Spear fishing a family affair

Every year, on the first nice day after the snow is gone, Jamie Kunkel, a Mohawk Bear, gets ready for spear fishing. Self-taught Jamie has been spear fishing for most of his life. Aboriginal fishing begins weeks before the regular open fishing season. 

At around 9:00pm, Jamie begins his routine by checking his equipment; big rubber boots, waterproof overalls, warm clothes, a net, a small bright flashlight, his son, a friend and his spear. If he’s staying close to the truck he takes his younger son, two daughters and if I’m up for it, me.

We take the 30 minute drive to the Trenton area and find a place to park. If it’s cold, Jamie starts a small fire to keep us warm and we sit around drinking coffee and eating snacks. Jamie and his helper(s) make their way down to the river banks and one by one the fish are tossed up. After ten or more fish, they take a fifteen/twenty minute break between five or so runs. After the third run the younger kids start making their way to the truck to fall asleep.

The next morning, the guys are up and friends show up to clean the fish. After the fish have been filleted and a bucket filled, Jaylee, our son, takes the bucket to the kitchen. Now it’s my turn, I check each fish for bones and cut out whatever has been missed and I wash away any dirt or blood that’s been left. They are frozen and bagged in water.

After the first night of a good run it’s fish fry for dinner. The next day we do it all over again for about 2 months but without the fish fry. It’s a great time of year for our family and friends. We do everything together and we each have our own duties for the common good. Everything about that is from our original ways.

Last year Jamie had some trouble with non-native people coming to cause problems. One man brought his son down to the river and started making banging noises. Jamie asked him to stop because it was scaring the fish away. Needless to say it got a bit out of hand, the guy left and the cops came back.

They couldn’t charge him for fishing out of season so they charged him with trespassing. The dispute arises from a racist opinion that because Jamie charges money, in their minds it isn’t for “food, ceremonial and societal uses.”

The amount he charges isn’t about getting rich. It’s about recovering cost and being compensated for our time. Like it or not we live in a money society. We do not have the luxury of taking 10lbs of fish to “Joe Deer Hunter” to trade for venison, or Cindy Dressmaker for clothes.

I crunched the numbers and took into account compensation for helpers, equipment amortization, vehicle payment, gas, insurance, Jamie’s time for teaching others, water, Ziploc bags, and costs associated with running two freezers and I subtract that from the gross revenue, we clear enough to pay overdue bills, pay off any credit cards and buy something we need, usually, for the house. We still have another forty-four weeks to get through.

Last year was the first time Jamie raised his prices, $1.00, in the eight years I’ve been here. The people he sells to are from three Haudenosaunee communities and they are business owners like Toni Anthony and traditional people like Hubert Skye. These two people would not have access to fresh pickerel if it were not for the efforts of the Haudenosaunee men and women who go out every year to get it.

To say that the society doesn’t benefit from those Aboriginal people who chose to fish and sell it, do not fully understand. Money may not be our original form of currency, but we were never so primitive that we stayed static. Our people adapt and evolve just like any other race or society. Not everyone in society can fish, they don’t have the resources or knowledge required, the residential schools made sure of that.

Every year our people go through the same thing with non-native people, and the police antagonize the situation. Our people have been hunting and fishing for centuries and have made a living from it. That is how a society works and just because the government considers it commercialized doesn’t mean we do.