Fish Tacos

On the menu tonight are fish tacos featuring northern pike from the Michipicoten River, upstream from where the grand tributary comes sliding off the Canadian Shield and empties into Lake Superior.  The package from the freezer is labeled “30 inches”, a perfect size for eating. I have no memory of catching this particular fish— it is just as likely Lee holds the honor— but even in its frozen form it conjures vivid images of a fine country and a fine river and the angry pike that inhabit it. 

I suppose they are not truly angry, but a bony ridge above their eyes gives them something of a furrowed brow, and their behavior typifies one whose patience is long exhausted. They often bump a lure, then strike hard, and if at first the hook doesn’t set they are likely to have another go at it, angry as they are.  Maybe the fish destined for our table was the one that lay hidden beneath a shoreline log and took the spoon within a nanosecond of hitting the water.  Or maybe it was the one perfectly camouflaged in a forest of potamogeton who found the jerk bait irresistible or just too annoying.  It doesn’t matter.  They all hit and fought with great vigor, and are equally appreciated.  

Our dinner plates will hold the very essence of that old voyageur route snaking through the Algoma Wilderness.  On a flour tortilla, in a fillet coated with spiced breading and fried to golden perfection, will lie the river’s black water holes, its shallow flats, its shoreline of cedars and spruce. There will be a smooth sauce of mayo and home canned salsa, our frozen corn brought to fresh picked sweetness with a dab of butter and simmer of heat, a helping of shredded cabbage, a spoonful of diced black olives, a finely chopped green onion, a sprinkle of Parmesan.  

I could go to the market and buy fish. It might taste as good or better than our pike, but it likely would have been harvested by some ocean going vessel equipped with the finest technology, towing a huge net that bounced across the ocean floor, destroying reefs while collecting countless non-targeted species.  And every year the ship travels further and works harder to locate its prey because populations are a fraction of what they once were. Overfishing and the destruction of mangrove shorelines and a general decline in ocean health has taken its toll. 

I know exactly where the pike came from, how it was harvested, how it was handled prior to eating.  I know it came from a sustainable fishery. I know of a quaint northern community that benefits when folks from outside come to spend money and time in wild country, and to catch fish. It’s a win on several fronts.  

It can be reasonably argued that there’s nothing local about fish that are 650 miles away, that no ecological good comes from our road trip, and after tallying up the costs of licenses, gasoline, gear, and assorted expenses, a market fish likely makes more economic sense.  We could fish locally, substituting panfish for pike.  But our trips north are more than the fish we bring back.  Over a couple decades we have made improvements to a simple off grid cabin, found lady’s slipper and calypso orchids in bloom, picked wild blueberries, watched moose and bear, wolves and lynx, attended area fish fries, developed solid friendships.  It’s hard to put a price on such incidentals. 

In the beginning were more innocent days, when true environmental costs were not at the fore, when a run up north was only dictated by arranging free time and justifying the dollars spent. Those days came with an illusion that we were living simply and independently while there, when in fact we were heavily reliant on gasoline, propane, and staples that all needed to be shipped to a remote community which was a half hour drive from our cabin.  In reality, we were more independent and would have made a lesser environmental impact had we stayed home with our garden and solar panels. 

The world has changed, and the travel and routines and conveniences we’ve taken for granted can no longer be assumed without consideration of environmental costs. It's a valuable and necessary change, long overdue, and begins with simple awareness. 

I haven't a clue where the olives for tonight’s tacos were grown, how they were processed, how far they traveled to reach my store’s shelf. I know nothing of the Parmesan cheese.  But the pike came from a reliable source which is under no critical threat, and in the fillet are sweet memories of a wild place where angry fish reside.  All things considered, it may cost too much, or it might be priceless.