Fish means money on Kamchatka

Its name is a true tongue twister: Tshawytscha. That is how Chinook salmon is known on Kamchatka. I am currently letting a piece of the tongue twister melt in my mouth. Heavenly! The fishermen on the river Bolshaya Reka made these aromatic fish balls fresh this evening: campfire, vodka, fish.

The fishermen are amateurs, tourists. They are from the neighboring region of Kolyma, which is also in the Far East of Russia, somewhat further north. They have been coming to the Bolshaya Reka for years. The river flows into the Sea of Okhotsk on the peninsula's western shore. So much as to the geography of the region, which, by the way, used to be a restricted military zone. Today it is open to all.

Fisherman's paradise

The fishing tourists did not come to the Bolshaya Reka by chance. Nary a river is to be found in which all seven types of regional salmon abound. The Tshawytscha also swims here, returning upstream from the Sea of Okhotsk to spawn at the place where it was born. This is in fact the most important time in the life cycle of any fish - and precisely when it is supposed to be most protected. But the fishermen from Kolyma pay cash - good cash - to get fishing licenses to fish exactly then. And they are allowed to do so. It's all official.

"Of course, ideally we catch the mothers, the female fish," says one of the tourists. "But today we only got a young male, so no caviar. Otherwise we would eat caviar first and then meat - the fish itself."

The fight for red gold

When morning comes, I leave the campfire and drive to Oktyabrsky on the Sea of Okhotsk. It is a fishing village in which as many as 6,000 people lived in Soviet times. Most worked in the state-owned fish factories, the majority of which closed long ago. Since then, it has become a playground for anyone that wants to earn money with fishing. Especially with wild salmon and caviar, or red gold, as they call it here.

The red gold is shipped to Moscow, by the ton, where it is then sold for exponentially inflated prices at market. Many people earn a fortune with the trade. But it is a risky business, because caviar is a perishable good. My driver recounts horror stories about the red gold from Kamchatka supposedly being pumped full of chemicals only to be sold years later - inedible, poison. "But people buy it anyhow!" says my perplexed driver.

Oktyabrsky - the perfect backdrop for a Hollywood film

Oktyabrsky is like a ghost town. It is full of prefabricated concrete buildings that have not been renovated for 60 years. Potholes present problems for drivers as well as pedestrians: If you don't pay attention, you could well break your leg. On top of that is the howling wind. It would all provide the perfect setting for a Hollywood apocalypse movie.

But there is also life in this film - down at the seashore. Every hundred meters (yards) or so, one sees homemade fishing huts, which have quietly replaced all of the old fish factories. It is there that I meet Andrei, a gray-haired professional fisher with a typically Nordic face. He says he would rather not give his last name. Andrei is adding three tiny new rooms onto his even tinier fishing hut. He says they are for his employees.

Rules are interpreted to one's own advantage

Andrei's employees - a dozen Koryaks and Itelmen - are indigenous to Kamchatka. Andrei is one of the only people here that is willing to speak with me. For we are talking about fish, and fish means money in Kamchatka - lots of money. According to the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), yearly income from fishing is around $176 million (€158 million) annually.

And where there is a lot of money, rules for earning that money are interpreted to one's own advantage. Because what Andrei and his workers do is actually illegal: They fish with nets. But regulations are so complicated and contradictory that he prefers to make decisions based on his own experiences: "The sea is my master. Like a hunter, it teaches me when and where I can find the animals. That is my philosophy, my philosophy of life."

Half of profits from poaching

The government realizes indigenous people need employment, so they enjoy more fishing rights than Russians. Koryaks and Itelmen, for instance, are allowed to fish with nets because it belongs to their traditional way of life. That is an exception. But there are also exceptions to the exception. Valuable fish must be returned to the sea. And Andrei gets very upset about this distinction: "Koryaks and Itelmen have special status here. But the authorities that write the regulations don't want to bother looking at history books. The term 'valuable fish' has been in existence since fishing became industrialized, but it means nothing to the natives. They just know fish. And fish gives them life."

Andrei puts his trust in that philosophy of life rather than in the rules: "Fish is saving the people. I hope that won't change any time soon. How are we supposed to survive otherwise?" And so, according to WWF and other NGOs, about half of the region's fishing profits come through legal means, and the other half from poaching.

Pursuit of poachers often comes to nothing

Salmon is not the only victim of poachers. King crab is often illegally caught in the waters off of Kamchatka and then transported to the USA via Korea. Russian authorities pursue poachers, but they often come up empty-handed.

"We're not poachers," Andrei assures me, as he casts his net into the sea.