The land-locked ocean can no longer sustain life in its waters, or at market where Iranian fishermen struggle to make ends meet

In the wee hours of the morning, as the cold night breeze blows swiftly over the water before sunrise, the men gather. Wearing long plastic overalls and thin jackets, they come here to set the day’s first net.



They are as diverse as the lands which they are from: young and old, blue eyed and dark skinned, well-built and scrawny. Three small boats each take a corner of the net further into the sea. It is winter and the water is cooler by the day. To be a fisherman in the Caspian Sea, you must not complain of cold.

And so they wait. For hours, those on the boats monitor the net, while those on the shore pace back and forth, or sit on the back of the truck for a cigarette. A fisherman is not only a man who catches fish, but one who sits silently and waits.

“Tell them we are poor and hungry, that’s all,” says Ali, a 64-year-old fisherman originally from a village in East Azerbaijan who has been coming here autumn and winter for the past 35 years. “It’s the end of the sea,” he says, looking at me with tense blue eyes. In the sunlight, the scar above his right eye shines bright - the sea will permanently etch its mark. It was an accident while fishing, he says.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Iranian fisherman find it increasingly difficult to earn a livelihood from the Caspian Sea. Photograph: Tehran Bureau

There are more than a dozen men from East Azerbaijan in this group of fishermen, villagers and farmers who for decades have supplemented their income by fishing half the year. The season here starts in early October, and ends in mid-April. If the dwindling number of fish is anything to go by, they will soon need to start looking for different work.

The United Nations’ Food and Agricultural Organisation reports that the haul of Caspian kutum (mahi sefid), one of the most common fish, decreased from the 1950s to the 1990s from 1,250 tonnes per year to 210.

Two main reasons have been given: overfishing and pollution. The Caspian Sea, shared between five countries - Iran, Russia, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan and Turkmenistan - is in “critical condition” with oil tankers alone dumping over 120,000 tonnes of pollutants annually. Sewage from cities bordering the sea exacerbates pollution.

But out here, by this tiny coast, the vastness of the sea conceals such threats. There is only endless water where dozens of men wait for a day’s pay cheque. In this independent fishing cooperative, in Alam Deh, Mazandaran, northern Iran, the income from every catch is divided between 88 members. Only five receive higher pay: the cooperative head, and the few men who do specialised work. Men like Hamid, who has the air of a silent, dazzling hero, speaking little but saving the day. The tattoos up his arms only add to his confident, quiet aura, as he builds or repairs nets with a cigarette dwindling in the corner of his mouth.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Pollution and overfishing have taken their toll on the Caspian Sea. Photograph: Tehran Bureau

This year, ten young men from villages across the Asalem to Khalkhal Road in the neighboring province of Gilan have left their homes and joined the cooperative. Majid is 21, softly spoken with blond curls and bright green eyes. He works in construction half the year, but has come to Mazandaran to try and make a better living. His first year has been dismal.



Ali, the 64-year-old, points to him and says: “He chose the worst year to join. Last year at this time, after three months of work, we’d each made 1 million tomans (pounds 236, $359). This year, over the same time, we’ve made 500,000 tomans. There are no fish in the sea.”

As he says this, the men are busy preparing to empty the net. It’s a laborious process in which a tractor pulls out the net metre by metre. The tractor drives a few feet forward, the men pull out parts of the net that have come closest to the beach, take out any fish and throw them in a red basket. The very small fish are given back to the sea.

The procedure takes more than an hour. The money earned from the contents of the baskets, divided by their total number, will be their take from this round. When the net is finally pulled out completely, only a few dozen fish have been caught. The baskets, which should be full, are almost empty.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest At a fish auction. Photograph: Tehran Bureau

“It’s been like this all season,” announces Ahmad, shaking his head. He is 41, from East Azerbaijan. He has round chubby cheeks and moves his hands as he speaks. They are thick, animated hands, the hands of a former chef. For years he worked in a kitchen. Three of his four children are in school, one has just entered military service. “Wives aren’t what they used to be,” he says. “You bring home a late pay cheque and they are out the door.”

The men all have medical insurance as members of the cooperative, but working conditions are harsh. “Right now we are all wearing plastic boots,” says Ahmad, “but if we took them off, you’d see that half the men have really ugly bruises all over their feet and legs.”

The cold water takes its toll. “You pack up and leave if you are no longer able to work,” says Ahmad. Back pain, scars and infections are only three of many ailments from which they suffer.

A hundred metres from where the men are working, and all across the coast as far as the eye can see, are luxury villas. The fishermen say the sewage from the villas goes into the sea.

“There’s been naslkoshi (genocide) here,” another man tells me, referring to the dearth of fish. His late father was a rice farmer locally, but the siblings sold all the land, so he also works cutting and cleaning meat at a nearby bazaar. “You can’t imagine how beautiful the forests were, where now there’s only villas.”

Once the net is out, the fish are taken to the nearby market and auctioned. Most of the men go to their living quarters to rest for an hour, before the afternoon net is thrown in. They wash their jackets and overalls using water faucets across the yard. The men all live together, five in each tiny dorm room, in a small piece of land stuck between two luxury villas. Their living quarters are cramped but clean.

At the market, the highest bidder takes the fish and puts them proudly on display in his shop. Baqher, a storeowner, tells me how to check for freshness. He takes a fish from the basket, holds it up high with one hand and says: “Look at the curve, the fish is hardly falling. This tells you it’s fresh. Hold a fish from yesterday and it will bend completely.”



The most prominent fish here are mahi sefid (Caspian kutum), soof (Caspian zander) and kafal (mullet). Ozon boron (starry sturgeon) - the main caviar fish - is illegal to catch this season, due to its dangerously low numbers.

But ask any shop at the market, and if they don’t carry them already, they will pick up the phone to call a “contact”, who will be at the store with the fish in no time. Ozon boron is a delicacy, barbecued like kabab. The texture is similar to chicken and it tastes “great with vodka”, a villa owner from Tehran tells me as he waits at the market for a contact to bring him fish for a party.