Izashiki Fishing Port: So That's Where They Get Their Sashimi

At 4:15 in the morning, the leaden darkness of the night was broken by soft, low, unintelligible voices. About 1/2 a mile from my apartment, anglers sat on top of nets, smoking cigarettes, and sharing stories unknown to me. I could still only make out fragments of their language, which painted an ambiguous portrait of Minamiosumi-cho. The nets were resting upon an ashen grey concrete slab of Izashiki Fishing Port, the first and most material piece of the landscape that one sees descending into Minamiosumi-cho. The anglers sat on top of the nets, drinking canned coffee and waiting for the others to show up. As I huddled my knees and tried to make sense of their chatter, Kisanuki-san showed up and greeted me with a warmly. He loudly said, "Shane!" He was also carrying a pair of rubber boots and suspenders. As I was putting on my uniform, the others erupted into laughter as a man shouted, "Shane, come back...come back Shane!" Evidently, the western movie Shane is a hit in Japan.

After sharing in the joke, we stood up, moved our sleepy bodies solemnly down some concrete steps, and boarded two long thin boats. Once on the boat, I was handed a pair of white cotton gloves and told to sit down and relax awhile. The engines were fired up on both boats. One was driven by the "chief" and the other by his son. Each boat was relatively bare except for a large red crane fitted with a winch. A low gurgling sound echoed from the engines as we reversed then lurch into the darkness. Exiting the seaport and turning the corner, my mind was filled with thoughts of grandeur, rough seas, and danger. As looked out to the horizon and as the earth spun upon its axis, a deep aqua and navy twilight was fading before me. Kagoshima bay was calm and filled with small ripples, otherwise known as sazanami in Japanese.

20 minutes into our journey, Kisanuki stood up, put on his gloves, and grabed a long poll with a hook on the end of it. Over to my left, two men were doing the same on the second ship trailing behind us. It seemed as though we were getting ready for some action because everyone was putting on their gloves, cinching their belts, and putting out their smokes. By this time, dawn was growing on the horizon. Yellow slivers of light shot from behind the hills and everything was covered with cool light. The captain made a sharp left and throttled down the engine while the second boat, which was about 300 yards away, mirrored our actions.

Between each of the boats, buoys floated in a circular pattern. The nets drifted below the buoys, swaying in the silent currents of the sea. Once the net had come into the pole’s distance, Kisanuki-san thrust it into the water and hooked onto a rope. As if on queue, everyone stood up, walked to the edge of the boat, and began heaving the net up and drawing the boats together. Noticing that I wasn't helping, I jumped into action and joined the crew.

The net was covered with kelp and jellyfish tentacles and smelled of rotting fish and salt. As the boats drew closer, squid began to surface. They were blinking and flickering a countless colors. Soon the water was simmering as flying fish were trying to leap from their doom. Once the net had nearly surfaced, a man with a large net on the end of a pole began taking fish from the larger net as if he were scooping goldfish from a tank. The net shook violently with life and flashed with light as the fish flipped about the water.

What seemed like chaos on the boat was planned and calculated. A few men were scooping fish from the net, some were sorting fish into bins, while others were filleting certain fish for the market. After collecting all that was edible, the men sat back down and lit up their cigarettes. We turned back toward Izashiki Fishing Port and putted home. My visions of fighting whales and wrestling Great Whites dissolved, but nonetheless the experience was fulfilling.

20 minutes later, we were back at the seaport. The fish were weighed, sorted, and packed in ice. A man in a van pulled up and loaded the fish then sped off to the market. The fish that weren't edible went into a crate and were to be used for chum. At the end of the event, each man took a small icebox of fish home. Walking back to my car, Kisanuki-san called me over and invited me to breakfast at his home.

Breakfast was a feast. The wonderful feast included fish head stew, fish eggs, sashimi, miso soup, and tofu salad. By 6:30 a.m., we had finished breakfast and I was on my way home. Oyshi!