Monthly Archives: May 2019

Commercial Herring Fishery in Alaska

Herring are valuable fish to commercial fishermen, and in Alaska, herring are mainly harvested for their eggs which are shipped to Japan.

In last week’s post, I wrote about the biology and life history of the Pacific herring, and I explained how important herring are to the diets of many birds, fish, and marine mammals, but herring is also a valuable commodity to humans. For hundreds of years, Alaska native populations have conducted subsistence fisheries for herring. In the spring, villagers from coastal communities harvested herring eggs on kelp or hemlock boughs, and traditional dried herring is still an important resource in Bering Sea villages near Nelson Island where salmon is not readily available.

The commercial herring fishery in Alaska began in 1878 when 30,000 lbs. were caught for human consumption. Early Alaskan settlers preserved herring by salting the fish and storing it in large, wooden barrels. Salted and pickled herring production peaked after WWI when 28 million pounds (12,700 mt) were produced annually.

Reduction fisheries, which are the production of fish oil and fish meal from ground-up fish, began in Southeast Alaska in Chatham Straight in 1882. Reduced herring became more popular in the 1920s, and reduction plants sprang up from Craig to Kodiak in areas with large herring stocks. Harvests during the 1920s and 1930s reached 250 million pounds (113,400 mt) per year, and herring stocks declined in response to this unsustainable harvest. During the 1950s, the low cost of reduced Peruvian anchovies caused the reduction market in Alaska to collapse, and the last herring reduction plant in Alaska closed in 1966.

The Alaska sac roe fishery for herring began in the 1970s when the demand for imported herring eggs in Japan increased after Japan’s herring fishery declined. The sac roe fishery targets female herring just before they spawn. Pre-spawn egg sacs are removed from the female herring and shipped to Asia where they are a highly prized delicacy called kazunoko. Most herring for this fishery are caught by purse seining with a smaller percentage caught by gill netting. Unlike any other fishery in Alaska, managers carefully monitor the quality of the herring during the fishery to obtain the highest-value product possible. Technicians periodically test the condition of the female herring as their eggs ripen, and fishery managers use this information to carefully time the opening of the fishery to within days or even hours before the females are ready to release their eggs. This scrutiny ensures the eggs are ripe and prime for the Japanese market.

Most herring fisheries in Alaska are regulated as management units or regulatory stocks, and these stocks are very specific, often to small geographical areas. While managers might open herring fishing in one bay, the fishery could be closed in an adjacent bay because the herring return to spawn in the second bay the previous year did not meet sustainable levels. The herring sac roe fishery is competitive and intense. Fishery managers often open fishing at noon and close it a few hours later when fishermen have reached the quota for the area. Herring purse seiners work together in groups called combines and hire spotter planes to search for large schools of herring. The purse seine boats stand by near a school of herring until managers declare the fishery open, and then they quickly deploy their nets to scoop up the fish.

Since fishermen are only after the eggs in a sac roe fishery, the carcasses of the females and males caught in the nets are either processed for fishmeal or are sold for bait to commercial and sport anglers. There also is still a smaller food and bait fishery for herring.

In addition to the sac roe fishery, there is another type of commercial harvest for herring eggs called a spawn-on-kelp harvest using floating pens. Herring are caught with purse seines and then confined in floating pens containing kelp. When the herring spawn, the eggs attach to the kelp and are harvested. The eggs from this type of fishery sell for a very high value.


Robin Barefield is the author of three Alaska wilderness mystery novels, Big Game, Murder Over Kodiak, and The Fisherman’s Daughter. To download a free copy of one of her novels, watch her webinar about how she became an author and why she writes Alaska wilderness mysteries. Also, sign up below to subscribe to her free, monthly newsletter on true murder and mystery in Alaska.

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Pacific Herring (Clupea pallasii)

Last week, I mentioned how the Pacific herring (Clupea pallasii) had returned to Uyak Bay on Kodiak Island this spring in such large numbers, even bears recently out of hibernation noticed and were feeding on them in the shallow estuaries where they spawn. Pacific herring are an essential food source for many animals living in or near the North Pacific, including  birds such as cormorants, murres, auklets, puffins, and bald eagles; fish, such as salmon, halibut, cod, and pollock, and marine mammals, including harbor seals, Steller Sea Lions, fin whales, humpback whales, and orcas. When a pursuing predator forces a school of herring to the surface, seagulls take advantage of the situation and can often be spotted noisily diving and feeding on the fish. Herring are loaded with nutritious oil and nutrients and are an important forage fish for many species.

A herring has a blue-green upper body, silvery sides, and large eyes. Its body is laterally compressed with large scales, protruding in a serrated fashion. It has no scales on its head or gills. A herring has a deeply forked tail, a single dorsal fin located mid-body, and no adipose fin. Pacific herring can grow to 18 inches (45.7 cm) in length, but they are usually smaller than 9 inches (22.9 cm).

Pacific herring live throughout the coastal waters of the Pacific Ocean. In the eastern North Pacific, they range from Baja California north to the Beaufort Sea, and in the western North Pacific, they can be found in the western Bering Sea to Kamchatka, in the Okhotsk Sea and around Hokkaido, Japan southeast to the Yellow Sea.

[Pacific herring reach sexual maturity when they are three to four years old, and they spawn each year after reaching sexual maturity. Spawning occurs in the spring in shallow nearshore areas in intertidal and subtidal zones. Females release eggs at the same time males release sperm into the water, and the eggs and sperm mix, fertilizing the eggs. A single female can lay 20,000 eggs.

Herring Spawning Biomass

Spawning is precise, and while the trigger is not well understood, researchers suggest the male initiates the process by releasing milt containing a pheromone which stimulates females to release eggs. The process seems to be synchronized, and an entire school spawns in a period of a few hours, producing an egg density of up to  6,000,000 eggs per square yard (square meter). The fertilized eggs then attach to vegetation such as eelgrass or kelp or to the bottom. Eggs hatch two weeks after they are fertilized, and the larvae drift in the ocean currents. As they grow, juvenile herring stay in sheltered bays until autumn and then move into deeper water where they spend the next two to three years. Juveniles remain separate from the adult population. Biologists estimate only one herring per ten thousand eggs reaches adulthood.

Juvenile herring feed on phytoplankton and zooplankton, and adults also eat bigger crustaceans and small fish. Pacific herring travel in large schools. They migrate inshore to the heads of shallow coves and bays to spawn and then offshore to feed. They also migrate vertically in response to their prey, remaining near the bottom during the day and rising toward the top of the water column at night.

Herring are susceptible to environmental changes. Since they depend on shallow, inshore habitats to reproduce, they are affected by storms, pollution, and warming water temperatures. The Pacific herring population in Prince William Sound collapsed in 1993, four years after the Exxon Valdez oil spill, and it has still not recovered.[

The biggest threat to Pacific herring is a loss of their spawning grounds. Spawning habitat can be degraded or destroyed by construction, dredging, log storage, oil spills or other pollution, and by global warming.[ If Pacific herring populations crash, their loss will affect the many species of fish, birds, and marine mammals which depend on them for food.


Robin Barefield is the author of three Alaska wilderness mystery novels, Big Game, Murder Over Kodiak, and The Fisherman’s Daughter. To download a free copy of one of her novels, watch her webinar about how she became an author and why she writes Alaska wilderness mysteries. Also, sign up below to subscribe to her free, monthly newsletter on true murder and mystery in Alaska.

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Spring on Kodiak Island

I love spring. It is my favorite season. As winter loosens its grip and the vegetation begins to grow again, the world seems to return to life. Foxes scream in the middle of the night in search of new mates; does arrive in our yard with their wobbly, newborn fawns; eagles soar in mating spirals and begin remodeling their nests for the arrival of their chicks; and bears leave their dens in search of food after a long winter of fasting.

Spring always brings unexpected joys, and no two springs are alike. This year, we have watched an abundance of herring enter Uyak Bay to spawn. Often when large schools of herring return, we see increased whale, seal, and sea lion activity in the bay, but this year we’ve observed something different and exciting. Bears are feeding on the herring in the tidal flats at the head of Uyak Bay where the herring spawn. While in the summer months, bears typically catch and eat salmon in this same area, they don’t usually congregate to feed on herring. Herring are rich, oily fish loaded with nutritional value, and they provide a great supplement to a bear’s diet.

     Bears’ stomachs contract during hibernation, and when they first leave their dens, their appetites are suppressed, and they eat little, concentrating on emerging plants and their roots.  As spring progresses, bears can be seen feeding in grassy meadows and look much like grazing cattle with their heads bent to the earth.  We don’t usually see bears feeding on fish until summer when they chase and catch salmon, but bears are opportunistic feeders, and since the herring are here now, bears are taking advantage of their abundance.

Herring are smaller than salmon, making them more difficult for a bear to catch. The herring swim into the eelgrass in the tidal areas at the head of Uyak Bay where they lay their eggs. When the tide ebbs, the fish temporarily become stranded in the shallow tidal pools, and bears can chase down and pounce on the fish.

As with salmon fishing, older bears are better than younger bears at landing herring. Fishing is a skill bears learn with much practice over time, so young bears are often clumsy fishermen.  A sub-adult bear might gallop back and forth for thirty minutes without successfully landing a fish, while an older bear walks deliberately through the water and pounces with little effort on a passing herring.  Each bear develops his own, unique fishing technique.   

In the long run, this early appetizer of herring probably will make little difference to the overall health of the bears, but if Kodiak has a poor berry crop and a poor salmon run, this early addition of herring could sustain the bears until the salmon arrive.

Spring is only beginning here on Kodiak Island, and I can’t wait to see what other surprises the season has in store for us.


Robin Barefield is the author of three Alaska wilderness mystery novels, Big Game, Murder Over Kodiak, and The Fisherman’s Daughter. To download a free copy of one of her novels, watch her webinar about how she became an author and why she writes Alaska wilderness mysteries. Also, sign up below to subscribe to her free, monthly newsletter on true murder and mystery in Alaska.

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Henry Aurman

Last week, I posted about cannibalism and mentioned Henry Aurman, a character in my upcoming novel. The following excerpt from Karluk Bones describes how my protagonist, Jane Marcus, learns about Henry Aurman.

In my novel, Jane and her friends discover bones in the woods near Karluk Lake on Kodiak Island. Two weeks ago, I posted an excerpt from the novel where an anthropology student explains to Jane, she believes the bones are those of an individual who died between thirty and fifty years ago. Alaska State Trooper Sergeant Dan Patterson puts Jane in touch with a trooper who worked on Kodiak during the 1970s and 80s. The following is the conversation Jane has with retired Sergeant Sid Beatty from the Alaska State Troopers. Jane and Sid have just met, and the conversation takes place on Sid’s sailboat where he lives.


Karluk Bones

“Tell me about the bones,” Sid said.

Now I was on firmer ground, and I felt myself relax. I began with the fire at Karluk Lake, and our discovery of the bones on the charred ground. I then moved on to describe what Ying had learned from studying the bones.

“Let me make sure I understand,” Sid said. “The anthropologist thinks the individual was between 25 and 30-years old when he died and estimates the bones have been at Karluk Lake between thirty and fifty years.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know it’s a wide time range, but does anything come to mind? Do you remember any unsolved cases from the 70s or 80s?”

Sid sat back and stared at the ceiling. “I worked three unsolved missing-persons cases during my tenure. They were all young women, and two of them were friends who disappeared on the same night.” He shook his head. “We never found a trace, and to this day, I have no idea what happened to them.” He stared off into space for a while. “But, I don’t remember any unsolved cases involving young men.”

I smiled. “Thanks for trying,” I said. “Do you think it would do me any good to go through old case files?”

“Wait a minute,” Beatty said. “How could I forget Henry? I did have an unsolved missing male.”

“And his name was Henry?”

“No, no,” Sid said. ‘This is a wild story. It’s possible Henry could be tied to your bones, but you’d never prove it.” Sid took a sip of his coffee. “From the late 60s through maybe 1981 or 1982, a crazy old guy lived and trapped near Karluk Lake. He’d spend the entire winter out there by himself. Back in the 70s, the deer population hadn’t yet spread to the south end of the island, so I don’t know what he ate.” Sid chuckled and shook his head. “I do know some of what he ate, but I’ll get to that part of the story in a minute. Henry trapped beavers, foxes, and rabbits, so I assume he ate those. Anyway, he was a tough old guy.”

I had no idea where Sid was headed with this story, so I said nothing and waited for him to continue.

“The guy’s name was Henry Aurman,” Sid said.

“The Aurman from Aurman Plumbing and Heating?” The store was a town landmark, and I’d been told it had survived the “64 earthquake.”

“That’s right,” Sid said. “One of Henry’s relatives started the store, but Henry had nothing to do with the business. I think the store is still owned by an Aurman, probably Henry’s great niece or nephew.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“As far as I know, Henry never married, and he was crazy, or at the very least, eccentric. He claimed the entire region around Karluk Lake belonged to him.”

“That’s a big area,” I said.

Sid laughed. “Yes, it is. The troopers spent a great deal of time dealing with Henry because anytime a hunter, fisherman, or camper set up a tent near the lake, Henry threatened the visitors and told them they did not have his permission to camp on his land. He’d tell them he’d kill them if they didn’t leave. We threw him in jail numerous times for harassment, but he’d return to Karluk and threaten the next person who dared walk near ‘his’ lake.”

My spine tingled. Did Henry Aurman kill the man whose bones we found? “Did he ever kill any campers?” I asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” Sid said, “but I always expected one of his confrontations to end in violence with either him or a camper dead. I am certain, though, that Henry murdered at least three men, but they weren’t campers; they were his trapping partners.”

“What do you mean?”

“Around 1977 or 1978, you’d have to check the file for the exact date, Henry was getting older and wanted help with his winter trapping, so he ‘hired,’ to use the term loosely, a young man to accompany him during the winter. I believe the deal was that the young guy would help him trap, and Henry would give him a few hides to sell in payment for his services. The young man was a drifter, looking to turn his life around, and he wanted to learn how to trap, so he eagerly followed Henry to Karluk Lake.”

“Did Henry have a house at the lake?”

“He had a shack. It’s long gone now, but it had heat. I think most nights he camped near his trapline, but he’d return to the shack to resupply and work on his hides.”

“What happened?”

“In May, we received a call from the young guy’s brother, and if his brother hadn’t called us, I never would have known about the guy.” Sid paused, for another sip of coffee. “I don’t remember the caller’s name, but he said his brother had phoned him in November to tell him he’d quit drinking and was planning to spend the winter in the Kodiak wilderness learning to trap from an old man named Henry. He hadn’t heard from his brother since. I didn’t know Aurman had hired a partner for the winter, but he was the only Henry I knew who trapped, so I flew out to Karluk and found Henry at his cabin.”

I sat back in my chair. “Was the young man there?”

Sid shook his head. “Henry admitted he’d hired the guy but said he’d left in mid-December, telling Henry he couldn’t stand the cold and isolation any longer. Henry called him a wimp and said he thought the guy missed his alcohol. Henry said he was happy to see him leave.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. They were camped on a frozen lake in the middle of the winter. “How did the guy leave?”

“Henry claimed the young man planned to hike to the village of Karluk and catch their mail plane back to Kodiak, but he never made it to Karluk, or at least, he never flew from Karluk to Kodiak on the mail plane. They keep lists of their passengers, and he wasn’t on any of the lists.”

“What did Henry say when you told him his helper never arrived in Karluk?” I asked.

“He said he didn’t know what happened to his trapping buddy, and we didn’t have enough evidence to charge Henry with a crime. I suspected, though, either that Henry killed the guy, or the guy got lost in the woods and froze to death.”

“Wouldn’t he just need to follow the river from the lake to the village?”

“Yes, so I didn’t believe he got lost.”

“You thought Henry murdered him.” A chill ran through me. “Maybe these are his bones I found,” I said.

“It’s possible, but this guy wasn’t the only partner Henry lost.”

“Meaning?”

“Rumors floated hinting Henry lost another partner the following year, but no one ever reported the man missing, so the troopers were not involved,” Sid said. “Guys who sign on to spend the winter in the wilderness with a crazy trapper aren’t social beings, and they don’t usually have many resources. They’re loners.”

“So you never talked to Henry about this guy?”

“No, but two years later, around 1980 or 1981, Henry picked the wrong trapping buddy. When this man didn’t return from his winter’s expedition, the phone at trooper headquarters rang for two months. We heard from his mother, his two sisters, friends, an aunt or two, and even an employer who expected him to return to his job in Salt Lake City after the end of his winter adventure.”

“What did Henry say when you questioned him.”

“This is where the story gets interesting,” Sid said. “I flew to Karluk Lake with two other troopers, and we went to Henry’s little shack. He wasn’t there, so after we knocked on the door, we entered the building.”

Sid sat back and regarded me. He looked as if he’d just smelled something bad, or maybe he was trying to decide if he should continue his story.

 “What did you find?” I finally asked.

Sid sighed. “We found bones and scraps of meat as if an animal recently had been butchered. We saw jars of canned meat lining the shelves of a makeshift cupboard in the corner of the shack. At first, I thought the bones were bear bones, but then I realized they were human.”

Sid waited while I processed his words. “He killed and ate his trapping partners?” I stood as if trying to distance myself from Sid and his horrible tale. I reigned in my urge to flee and returned to my seat.

Sid nodded. “I’m sorry; I know this is a terrible story. Imagine how we felt standing in that little shack, realizing what we had found and then knowing Henry could return at any minute and shoot us all. I immediately sent one of the troopers outside to stand guard so we wouldn’t be ambushed.”

This time, Sid drank a big gulp of his cooling coffee. “Yes, the bones were human, and the nicely stacked jars contained cooked and canned human meat.”

“Wow,” was the only thing I could think to say. Visions of stacked canning jars bearing human flesh flooded my head. I wondered if Henry had labeled the jars with his dead partners’ names, but I wisely pushed the question from my mind before I asked it.


Robin Barefield is the author of three Alaska wilderness mystery novels, Big Game, Murder Over Kodiak, and The Fisherman’s Daughter. To download a free copy of one of her novels, watch her webinar about how she became an author and why she writes Alaska wilderness mysteries. Also, sign up below to subscribe to her free, monthly newsletter on true murder and mystery in Alaska.

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Sign Up for my free, monthly Mystery Newsletter about true crime in Alaska.