Part I: Odysseus and the Medusa
Several years ago, I joined some Department of Conservation researchers in their efforts to control the population of a harmful parasite in a fish hatchery. The work that I did in order to produce these images is nothing compared to the work that has been–and continues– to be done in their efforts to provide healthy fish to Missouri streams. In the backyard of thousands of dedicated trout fisherman, a mythical battle with characters as godlike as Odysseus and as evil as Medusa is playing out as you read this.
The evil are copepods, small parasitic crustaceans that attach themselves to the gills of trout–in this case, rainbow trout–and quite literally suck the life out of the fish. In the words of one researcher I spoke with, the effect on the trout is akin to “lung cancer” since it directly affects the ability of the fish to use all the oxygen gathered by the gills. The end result is higher mortality rates, especially under stressing conditions such as being caught by a fisherman, warm water, over-crowding, or predation. If, under any of those conditions, the fish doesn’t die from the copepods, the fish will almost certainly contract higher rates of bacterial disease or other parasites; they are simply more vulnerable and weakened. In that respect, copepods have an effect similar to HIV. Clearly, these crustaceans are a big threat to a fishery. One hatchery, though, has taken the lead in research on alternative combat methods against copepods. Enter Odysseus...
A paper coming out of California some years ago suggested that Brook trout can be used against copepods. Basically, it boils down to the somewhat non-understood fact that while copepods can attach and feed on Brookie gills, they cannot lay eggs while there. Effectively, Brookies break the lifecycle of the crustaceans and make them unable to reproduce. So, while one population may get infested with them and die, the next generation will live in a fishery with greatly reduced numbers of copepods because there were no eggs to hatch into larva.
The unsung heroes in this story are the Rainbows, for whom all this work is being done. The purpose of the research, really, is to decrease mortality rates among the stocker Rainbows at Maramec Springs Trout Park, in St. James Missouri. These fish are hundred-year old hatchery trout that, since copepods have showed up, have begun to decline in health. If the copepods can be eliminated, the Park can return to a lot of what it’s known for–producing and supplying really good Rainbows for other parks.
Wes Swee, the hatchery manager, developed the idea and is the person responsible for getting the program funded and rolling. He now oversees the research, care of the Brookies, and taking on tours the few geeks like me who call him for information. He has had to design a watery research layout that will simultaneously work with what’s already there, sustain the fish, and allow for variable control. With all that going on, he was a great host and gave me unlimited access to the whole program; he even patiently answered the hundreds of questions that I berated him with through the two or so hours I spent there.
All this began, though, with Brook trout eggs. To be exact, it began with 75,000 of them...in an abandoned powerhouse.
Part II: Birth in a Pumphouse
It isn’t a glorious birth if you take it for what it is on the surface. The place chosen for the hatching and rearing of the little Brookies, the same little Brookies who would hopefully save entire populations of other species of trout, is inglorious. The pump house that would glory in its new role began its own life as a glorious space of its own, but time led it down the path of mundane and even neglect.
It began as the hatchery’s office; small though it is, it gives an unmistakable image of how things have changed since then. The new office is more modern and certainly larger, but this little building has the charisma of something that would come back to have a special place...with a long history of being forgotten in the meantime. After the new office was built, the pump house became a miniature storage facility. It was the equivalent of a father “teaching” his son to work on engines: “Here son, just hold this flashlight. It’s an important job, I promise.”
The son grew up, though, and the father found that no one was holding the flashlight. The building laid vacant for years. Many in the hatchery, reportedly, refused to even go in it for fear of falling through the floor. Before the hatchery manager and founder of the Brookie project, Wes Swee, tore down the one wall inside, he addressed the issue of the wood floor. On the far side, what was once the second room, the floor apparently was in horrible condition. It creaked, sagged, and generally struck fear in everyone’s hearts in a literally rotten way. People wouldn’t walk on it for fear of falling through and landing themselves in the water raceway below. Wes looked into it further, did some tearing out, and found that underneath the planks was a very sturdy...concrete floor. A hippo could have set up shop in there and not fallen. Interestingly, had the floor not been such a worry, the building could have otherwise been occupied all those years and, ultimately, unavailable for the Brookies. Fate played in favor of the project.
After getting the floor fixed, a wall torn out to allow for the hatching tanks, and new electric and plumbing installed, the work could begin on hatching the 75,000 Brookie eggs. A feather still hung on the wall behind one of the tanks and I inquired about its purpose. Wes mentioned that it was used for stirring the eggs in the jars to prevent settling and promote hatching; the goal was to replicate stream conditions that naturally stir the eggs. I remembered seeing and hearing in other places that feathers do that job perfectly–enough backbone to get them riled around, but gentle enough to never harm the eggs. Perhaps I was being a little sentimental, but it was a significant sight to me. To see the very feather that helped hatch all the little parr I was about to see and handle later in the day.
While 75,000 eggs were ordered and a hope of having 25,000 successful fry, only 11,000 made it. A brief issue with bacterial gill disease reared its head, but was dealt with by a very large UV sterilizer installed in the circulation system. Part of the reason the pump house was so ideal for the project was its situation right on top of one of the race ways that snaked through the rear of the park. Water could be easily pumped up into the tanks, through them and the sterilizer and washed back out into the race. Curiously, on the backside of the race that saw the outflow from the tanks, several very large Rainbows were hanging out. I was told these were holdovers from the time when the Brookies were being reared in the house–the deads were thrown out and those big Rainbows were eager to let them not go to waste.
The real adventure begins after the fish left the pump house and entered their own race way. This is where and when the experiment could begin, and where the Brookie spirit would throw some wild pitches.
Part III: Still Wild
A raceway that would isolate but simultaneously relate the Brookie population from and to surrounding populations of Rainbows was filled with 5,000 of the little parr, ready to passively engage in research.
Walking along the raceways, I immediately spotted the group of ‘bows below the Brookies; they were spread out evenly and served as the test group. Another raceway was immediately upstream, but walking by it looked eerily empty. Where were the Brookies I came to see?
They were there, but there in all their wildness. Direct descendants of wild individuals from Utah, they were acting wild. Clumped up in a surprisingly small cluster and smashed up against the far, dark wall, the fish were invisible. Thousands of them managed to hide in an area with no hiding place. I realized then what the researchers had realized a few weeks prior—“wild” means unpredictable, dangerous, uncooperative and stubborn. “Wild” plays by a different set of rules than “domesticated.” Wild is in control.
Above the Brookies was the hospice. A few dozen brood stock ‘bows of impressive size, all completely infested with copeopods. The “hope” was that these copeopods, after copulation, would spawn offspring and drift downstream through the Brookies and eventually into the clean rainbows.
The Brookies were not in a research project, though. They were in a stream and fighting for survival, avoiding predation and generally being a collective pain-in- the-ass. Clumped up, they didn’t form a good “net” across the raceway to “catch” and disable the copeopod babies. The Brookie spoke and said, “I am not a research anode; I am a wild trout. Pleased to meet you.”
However teenagerly they were acting, the Brookies brought a new light of grace and beauty to the park. Heavily spotted ‘bows had been dotting the park waters for decades, but now halos swam among them sporting both their angelic mission and hallmark. Universally threatened but universally adept at survival, the Brookie has never looked to me more dignified, pugnacious or welcome than it did that day.
Camera: Mamiya RB 67 Pro S
Lens: Mamiya Sekor C 127mm f/3.8
Film: Kodak Plus-X and Kodak Portra 160
