Sitka is a small town. Visitors might think there isn't much to do here if they are passing through. But locals know better. It's a rare day when I have nothing to do. The City and Borough of Sitka actually covers the largest area of any city in the United States. That's because the limits span Sitka Sound. There are many opportunities to explore the area by boat and often times, be the only person or group in a particular part of Sitka. Recently, the Department of Natural Resources (DNR) took part of our town away from us. They ruled in favor of allowing Geoduck farming in Mielkoi Cove, which is about 7 miles south of Sitka (picture courtesy of Sitka Conservation Society). Last week, the Sitka Tribe, Sitka Conservation Society, and the City of Sitka appealed the decision.

Geoduck (pronounced "gooey duck") is a Nisqually native word for "dig deep." They are the largest burrowing clam in the world and are a delicacy in Japan and China. The industry is relatively young; commercially it's less than five years old. Found along the West Coast, there are harvestable amounts in Washington State, British Columbia, and Southeast Alaska. Geoduck are an odd looking shellfish, having a neck that can get up to three feet long and they may live to be over 100 years old (they are measured by the rings in the shell). They are eaten raw or lightly cooked. There is even a documentary about them.

The Sitka Tribe's main concern, according to my brother (he's on the tribal council), is the cultural impact to its citizens at the selected clam farm sites. These include traditional harvesting of native foods, historical or ongoing ceremonial use, and historical clan ownership of the area. Financial impacts will be brought to tribal citizens who commercially harvest geoduck in the form of direct competition from such farms as proposed for the Mielkoi Cove site and the restriction to the area as a result of DNR's decision to lease the area for farming. Additionally, public use of the area will be limited or restricted and will impact its general use.

The City of Sitka and Sitka Conservation Society's concerns in addition to the above include the impacts to commercial and sport fishing, recreation, and tourism, among others. On their website, they mention the expansion of a current farm in the Sitka area as well as Mielkoi Cove. But most alarming are the applications for 140 new sites around Southeast Alaska.

To be fair, in tonight's local newspaper, the applicant for the Mielkoi Cove site defends his position in a letter to the editor. He explains how the impacts may be exaggerated because his farm is at depths of forty feet, the buoys won't be an obstruction to navigation, and each permit application costs $5,000 to process (even if it's turned down). The details of the application process and current status are outlined here.

No matter the outcome, this is another example of Native resources in jeopardy. It is an ongoing struggle throughout Tlingit/Native Country. Under the guise of "no evidence the proposed farm's location is in a heavily used area," the DNR has ruled favorably for the applicant. But as my uncle likes to say in response to those types of arguments, "I have an old boat in my yard that I don't use very much anymore, but that doesn't mean anyone can just come and take it."

After the hard winter comes spring. Sometimes it's a little more harsh than others. But it always starts with the herring spawn in Sitka. During this time, the whole area becomes a wildlife wonderland. Seagulls, eagles, seal, sea lion, and humpback whales are seemingly everywhere you look. And though the commercial fishing boats are a threat to the subsistence fishery, it's still an amazing sight to see. It's all a part of the beginning of spring. The whole town is brought back to life by the arrival of the herring; the start of the food chain in Sitka Sound.

This year was a very good year for subsistence as opposed to last year (I blogged a couple months ago about last year's harvest). My brother, his girlfriend, and our cousin took turns gathering hemlock trees, tying rocks, and setting the branches over a period of several days during the first week of spring. The weather was amazing, which is unlike what locals call "herring weather," when we can experience what feels like four seasons in the span of a couple hours. It usually rains, hails, snows, then sunshines, all along with gusting winds for the duration of the spawn. However, this year was an exception with clear skies, little wind, and calm waters.

Nevertheless, getting herring eggs is a lot of work. It starts with finding some good-sized rocks off the beach to tie up with twine. Then cutting some hemlock trees near the ocean and dragging them to the boat. There, the trees are tied together, spaced out several feet apart and laid in the boat. The rocks are then tied to the branches in a couple places to weight them down.

Scouting for herring spawn is next. It's easy to tell where a good spawn is happening because the water turns a milky color. This is because the female herring have laid their eggs and the males are fertilizing them. They spawn near land in water of various depths, but mostly in shallow water. It's important to find a spawn where the bottom is rocky vs. sandy. If you lay the branches in a sandy area, the eggs will be sandy.

Once satisfied with the area, the trees are let out of the boat one-by-one. The number of trees used are determined by the amount of spawn in the area. They are set several feet off the beach. After a couple days, if the spawn is good, the herring will have laid thick eggs, or roe, on the hemlock branches. The roe are also deposited on macrothisis; called ne in Tlingit (soft e like in Nebraska).

This is where the hard work comes in. The trees can be heavily weighted from the eggs. The branches near the surface are clipped off and put into a container. When the tree is light enough, it can be drug back into the boat. It is possible to have your branches "robbed" by someone else, so it's important to check them often. After about three days, the spawn on the set is done and the branches must be pulled.

The eggs are usually bagged in freezer bags for preservation. They can also be dried if the sun shines and it gets warm enough. But for the first fresh harvest of the year, we simmer some water with a little seal oil mixed in and dip the eggs, still on the hemlock branches, into the water several times until they're hot. Ideally, you avoid cooking them too long. At their best, if they're cooked just right, they're translucent in color. If they're cooked too long, the eggs turn white.

Some people like dipping the eggs in butter and garlic. Our family likes dipping them in soy sauce and maybe a bit of seal oil. What do the eggs taste like? Since it's seafood, they have a salty taste to them. The seal oil adds a richness to the flavor. Seal oil, Tlingit style, is derived from boiling seal fat that is cut into small pieces, then filtering out the oil. It is a delicacy like herring eggs are a delicacy. The spring is also the best time to harvest seal because they are fatter this time of the year.

The subsistence herring fishery provides a time for Sitkans, not just Tlingits, to share the wealth of the land. Those with open boats and skiffs flock to the ocean. Of all the communities in Alaska that have a herring spawn, Sitka's is the largest harvest and most anticipated. Much bartering and sharing of the eggs takes place throughout the year. People often stock their freezers full of eggs to share at large parties like the Koo.eex' I talked about in my previous blog. Those who don't have boats or elders who cannot make it to get their own are usually provided for in one form or another.

There are other ways to harvest the eggs too. Some like getting roe on kelp. There is a fishery based on this type of harvest. In some southern villages, they use spruce branches to get the roe instead of hemlock. Commercially, the whole herring are taken and the eggs are squeezed out of them. No matter how they're harvested, the eggs provide a welcome transition to spring. After months of short, cold days and long nights, the activity brought by the herring turns Sitka into a thriving community that extends through the spring and summer. For Tlingit people, it is a very spiritual time of the year when everything comes back to life.