Delicate Sea Delicacy
One of the very first things that introduced me to the remote reaches of the northern California coastline was abalone (ab for short) diving. I had heard about ab diving. I'd seen the beautiful, iridescent empty shells decorating peoples landscaping and mailboxes in beach towns. The bigger shells, from trophy abs which have a diameter of 10 inches or more, are always inside the house on a wall, varnished and in full view for everyone to see.
Abalone, a mollusk, is one of the largest sea snails in the Pacific. They occupy cold water environments and subsist, almost exclusively, on kelp. It's a bizarre looking creature with the hard shell (the iridescence is on the inside) on top leaving the bottom muscle, the "foot," to spread out and attach itself to the surface of a rock. They live at a depth, give or take, of 15ft.
L to R: 1) The top of an ab shell. The red outer layer has mostly worn off. 2) The underside of an intact abalone. The "foot," the black part, spreads out and attaches to the seafloor. 3) The meat after it's been cleaned. 4) The empty, iridescent inside. 5&6) Abalone in the wild.
Abalone meat is considered a delicacy. Shiny shells and dinner bells aside, I was just excited to explore the water along the coast. The waters of Northern California are rich and diverse with a variety of sea life including an occasional octopus, seals, sea lions and sea plants. The vivid seascape is complimented by a variety of undersea sounds. It's another world which commands a singular focus
I was introduced to ab diving about 15 years by a new neighbor. This is the same neighbor who asked me if I liked to run. Sure, I liked to run. The next morning found me in front of my house at 5:30a, headlamp on. I couldn't see the first hill because it was pitch black. I knew it was steep because my heels didn't strike the ground on the ascent. Up and down and all around and I was back at home, an hour later, exhausted and pukey, wondering what had just happened.
You wanna dive for abs? Sure Brad, I'd like to dive for abs.
I was relieved that Brad had waited to tell me about the recent shark attack until after our abalone dive. This was my very first ab dive and I was somewhere between intrigued, excited and, a bit pensive. After all, abalone is considered the most dangerous recreational activity. The shark attack had happened in the same area where we were diving. But my initial relief was very quickly interrupted by my indignity that we had been in the water near Fort Bragg at all. Brad laughed. I'd get him back.
The attack had happened a week before our dive. The abalone diver had been truncated. Meaning the shark got the diver by the head and shoulders. His dive partner, who was next to him but facing away, felt a whoosh of water, saw a fish out of the corner of his eye the size of his pick-up, immediately followed by an expanding crimson cloud of blood. And then silence.
The victim's head was found on a nearby beach 3 weeks later.
The data that supports abalone diving as the most dangerous game is simple: the number of deaths as a percentage of participants. There are about 35,000 sea snail hunters who free dive (no tanks only breath hold) the California's coast. At the end of 2017, the last time abalone season was open (their populations dropped sharply that year - more on this later), more than 65 divers had lost their lives over the previous 20 years.
While shark attacks are the most storied and sensational abalone deaths, overall they account for the fewest. Abalone eat kelp. Kelp can grow 11 inches a single day to reach maturity at 100ft. Like trees, they can form vast underwater forests.
Free divers, yearning for that trophy abalone, that prized meat, the beautiful iridescent shell, on one breath, swimming amongst the kelp.
You didn't budget your time well. A longer hunt along the bottom. You've pushed it and you know it. You have just enough air for the swim to the surface. And a piece of kelp, tangled in your dive belt, seemingly slipped there by a territorial and spited mermaid, unexpectedly halts your ascent. You'd better of practiced with the quick release on the dive knife strapped to your ankle. The majority of abalone related deaths are the result of drowning and heart attacks.
While abalone divers mourn for their fallen divers, there hasn't been a single abalone related death since 2017. That's because there hasn't been an abalone season since 2017.
As of 2017 abalone populations had already been in a steady decline. Overfishing and poaching had taken their toll. Commercial abalone had long since been banned. The length of the season had been reduced to five months. And limits had been reduced to 12 abalone a season and not more than 3 in a day (limits can nominally vary by geo).
At the end of the 2017 the California Department of Fish & Game discovered that 37% of the abalone along the 200 mile coastline of Norther California had died. It was a mass die-off brought about by the simultaneous, equally huge loss of bull kelp. An amalgamation of factors contributed, including rising water temperatures, a surge in the population of purple sea urchin (who also compete for kelp) and changes to the PH balance of the sea water.
Since that time, and with each passing season, regeneration of the kelp has been slow. And the population of the purple urchin continue to spread unabated. The video below is from 2016. Note the absence of kelp, the proliferation of purple urchin, and the absence of abalone.
My buddy surfaces with a tasty red urchin.
Hopes for a 2021 season were recently dashed when the Department of Fish and Game declared the season closed until at least 2026. Until this year, each season had been evaluated as it came. The move to close to season for an additional 5 years if deeply concerning. And although it's a sport that I love, I have no issue hanging up my ab iron until the abalone can recover to healthy levels. After all, I've always wanted to learn how to spearfish.
