Yay for data!
I have a new field assistant to help me collect data. His name is Bao – a fisherman from the next village over. Gathering data with Bao is always an adventure, primarily due to the ever present language barrier. Bao speaks only slightly more English than I speak Thai (which is to say practically none). Fortunately we are both fluent in pantomime. Bao and I can exchange an entire story without understanding a single word either way. I am convinced that the two of us would absolutely clean house in a game of charades.
Despite the language barrier, Bao and I somehow manage to get the job done. He has a clear sense of my project and knows precisely how to question the shrimp farmers and aquaculturalists to get the information I need. I devised a questionnaire and had it translated into Thai specifically for this purpose. But being a local, Bao understands the subtleties of the culture, and his jovial demeanor and local ties usually grant us access into the offices of even the most suspicious shrimp farmers.
Driving around a shrimp farm with Bao
In this first phase of my research I’m collecting production and GPS data from shrimp farms and aquaculture rafts. If we’re collecting shrimp farm data we’ll take Bao’s motorbike up to the entrance, where he’ll sweet talk our way inside. He sits and chats with the manager on duty while I walk around delineating the perimeter boundary with a GPS device. Usually by the time I return to join Bao and the manager for coffee or juice, he has already filled out the questionnaire. (Side note: I am not trying to deceive the shrimp farmers to get data from them. My goal is to work with different stakeholders to develop a set of management recommendations for the entire watershed.)
Harvesting shrimp
If we’re collecting aquaculture data we go down to one of the docks in the mangroves adjacent to Klong Na Ka. Bao negotiates a good price for one of the cheerful, brightly painted little long-tail boats (named for the motor at the end of a long pole that extends behind the boat). We then noisily putter out to the main channel where dozens of aquaculture rafts float in clusters. Mussel and oyster rafts require only routine maintenance (i.e. people don’t need to live on them full time), and therefore we simply count the number of oyster/mussel strings and GPS the corners of each raft. Fish cage rafts generally include a little bamboo hut, where the aquaculturist lives with any number of dogs, cats, or family members. Fish farmers tend to be less guarded than shrimp farmers. I think there are probably two reasons for this: 1) Our project provided seed money to support local aquaculture; and 2) Let’s face it: Sitting on a floating raft all day can’t be that exciting. It must be nice to have visitors every now and then.
If we’re collecting aquaculture data we go down to one of the docks in the mangroves adjacent to Klong Na Ka. Bao negotiates a good price for one of the cheerful, brightly painted little long-tail boats (named for the motor at the end of a long pole that extends behind the boat). We then noisily putter out to the main channel where dozens of aquaculture rafts float in clusters. Mussel and oyster rafts require only routine maintenance (i.e. people don’t need to live on them full time), and therefore we simply count the number of oyster/mussel strings and GPS the corners of each raft. Fish cage rafts generally include a little bamboo hut, where the aquaculturist lives with any number of dogs, cats, or family members. Fish farmers tend to be less guarded than shrimp farmers. I think there are probably two reasons for this: 1) Our project provided seed money to support local aquaculture; and 2) Let’s face it: Sitting on a floating raft all day can’t be that exciting. It must be nice to have visitors every now and then.
Chatting with a fish farmer on his aquaculture raft
While Bao chats with the fish farmer and acquires production data (How many fish cages are there? How much feed goes into the water? Etc…), I gather GPS perimeter data. This is where data collection on the water diverges sharply from terrestrial data collection. Fish rafts are primarily constructed of bamboo – a devastatingly NARROW, and ROUND building material. This means that gathering GPS data for the perimeter of each raft requires a nearly impossible feat of balance and patience. Anyone who knows me will adamantly attest to my lack of physical grace. In truth I am the clumsiest person I know. So you can imagine me out in the middle of a floating raft, moving up and down with the waves with nothing to grab onto, trying to stay balanced on a rounded, wet stretch of bamboo that is at best 4 inches wide. Sometimes I have to turn sideways, crouch down, and inch my way along. With arms and tongue sticking out like a gymnast in the Special Olympics, I have somehow managed to complete this feat repeatedly without toppling into the water, GPS and all. So far. Cross your fingers for me – I’m almost half way through with this portion of my data collection.
Balance is not my strength
Gravity has other, less direct ways of working against me in the field. Bao and I are careful to plan our data collection excursions according to the tides. The inaccuracy of the available tidal charts caught up with us last time, when we were surprised to find a rapidly falling tide on the way back to the dock. Needless to say, we soon became stranded at the lowest possible tide. We had to wait 45 minutes for the tide to change while the little boat rested in three inches of muddy water. I had fun anyway, taking the opportunity to explore and look for marine invertebrates in the nearby mangroves. The villagers laughed at me when I returned to the dock covered to my waist in black mangrove mud. Meanwhile Bao (obviously the smarter of our two person research team) arrived at the dock clean and refreshed from his 45 minute nap.
Gravity has other, less direct ways of working against me in the field. Bao and I are careful to plan our data collection excursions according to the tides. The inaccuracy of the available tidal charts caught up with us last time, when we were surprised to find a rapidly falling tide on the way back to the dock. Needless to say, we soon became stranded at the lowest possible tide. We had to wait 45 minutes for the tide to change while the little boat rested in three inches of muddy water. I had fun anyway, taking the opportunity to explore and look for marine invertebrates in the nearby mangroves. The villagers laughed at me when I returned to the dock covered to my waist in black mangrove mud. Meanwhile Bao (obviously the smarter of our two person research team) arrived at the dock clean and refreshed from his 45 minute nap.
Stranded at low tide!
Harrowing as the raft walking and tidal strandings may be, every day on the water is inevitably fun. Between the endless laughing and charades with Bao, coffee breaks with happy fisherman in the cozy shade of their bamboo fish houses, and the stunning views of the mountains and mangroves, this field work reinforces my love for the career path I have chosen.
Harrowing as the raft walking and tidal strandings may be, every day on the water is inevitably fun. Between the endless laughing and charades with Bao, coffee breaks with happy fisherman in the cozy shade of their bamboo fish houses, and the stunning views of the mountains and mangroves, this field work reinforces my love for the career path I have chosen.
Sorting cultured mussels at the dock
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