By Alina Suchanski

Reading time: 13 minutes 

Every spring when the season begins, thousands of Kiwis head to their local rivers and estuaries in search of the elusive whitebait. Whether for the lifestyle or money, they all become obsessed with this sport. Alina Suchanski visits some whitebaiters to tell the story.

Whitebait are small transparent fish measuring between 45-65 mm. Department of Conservation (DOC) defines New Zealand whitebait as juveniles of six main species of fish: inanga, banded kōkopu, giant kōkopu, shortjaw kōkopu, kōaro, and common smelt, with inanga making up 80% of their numbers.

Although whitebait are caught in rivers throughout New Zealand, the largest returns are gathered from the West Coast. Here, their habitat is relatively unspoilt by human touch, with many rivers originating from and flowing through national parks and conservation areas.

The desolate, wild coast between Big Bay and Martins Bay becomes a hub of activity for a few weeks each year between 1 September to 14 November. The tranquillity of the beaches at the mouth of the Awarua River and the Hollyford River is disturbed by small planes and helicopters flying in and out daily, quad bikes crisscrossing the sand dunes, and boats splashing up and down the river.

It’s spring – tui, bellbirds and wood pigeons are getting drunk on kowhai blossoms, seal pups are frolicking in rock pools on the seashore, and millions of baby inanga, kōkopu, and kōaro fish, collectively known as whitebait, are migrating from the sea to their habitat upstream where they can grow and reproduce. That is, those that can make it there, for there are many threats lurking along the way. Trout, eels, shags, herons, penguins, and seagulls all line up with man to eat the delicacy.

In addition, pollution and habitat loss have taken their toll on our treasured whitebait species. These days, banded kōkopu and smelt are the only two considered not threatened—the rest have a more serious conservation status than the little spotted kiwi!

Whitebaiters have been coming to Big Bay and Martins Bay since Davey Gunn put the Hollyford Track on the map as a tourist destination in 1936. Once they catch the bug, they return year after year. Some families have been coming for generations.

Private batches in the Pyke Conservation Area, where the Awarua River enters Big Bay, were built in 1960s and 70s with approval from the New Zealand Forest Service. In 1987, this area became part of Fiordland National Park and has since been under DOC jurisdiction. The hut owners lease the land on which their batches stand from DOC. No new buildings or extensions to existing batches are allowed.

Inside a cozy crib, Ian Dobson (Dobbie) and his two visitors – Bill from Brisbane and John (Simmo) from Balclutha muse about the season in Big Bay. “We’ve been coming here for years – usually stay for the whole season. Just love it. It’s the lifestyle, the Kiwiana,” Dobbie says.

This is Dobbie’s 45^th whitebaiting season. His father, Douglas W. Dobson started the tradition which is now being carried on by his two sons, Dobbie and Bill. “You wouldn’t starve here. You can get deer, hare, plenty of seafood – paua, mussels, trout, and, of course, whitebait. A bit short on veggies, but we always bring a big bag of potatoes,” Simmo says.

According to Phil from Cromwell, the river carries 12.5 tons of whitebait per season. “In a good year I can get 2.5 tons,” he says.

On the other side of the Awarua River, a new generation of whitebaiters is bringing modern technology to this remote location. Internet, broadband and a satellite dish help them keep in touch with the outside world. Grant, Warrick, and Kelly Mitchell grew up in Big Bay. Their parents, Graham and Anne Mitchell first came to Big Bay in 1966. Initially, they made their living from deer recovery; later they supplemented their income by whitebaiting. In 1972, they built a house where the family subsequently lived for 16 years. Graham was an honorary ranger in the Pyke Conservation Area. “He made sure we all followed the regulations and sensible practices,” a long-term family friend says.

What stops people from coming in droves to this baiters’ paradise is the difficulty of getting there. There’s no road access to this part of the West Coast. Unless you charter a plane or a helicopter, it can take four to five days to get there on foot or several days in a boat.

Across the South Island in Canterbury region, one of the East Coast’s many braided rivers, the Ashley, enters the Pacific Ocean at Waikuku Beach, north of Christchurch. Access to its estuary is easy, just off State Highway 1, and the river has been a whitebaiting mecca for decades, if not centuries.

On the opening day of the 2021 season, whitebaiting pals Vicky and John brave the frosty morning at 5 am to get to their favourite spot on the riverbank. To their disappointment, the place has already been taken and they settle for an inferior spot, overgrown and muddy. Wearing long waders and warm jackets, they set up their net by torchlight, 20 metres away from Alan who took their original place.

Whitebaiting is not a sport for the impatient. It’s a waiting game. From time to time, Vicky and John take turns to wade through the shallows with guiding rods to drive the fry into the net. Then they lift the net and scoop its contents into a bucket, only to start again.

John has been whitebaiting in the Ashley River for 50 years. At 83, he still enjoys the sport and is surprisingly sprightly for his age. Vicky is a newbie by comparison, having been introduced to whitebaiting just eight years ago. But what she lacks in experience, she makes up in enthusiasm.

“We love it here by the river. The birdlife is amazing; pukeko, shags, white herons (kotuku), paradise ducks, lots of gulls. Sometimes we see four or five kotuku catching whitebait on the other side of the river. It’s like a ballet. We love watching them,” Vicky says.

“We don’t get much whitebait, but we like to have enough to share with friends and family,” John adds.

 

Twenty metres downstream, Alan is warming up his hands on a cup of tea while watching his net. He’s been a weekend baiter for 20 years and says he gets about 2-3 kg each year. “I don’t normally come on the opening day, but this year the conditions are perfect. We had a lot of rain two months ago, and as the river flooded it washed up the fish eggs from the banks into the ocean. Then they hatched and the whitebait are now coming back up the river. That’s why I’m here today,” he explains.

Whitebaiting is not only a domain for Kiwis. Other nations have enjoyed this delicacy for centuries.

In Europe, whitebait consist of immature fry from many food species, such as herring, sprat, sardines, mackerel, bass, and others.

Records of whitebait as a food source in England date back to 1612. By the 1780s, it was fashionable to dine on it. Other countries where whitebaiting is popular include Spain, Italy, Australia, Japan, China, and Puerto Rico (Wikipedia, n.d.).

The Māori tradition of whitebaiting dates back well before the colonisation of Aotearoa. Maui descendants caught them in hinaki – woven nets made of harakeke (flax), cabbage tree or nikau leaves.  Whitebait were caught in lakes, dried on stones, on flax mats in the sun or over a fire, and stored in kete (flax baskets) to be eaten in winter. Europeans also caught whitebait using nets made out of supplejack and curtain muslin. Early Chinese gold miners and pioneering women caught the fish to supplement their diet and income. The women often went baiting while their men worked at other employment (Te Ara, n.d.).

In those earlier days, whitebait were so abundant that any excesses were used as garden fertiliser. However, by the 1890s, numbers of whitebait were declining in most parts of New Zealand (Hagan, 2013).

Removing these fish at such a juvenile stage, before they have had a chance to grow and reproduce, might severely reduce future fish stocks. Therefore, it is not an ecologically viable foodstuff, and, in several countries, there are strict controls on harvesting (Wikipedia, n.d.). But it’s hard to advocate for whitebait – they’re small, live under water, and, until fried, are virtually invisible.

In New Zealand, DOC controls whitebaiting regulations, including when and where fishing is allowed, the size and placing of the fishing gear, and other details. This year, for the first time since 1990, changes were made in response to growing concern about the status of the fish that make up whitebait.

DOC’s Director – Aquatic, Elizabeth Heeg, says: “We have good knowledge about the issues facing the whitebait fishery. We know that nationwide, four of the six species fished as whitebait are at threat or risk of extinction and we have more knowledge about pressures on whitebait. As part of our national engagement to improve whitebait management, 90% of survey respondents said more needed to be done for a sustainable whitebait fishery. However, we don’t have regional data on whitebait, and this is one of the reasons we’ll be doing monitoring and scientific assessments. This work will also help us track the performance of the new regulations and their impact on the species that make up the whitebait fishery,” she adds.

Each river has its own rules relating to the placement and size of screens, nets, and stands. Stands must be re-registered each year with the regional council.

The whitebaiting season runs from 15 August until the end of November. West Coasters have a shorter term, from 1 September to 14 November, though, from next year the season will be shortened nationwide to run from September 1 to October 30.

Whitebait have always been a delicacy available only for a short time in spring. However, with retail prices reaching $140 a kilo (Taunton, 2020), whitebaiting can be a lucrative business.

It is also a tradition; an outdoor pastime where life slows down, and the only thing that flows fast is the river.

 

Sources: 1. Whitebait and whitebaiting, teara.govt.nz 2. Whitebait, Wikipedia 3. The History of Whitebaiting in New Zealand, jamesfaganhistoryblog.blogspot.com 4. $140 a kilogram: Whitebait back to ‘gold-plated’ prices, Stuff

Photos: Alina Suchanski

To immerse yourself in more articles like this, Subscribe or Log in