Eel fishing on the Ooka, Yokohama part 2

Having crash landed into this neo-Nippon lifestyle, things slowly evened out throughout the week. Toshi, though retired from a commercial fishing business, still went out eel fishing in the Ooka river three times a week. He sells his catch at the market or brings some home for Yukio to cook. I went with him during the days while he set out his traps. It's funny, I always thought of eel as swampland creatures and that really scary part in Princess Bride. But, eel is a favorite food among the Japanese, I soon found out why (so good, the sauce is amazing). Eel fishing, itself, is a fascinating process and Toshi’s process is more intriguing. He still fishes with traps he used in the 50s and 60s. These traps are controversial as they are electrically charged. If an eel swims through, it is zapped and killed instantaneously, therefore, the eel does not need to be brought out of the water and bashed in the head ‘til it stops flopping around (the common practice). The traps were designed by a French engineer but, due to cost, never caught on with the mainstream fishing outfits.

Toshi's Electric Eel Trap

I have to say these traps seem to be the least cruel way to catch eel (just like the lobster electrocuter). But then, of course, Hortence found out.


Being a strict vegan and PETA spokesperson, she could not believe that I would practice such cruelty. She even fought with her grandfather. She called Toshi’s traps cruel and unfair, “at least with regular eel fishing (using lures and hooks) the eel has a fighting chance. What you’re doing is no worse than what the Americans did, dropping the bomb on your family.” Toshi’s father and mother were among those who suffered the worst radiation poisoning from Nakasaki. He was out on a destroyer, and heard the news over the radio. Immediately after saying this, Hortence stormed upstairs.

The more primitive eel fishing method.

I was left to apologize, in my pathetic Japanese. I tried to explain that she loses control when it comes to animal issues. She once screamed, “I’ll skin your fucking mother, cut off her tits and make slippers from her muff,” to a rabbit farmer’s children. The other protesters (naked and covered in blood) told her to take a breath and calm down. I think the reality and pressure of taking care of two independent, stubborn and feisty adults was beginning to sink in. And, again, my role was to be supportive. That night Hortence was crying. “I’ve never spoken to my grandfather that way.” I felt bad for her. She’s slowly losing her only family. I wouldn’t know how to process those feelings, either.

Me holding our biggest catch in July '08