The disappearing delicacy
Toheroa used to be a delicacy until over-harvesting led to a ban on collection in the 1970s. But its numbers have not recovered. Why not, asks Will Harvie.
It would probably appal Kiwis who feasted on toheroa in the last century that the seafood delicacy is now almost forgotten. Until the 1960s, toheroa was New Zealand’s ‘‘great contribution to the epicurean world’’. The kaimoana was ‘‘highly esteemed by the most fastidious gourmet’’ and a ‘‘gift of nature
. . . that has done much to advertise the Dominion all over the world’’, according to the NZ Railways Magazine in 1936.
It thrived on the western beaches of the North Island – Ninety Mile, Ripiro and Muriwai. It abounded on the beaches of Ka¯ piti-Horowhenua near Wellington. Mysteriously, it thrived on Oreti and Te Waewae beaches in Southland. There were pockets elsewhere.
The surf clam was a staple of the Ma¯ ori diet for centuries. In the 20th century, it seemed to be an ‘‘almost inexhaustible resource’’ to many.
From 1928-69, Northland factories canned about 20 tonnes a year. In 1940, it hit a record 77 tonnes.
Recreational fishers were just as hungry. In 1966, it’s thought 12,000 cars and 50,000 people visited Ripiro beach and harvested about 1 million toheroa – in one weekend.
And then the fishery collapsed. Commercial canning was banned in 1969. Regional closures were staggered and the last legal recreational catch occurred in 1979.
All that’s left is a supposedly ‘‘limited’’ harvest for customary purposes – meaning by Ma¯ ori, but not exclusively – and poaching.
When the bans were imposed, it was hoped the toheroa would recover on its own. Stop the harvests, and it would come back. But it’s been 40-45 years, and it has not come back.
Numbers have largely collapsed on Ninety Mile, Muriwai and Ka¯ piti beaches. Ripiro is hanging on. Only Southland’s animal numbers are remotely positive.
What’s going on? In late 2015 Phil Ross, a marine ecologist at the University of Waikato, and colleagues got a big Marsden Fund grant and other money to try to answer the mystery.
Their research is now getting published, and the reading is grim. ‘‘Illegal harvesting of toheroa is widespread and frequent,’’ they report. The customary take is probably out of control in some places.
Driving vehicles on beaches crushes the clams or exposes them to predators and heat. Other factors probably include pollution, a lack of fresh water coming onto beaches from inland, and gas bubble disease – something like the bends in scuba divers.
Toheroa, in other words, largely haven’t been left alone to recover.
THE FLAVOUR
Cooks should mince a dozen fresh clams, simmer them with onion and stock, thicken with flour, cinnamon, curry powder and half a pint of milk, according to an undated recipe credited to the Country Women’s Institute.
The result was a creamy green soup that tasted ‘‘like clam [chowder] only more so’’, according to a 1925 advertisement in the Auckland Star. Tinned exports to London were sold as ‘‘New Zealand oyster soup’’, according to a 1936 report in the New Zealand Herald.
A 2015 Nga¯ i Tahu video demonstrates how to make fritters, using toheroa from Oreti: Mince the clams, mix in eggs, onion, flour and baking powder. Fry in hot oil.
Phil Ross has studied the species for years and eaten exactly one – shucked fresh out of the sand. It was sweet and beautiful, he says.
CUSTOMARY HARVESTS AND POACHING
In almost all discussions of the customary harvests of toheroa, words such as ‘‘limited’’ and ‘‘restricted’’ are used to indicate these are minor events.
But there’s evidence and testimony that customary catches are neither. ‘‘Based on our observations and communications with kaitiaki, honorary fisheries officers and residents at Ripiro, and to a lesser extent at other locations, it would appear that the levels of human harvesting are significant,’’ Ross and co-authors say in the main paper to come out of the Marsden funding.
‘‘Illegal harvesting is common. Poaching events range in size from residents or visitors just getting a feed every now and then – which may be once a year or once a week – to large-scale illegal harvesting . . .
‘‘Based on our recent observations in Taitokerau [Northland, roughly], illegal harvesting of ‘protected’ toheroa is widespread, frequent and has in some cases resulted in the reduction and disappearance of adult toheroa beds.
‘‘In Murihiku [Southland, roughly], a recent estimate suggests that the combined customary and illegal harvest of toheroa could easily account for as much as 13 per cent to 50 per cent of the toheroa population each year.’’
There are important differences between legal customary harvests and illegal poaching, although the lines between them may also blur.
Customary harvests are designed for special occasions, such as hui and tangi. The Ministry for Primary Industries gives iwi the power to issue permits, and they in turn identify a kaitiaki (custodian, guardian) to issue permits and place ra¯ hui (restrictions) on beaches if needed.
Permits are not exclusive to Ma¯ ori. Nga¯ i Tahu, for example, has permitted the Riverton RSA to harvest about 100 toheroa from Oreti for Anzac Day.
The regulations are complex and variable. Some iwi-kaitiaki are expected to report harvest numbers to MPI, others only when requested. Some voluntarily provide information. MPI reports show variability in measurement. Are the 50 units permitted in 2016 individual clams, kilograms, buckets or something else? How large were the clams taken? It’s not known.
PERSPECTIVES FROM THE BEACH
In a 2013 report to Niwa, EAM Environmental Consultants interviewed 18 ‘‘key informants’’ on Ninety Mile and Ripiro beaches. These informants were granted anonymity to encourage truthfulness. The report was called ‘‘Perspectives from the beach’’.
The informants took the ‘‘strong view’’ that the ‘‘permit system does not promote sustainable customary harvest’’. One informant said he’d seen
‘‘take as much as you can’’ permits.
The informants ‘‘felt that in many cases people who were issuing permits had no right to issue them in the first place, had little knowledge of the current status of the resource, or little regard for the sustainability of the resource’’.
If an iwi placed ra¯ hui on a beach, marae were not necessarily stopped from issuing permits and applying to MPI for new permit books. ‘‘When the permit issuer runs out of permits he just gets another book,’’ an informant said. ‘‘He’s the designated one from that marae. It’s got nothing to do with the iwi, it’s the marae committee . . . they can still do their own thing.’’
This situation has existed for decades. In 1998, the Evening
Post in Wellington reported that Kaitaia police ignored an ‘‘illegal’’ toheroa dig on Ninety Mile Beach.
Some Ma¯ ori do not accept that MPI and its predecessors – representing the Crown – has any authority regarding toheroa. Sovereignty over toheroa was never ceded, and Ma¯ ori may gather as they like, they assert.
New Zealand courts – also representing the Crown – have prosecuted nine poachers for improperly taking more than 50 toheroa and 44 infringement notices have been issued for taking fewer than 50 over the last five years, according to MPI.
MA¯ TAURANGA MA¯ ORI
Phil Ross insists all is not lost. Toheroa, Paphies ventricosa ,isa broadcast spawner. A single adult female can spawn 15 million to 20m eggs in one go. If conditions are right, huge numbers can survive and grow.
In Northland, this happens – but the clams disappear before maturing, he says. It’s not clear why.
He and many others want the species to recover, to make occasional feeds on the beach possible again. Some dream of a renewed commercial fishery and even aquaculture.
None of that will happen without co-operation from iwi, marae, kaitiaki and individuals.
Ross wants to align western science with Ma¯ tauranga Ma¯ ori, or traditional knowledge.
The 36-page main Marsden paper is largely an attempt at this. The authors compare ‘‘our current scientific understanding of toheroa against the knowledge held by local experts [to] provide a comprehensive summary of toheroa-related knowledge’’.
Ross has spent several years travelling to toheroa beaches, meeting the mostly Ma¯ ori communities protecting and harvesting the clams. Although not Ma¯ ori, he has plainly gained some trust and learned some traditional knowledge.
Fresh water comes up often. There’s both evidence and knowledge that toheroa probably need clean, fresh water coming on to beaches from inland. It probably cools them and they probably get nutrients from it. In Northland, where many streams and seeps have dried up, this may have contributed to the decline.
‘‘There are also accounts from elders of streams ‘running black’ after logging operations and this coinciding with the disappearance of the toheroa bed at the end of that particular stream,’’ Ross says.
‘‘There is clearly a relationship between toheroa and streams, we just don’t understand it yet. Which makes it difficult to advise land and environment managers. We are working on it.’’
Across many North Island iwi, toheroa is closely tied to the dune grass pingao. ‘‘It has also been suggested that Ma¯ ori may have preferentially harvested middle-sized toheroa . . . leaving larger individuals in place as broodstock to sustain the resource,’’ the co-authors write.
There’s also hope in Southland. DNA analysis shows southern toheroa were perhaps translocated by Ma¯ ori before European contact.
‘‘Early Ma¯ ori were prolific users of aquatic resources and were adept at food cultivation and translocation,’’ Ross and others wrote in another scientific paper.
‘‘Ma¯ ori also domesticated and translocated numerous endemic plants and are thought to have translocated freshwater fish into lakes where they did not occur.’’
It’s not a great leap to think they moved toheroa to Southland, where they do well. Why not back to Northland?
Southland also points the way to the successful protection and use of toheroa.
‘‘It’s well managed,’’ Ross says. ‘‘The collaboration between Nga¯ i Tahu, MPI and council brings clarity around permitting.’’