and other poor species, some of which are only fit for cats.

Better quality fish such as senangin, garupa, pomfret and sting ray which the fishermen used to catch about 10 years ago, are now rarer. In fact, new species could be introduced – like squids, for instance.

This particular fisherman has seen documentaries about Vietnam where squid fishing is very popular among tourists.

He believed it would be nice for the kampung folk to operate a few boats for Mirians and tourists to go squid jigging at night.

Yet another fisherman, who is a retired teacher, hoped government agencies and local fishermen could come together to manage Luak’s marine resources for the benefit of the community.

If the fishery authorities could help the small fishermen, it would be his dream come true.

The survival of traditional pukat fishing in Luak Bay will depend on how the different government agencies and the local fishermen play their roles. The future of the fishing community will be bleak if illegal trawlers with bigger boats and engines edge out the fishermen with small wooden, home-made boats and nets.

If that eventuates, the scene of an old man sitting in his boat, pulling in 300 feet of net, foot by foot, and picking the small fish caught in his net, will no longer be part of the Luak Bay environs.

A friend sitting under an old casuarina tree waiting for a fisherman’s  boat to return, and a wife getting a small fire going under the shadow of some beach shrubs while waiting patiently for her man to come home with the day’s catch – all these familiar sights will probably become a thing of the past.

A few centuries old fishing method will also be obliterated in the early 21st Century but at what a cultural loss and cost!