Tag Archives: Lake

Cambodia’s Beating Heart

A shrimp fisherman checks his net in the shallow waters surrounding the village of Akol. During the dry season, the water level of the Tonle Sap lake drops by several metres, exposing a small sandbar that the village of Akol anchors itself to. Until the rains begin and the lake's level rises, Akol residents have access to dry land. The floating village of Akol is home to roughly 30 families, nearly all of whom depend on the Tonle Sap lake for the majoirty of their income.

A shrimp fisherman checks his net in the shallow waters surrounding the village of Akol.

“Turn your lights off soon or people will see us.” The fisherman spoke in a muted voice that barely carried over the few metres between our boats. The night was moonless and it was pitch black at 3:30 a.m. on the Tonle Sap lake. We needed to use our headlamps to check the focus of our cameras and were at first confused by the fisherman’s apprehension. When we asked if he was worried the LED beams would scare the fish away, he replied calmly: “No, it’s because we are in the conservation zone. If they catch us we will be in trouble.”

Two hours later, in the shallow water surrounding the floating village of Akol, the fishing boats gathered in the blue pre-dawn light to check their catch. Their mood was cheerful as they picked through the nets, pulling healthy (if smallish) looking fish from the nylon mesh and tossing them into large metal bowls. There was no sign of their former nervousness, the danger apparently passed.

Fishermen enter into a protected conservation area on Cambodia's Tonle Sap lake. Many fishermen say that fish stocks have been depleted to the point where they can only be found in the conservation zone. The fishermen risk the confiscation of their equipment and face imprisonment if found fishing in the area. The Tonle Sap provides the vast majority of Cambodia's protein and fatty acids, and is the biggest freshwater lake in Southeast Asia.

Fishermen enter into a protected conservation area on Cambodia’s Tonle Sap lake. Many fishermen say that fish stocks have been depleted to the point where they can only be found in the conservation zone. The fishermen risk the confiscation of their equipment and face imprisonment if found fishing in the area. 

Considering that the lake was known to be one of the world’s most productive freshwater ecosystems, as well as one of the main sources of protein for the country’s 15 million people, the fact that fishermen were resorting to sneaking into protected areas spoke of an alarming truth: the Tonle Sap, often referred to as “Cambodia’s beating heart”, was struggling.

“Outside the conservation area there are no fish, so what should I do?” Chan Savoeun asked us rhetorically. A 28-year-old fisherman (whose name has been changed to protect his identity), Savoeun had been fishing in the Tonle Sap for more than a decade, and was well aware of the lake’s ailing health. “I am catching around 30-50% less fish than I did [10 years ago], so we have no choice but to fish in the protected zone. We know this is not good, and we are all worried about what will happen if there are no fish left [in the conservation area], but how else can we survive?”

The Great Lake

A floating community of roughly 30 families, we had come to Akol to try and learn how the Tonle Sap (commonly translated as “The Great Lake”) influenced those who lived from its floods. Though it was the peak of the dry season and the village’s pontooned houses were tethered to an exposed sandbar, their temporary attachment to land did not lessen their dependence on the water. “There is not one family here who does not earn their income from the lake,” Savoeun told us.

Fishermen gather in the early morning to check their nets for fish caught the night before. Akol fishermen estimate that they are catching up to 50% fewer fish than they did 10 years ago, indicating a major depletion of fish stocks. During the dry season, the water level of the Tonle Sap lake drops by several metres, exposing a small sandbar that the village of Akol anchors itself to. Until the rains begin and the lake's level rises, Akol residents have access to dry land. The floating village of Akol is home to roughly 30 families, nearly all of whom depend on the Tonle Sap lake for the majoirty of their income.

Fishermen gather in the early morning to check their nets for fish caught the night before. Akol fishermen estimate that they are catching up to 50% fewer fish than they did 10 years ago, indicating a major depletion of fish stocks. The floating village of Akol is home to roughly 30 families, nearly all of whom depend on the Tonle Sap lake for the majoirty of their income.

Fishermen gather in the shallow waters surrounding the village of Akol, Cambodia to check their nets. Akol fishermen estimate that they are catching up to 50% fewer fish than they did 10 years ago, indicating a major depletion of fish stocks.

Fishermen pull fish from their nets at sunrise near the village of Akol. 

Fishermen gather in the shallow waters surrounding the village of Akol to check their nets. Akol fishermen estimate that they are catching up to 50% fewer fish than they did 10 years ago, indicating a major depletion of fish stocks. During the dry season, the water level of the Tonle Sap lake drops by several metres, exposing a small sandbar that the village of Akol anchors itself to. Until the rains begin and the lake's level rises, Akol residents have access to dry land. The floating village of Akol is home to roughly 30 families, nearly all of whom depend on the Tonle Sap lake for the majoirty of their income.

Virtually every family in Akol is engaged in fishing in one way or the other. Often the men will set the nets at night, and the women and children will assist them in checking the nets the next morning. 

Looking around, it was easy to see the truth of what Savoeun said. Apart from a makeshift volleyball court erected on the coarse red sand and a few wells (which, full of lake water as they were, were meant for convenient showering and dishwashing rather than as a source of clean potable water), it was apparent that very few, if any, aspects of life in Akol were dictated by access to dry land. There was only one permanent structure, still under construction, and it was destined to serve as an office for an international conservation organization. When the monsoon rains returned later in the year and the lake’s level rose by up to 8 additional metres, the village could lift anchor and drift away, leaving the office to stand alone.

Residents of Akol play volleyball in the afternoon. A new concrete office for an international conservation organization will be the only permanent structure in the community. The floating village of Akol is home to roughly 30 families. During the dry season, the receding Tonle Sap  lake reveals a small sandbar, turning the floating community into an island village.

Residents of Akol play volleyball in the afternoon. A new concrete office for an international conservation organization will be the only permanent structure in the community.

But the Tonle Sap, whose once bountiful waters support dozens of communities like Akol, was not well. Generations of overfishing, combined with a rapidly growing population had stretched the lake’s already diminishing fish population to its breaking point, as evidenced by the morning’s trip into the protected zone. The widespread use of illegal fishing equipment – from nets so fine that even the smallest and youngest fish were trapped to battery powered electric nets that killed every living creature in its shock radius – had further decimated stocks and deforestation and human-induced bush fires had ravaged the aquatic trees amongst whose submerged root systems young fish were hatched before migrating into deeper waters.

“I noticed that animals were being reduced by hunting and fishing, and that the forests were burning – so I asked for this job,” Horm Sok, a field researcher employed by Conservation International told us.

Horm Sok, a researcher for Conservation International, drags a boat over a shallow sandbar on his way to an area of forest he is responsible for monitoring. Forest fires and buffalo grazing have damaged the forestlands surrounding the Tonle Sap, which are essential habitats and breeding grounds for a variety of animals.

Horm Sok, a researcher for Conservation International, drags a boat over a shallow sandbar on his way to an area of forest he is responsible for monitoring. Forest fires and buffalo grazing have damaged the forestlands surrounding the Tonle Sap, which are essential habitats and breeding grounds for a variety of animals.

Though he had only held the job for 6 years, Horm Sok had been living in Akol since 1979 and has borne witness to the dramatic changes afflicting the Tonle Sap. “The population has grown so much and the fish are disappearing,” he told us as we followed him through the sweltering jungle to see some of the conservation initiatives he oversaw. “There didn’t used to be so many fishermen or illegal fishing.”

Horm’s responsibilities ranged from monitoring forest fires to photographing otter dung as a means of monitoring species numbers, but two projects in particular he hoped would be effective in slowing the loss of marine life.

Destruction of the coastal forests that acted as nurseries for infant fish was caused by multiple factors, he told us, almost all of which involved human activity or negligence. Carelessly tended cooking fires had sparked blazes that ravaged 30 hectares of land in the last year alone. “The loss of 30 hectares represents up to 3% of the future fish population,” Horm said, adding perspective. And while the loss of 20 football fields worth of forest might not seem like a dramatic number on a global scale, in a country with the third highest rate of deforestation in the world, Cambodia was a place with few trees to spare.

Additionally, Horm supervised the protection of several fish nurseries that played an even larger role in repopulating the Tonle Sap’s fish. “There are thousands of fish in each pond,” he told us, gesturing to a muddy pool 4 km inland from the lake, protected from exploitation only by the permanent presence of a paid security guard. So far from the water it was difficult to see a connection between the stagnant ponds and the Great Lake, but when the water level rose in several months the entire area would be inundated, absorbing the young fish into its vastness. “Ponds like these can contribute up to 20% of all fish [in the lake],” Horm told us, contextualizing what we were looking at.

Horm Sok, a researcher for Conservation International, records otter dung data which he will use to check the overall health and growth of the species population. Forest fires and buffalo grazing have damaged the forestlands surrounding the Tonle Sap, which are essential habitats and breeding grounds for a variety of animals.

Horm Sok, a researcher for Conservation International, records otter dung data which he will use to check the overall health and growth of the species population.

“It’s not about the money,” Horm said when we asked about his motivations for undertaking such a monumentally difficult task as keeping the Tonle Sap healthy. “I asked for this job because I want to conserve the animals and the forest. When I see the fish [vanishing] and the forests burning I feel a lot of regret.”

A Lake Like No Other

“There is nothing else like the Tonle Sap. It’s like an inland ocean, a fish soup,” Taber Hand, founder of the water-focused social enterprise group Wetlands Work! told us in his Phnom Penh apartment. Though we were physically distant from the lake, his passion for its health was plain, and his knowledge vast.

“There are more fish by tonnage in the Tonle Sap than in both the commercial and recreational freshwater sectors of the United States and Canada combined,” he continued, surprising us with the staggering statistic. “But the lake is a poster child for tragedy.”

During the dry season, the water level of the Tonle Sap lake drops by several metres, exposing a small sandbar that the village of Akol anchors itself to. Until the rains begin and the lake's level rises, turning Akol into an island community. The floating village of Akol is home to roughly 30 families.

Boys walk across the stilted path that connects their home to the small sandbar the village of Akol is anchored to for the dry season.

Thol Thoeurn, 28, splashes water on his pigs to keep them cool in their floating pens. Fishermen report up to a 50% decrease in fish catches, and many are rearing pigs to supplement their income. Unfortunately the pigs deficate directly into the water surrounding villager's houses, many of whom use the lake water for cooking and cleaning. During the dry season, the water level of the Tonle Sap lake drops by several metres, exposing a small sandbar that the village of Akol anchors itself to. Until the rains begin and the lake's level rises, Akol residents have access to dry land. The floating village of Akol is home to roughly 30 families.

Thol Thoeurn, 28, splashes water on his pigs to keep them cool in their floating pens. Fishermen report up to a 50% decrease in fish catches, and many are rearing pigs to supplement their income. Unfortunately the pigs deficate directly into the water surrounding villager’s houses, many of whom use the lake water for cooking and cleaning. 

Paradoxically, one of the most devastating environmental blows to Cambodia’s waterways was the government mandated closing of industrial fishing corporations in the early 2000’s. In an attempt to garner political support, the incumbent government ordered that all large scale commercial operations be disbanded and the fishing grounds returned to the people. While the idea might seem harmless on paper, the real world results were devastating. Despite the huge numbers of fish caught by industrial fishing, the international corporations involved understood that they needed to protect the ecosystem in order to secure a financial future for their companies. When these companies withdrew, taking with them the armed guards who protected their fisheries, a resource free-for-all ensued. In the mad dash to claim land for rice farming, harvest valuable tree species, and fish the abundant waters, the populist policy brought about widespread destruction.

“The industrial fisheries protected the lots by force, which angered the population. But by playing to the people, [Prime Minister Hun Sen] doomed the waterscape. The former lots have become habitat wastelands, totally destroyed by deforestation. They’re probably getting 0.5% of what those areas produced before,” Hand explained.

A young girl mends a fishing net near the floating village of Akol.

A young girl mends a fishing net near the floating village of Akol.

A boy collects fish from nets attached to his floating home in the village of Akol. During the dry season, the water level of the Tonle Sap lake drops by several metres, exposing a small sandbar that the village of Akol anchors itself to. Until the rains begin and the lake's level rises, Akol residents have access to dry land. The floating village of Akol is home to roughly 30 families, nearly all of whom depend on the Tonle Sap lake for the majoirty of their income.

A boy collects fish from nets attached to his floating home.

Additional factors such as government corruption (bribed fisheries officials selectively ignoring illegal fishing practices), agricultural pollution, and population growth, have further exacerbated the problem.

Though he emphatically told us that there a variety of actions that could be undertaken to restore the Tonle Sap, Hand was pragmatic when we spoke about the likelihood of these steps being taken in time.

“The biodiversity is there to provide more than enough,” Hand told us, “but its the human side of the equation, the human priorities, that don’t fit. We could have our cake and eat it too, [the solution] is right there for us to act on, but people want to work for themselves instead of together.”

In an impoverished country like Cambodia where millions battle on a daily basis to feed their families, it is perhaps not surprising that environmental cooperation is not a top priority. But without such a mass movement, Cambodia’s most important waterway was headed for disaster.

Children play at sunset in the village of Akol.

Children play at sunset in the village of Akol.

A boy runs along the gunnels of a fibre glass fishing boat in the village of Akol. During the dry season, the water level of the Tonle Sap lake drops by several metres, exposing a small sandbar that the village of Akol anchors itself to. Until the rains begin and the lake's level rises, Akol residents have access to dry land. The floating village of Akol is home to roughly 30 families, nearly all of whom depend on the Tonle Sap lake for the majoirty of their income.

A boy runs along the gunnels of a fibre glass fishing boat in the village of Akol.

As our meeting with drew to a close, Hand reflected on a telling fact: “‘The Tonle Sap is the heart and soul of Cambodia’ used to be an extremely popular saying. Everyone said it, including the Prime Minister. But you know, I don’t think I’ve heard anyone say that in at least 10 years.”

Posted in A River's Tail, Blog, Cambodia, Environmental, The Mekong River, Water Also tagged , , , , , , |

Long Tail Diaries: The First Voyage

Flower vendors stops in the village of Tae Pi to sell their produce. The edible flowers will be cooked and are an important source of vitamins for the villagers.

Flower vendors stops in the village of Tae Pi to sell their produce. The edible flowers will be cooked and are an important source of vitamins for the villagers.

 

After months of scheming and preparation, fellow photographer Gareth Bright and I set off for the first voyage on our wooden long tail fishing boat to explore southeast Asia’s waterways. Being glaringly inexperienced boat drivers, this trip was meant as a trial run of sorts – to see how we dealt with life afloat and to check the logistical challenges of expanding this project further into the region – rather than a concentrated effort to produce a coherent body of documentary work.

We took our best guess as to what the essential equipment would be, and while some items were invaluable, others proved more of a nuisance than anything (such as a large aluminium cooking wok that saw no use and mainly acted as something to bang our toes off). We discovered what food was suited to such a trip (peanut butter and coffee were staples), and what just took up valuable space (a 2 litre bottle of chilli sauce, for example). In terms of equipment, we quickly discovered that less is more – our huge DLSR packs saw little action, while smaller compact cameras such as the Fuji X100s and GoPros were much easier to grab and keep safe. Mostly importantly we learned that this project is absolutely possible and that Gareth and I won’t tear each other’s heads off in a confined space.

In all, the first leg of the trip lasted for two weeks and saw us depart Phnom Penh dangerously late in the day as we rushed around town tying up loose ends. Setting out from the Cham Muslim community where our boat lives while in the city, we immediately learned that our engine tends to stall out if not properly warmed up, resulting in us drifting around in circles through busy shipping lanes – much to the amusement of those watching from the riverside. Our second blunder saw us run out of fuel in front of one of Phnom Penh’s busiest ferry terminals, and again we spun dangerously between vessels much larger than our own. Rattled but determined not to look any more ridiculous than we already had, we tried to put distance between us and the city – only to find the darkness approaching much faster than our 18 HP engine could outrun. Ultimately our first night was spent a scant 5 km from where we started, tied up to the side of a dilapidated sunken shack, surrounded by broken fishing traps and a tepid slurry of takeout containers and plastic bags. Perhaps not the noble start we had imagined, but it was a start nonetheless.

Waking at 4a.m. on the damp floor planks of our boat, we cleared our heads with hideously strong coffee and paddled out to put the disasters of the previous day behind us. On that warm morning, the real trip started as we motored out of the city’s urban sprawl and onto the wide, jungle-lined expanse of the Tonle Sap. We made our way slowly up river, driving when we felt like it, swimming when we got hot, and stopping often. When we snapped the pull-start cord on our engine, a group of fishermen repaired it for us in ten minutes, the kindness of strangers amazing me as always. We made camp when it felt right, sleeping in pagodas and an abandoned school, and within four days had broken through onto the Tonle Sap Lake, or “The Great Lake” – a critical source of food for Cambodia and the largest freshwater body in the region.

We spent roughly a week in floating villages, talking to fishermen and remote coastal residents alike, continuously marvelling at the massive expanse of water around us. We crashed into docks, houses, and occasionally other boats, but no one really seemed to mind, so confused were they by the sight of our sunburnt faces.

After two weeks we turned around and drove home, far more competent and confident. The experience was as educational as it was inspirational, and it left little doubt in our minds that the trip would have to continue. Armed with the memories of our mistakes, we will spend the coming weeks re-organizing and re-planning, and will start the process of raising the necessary funds to tackle the next stages.

When we can finish sifting through the hours of footage I will work on getting a short video up to showcase the highs and the lows, as well as outline the project’s goals more clearly. For now though, here are some of my favourite images from the last two weeks.

 

Early morning on the Tonle Sap River in the remote village of Tae Pi. The community consists of a handful of families and their livestock, most of whom make their living fishing the river.

Early morning on the Tonle Sap River in the remote village of Tae Pi. The community consists of a handful of families and their livestock, most of whom make their living fishing the river.

Villagers gather around their boats along the shoreline of Tae Pi.

Villagers gather around their boats along the shoreline of Tae Pi.

A fruit and vegetable seller makes her morning rounds in the floating village of Kampong Luong.

A fruit and vegetable seller makes her morning rounds in the floating village of Kampong Luong.

A boat painter puts the finishing touches on a newly repainted fishing vessel.

A boat painter puts the finishing touches on a newly repainted fishing vessel.

Fishermen prepare to offload their catches onto waiting trucks in the village of Kampong Luong.

Fishermen prepare to offload their catches onto waiting trucks in the village of Kampong Luong.

Baskets of snails, puled from the Tonle Sap Lake, are bagged in preparation for sale at local markets.

Baskets of snails, pulled from the Tonle Sap Lake, are bagged in preparation for sale at local markets.

A labourer hefts a bag of snails before loading it onto a waiting truck.

A labourer hefts a bag of snails before loading it onto a waiting truck.

A fisherman waits to be paid for his day's catch on the Tonle Sap Lake. Fishing is the primary source of income for people living on the water, though most live in relative poverty.

A fisherman waits to be paid for his day’s catch on the Tonle Sap Lake. Fishing is the primary source of income for people living on the water.

Young men and women make use of the steel frame of tower to bathe and socialize during their free time. In the relatively cramped living conditions in a floating community, there are few large spaces for people to gather indoors.

Young men and women make use of the steel frame of tower to bathe and socialize during their free time. In the relatively cramped living conditions of a floating community, there are few large spaces for people to gather indoors.

A labourer smokes a cigarette on the floating ice factory where he works. With many floating communities cut off from the main power grid, ice is an important commodity for food storage.

A labourer smokes a cigarette on the floating ice factory where he works. With many floating communities cut off from the main power grid, ice is essential for food storage.

A worker fills ice moulds with cold water before leaving them to settle into solid blocks.

A worker fills ice moulds with cold water before leaving them to settle into solid blocks.

Workers use metal hooks to slide the ice onto waiting boats.

Workers use metal hooks to slide ice onto waiting boats.

An ice chipping machine shreds large blocks into a more managable form.

An ice chipping machine shreds large blocks into a more managable form.

A gas station attendant scheks his cell phone between customers on a floating fuel barge. The barges cater to a nearly constant stream of villagers, most of whom own boats instead of cars or motorcycles.

A gas station attendant checks his cell phone between customers on a floating fuel barge. The barges cater to a nearly constant stream of villagers, most of whom own boats instead of cars or motorcycles.

Children fill gas cans for their parents in preparation for the next morning's fishing. There are no licenses required for boat operation and it is not uncommon to see 3-4 year olds driving boats at speed through the village.

Children fill gas cans for their parents in preparation for the next morning’s fishing. There are no licenses required for boat operation and it is not uncommon to see 3-4 year olds driving boats at speed through the village.

 

 

Posted in Blog, Cambodia, Environmental, The Mekong River Also tagged , , , , , , , , |