Bang go the seals, as the

west coast surrenders

to fish farming

 

Ewan Kennedy

 

Loch Melfort: threatened by a new generation of fish farms
Photograph by Islay McLeod

Fish farming in Scotland started in the late 1960s and soon came to be encouraged by central and local government as a low investment addition to rural economies. It was envisaged that crofting and fishing families would establish small-scale operations producing a healthy, easily-marketed product that would benefit from the fantastic reputation already enjoyed worldwide by Scotland's wild salmon.
      As often happens with well-intentioned schemes this rather idyllic business model was never realised. From the beginning few local families became involved and those who did quickly discovered that the levels of veterinary knowledge and new skills involved in rearing large quantities of fish in a confined space were too problematical and expensive to acquire. Soon a number of companies were formed, mainly Scottish-owned and operated and employing local labour. There was an original intention to rotate sites, to allow the seabed to recover from pollution, but that proved to be an aspiration only.
     In the years up to the early 1980s fish farms typically held about 100 tonnes, representing a population of about 25,000 mature salmon. The first generation of companies showed genuine concern for the reputation of Scottish fish as a clean and wholesome product. Locations were chosen with some regard for other local enterprises such as tourism and leisure. Fish cages were serviced from boats by local labour. From modest beginnings the industry grew steadily, as did its by-product of pollution. Scottish Government figures show that by 1986 the industry was producing 8,700 tonnes of salmon, and waste equivalent to that produced by the entire human population of the region where the farms were situated.
     Twenty-five years on the Scottish industry claims to be one of the biggest in the world. Recently the Scottish Government announced that production of Atlantic salmon in 2010 was 154,000 tonnes, equivalent to between 30 and 37 million mature fish. The product is by far Scotland's biggest food export. Ownership has been consolidated, so that there are now only about half a dozen companies involved, owned until recently mainly by Norwegian investors but now increasingly from Poland and other countries including the Ukraine.
     There is absolutely no doubt about the direction of the political pressure. On its website the Scottish Salmon Producers' Organisation quotes Richard Lochhead MSP thus: 'Salmon is of such importance to the Scottish economy, with a global retail sales value of over 1 billion pounds per annum, that it has a specific priority within the wider seafood sector'. And earlier this year Alex Salmond signed a trade agreement to export salmon directly to China, which had broken off its previous agreement with Norway due to their having awarded the Nobel Peace Prize to the dissident Liu Xiaobo. At the time he claimed: 'Even if 1% of the people of China decide to eat Scottish salmon, then we'll have to double production in Scotland'. We got the Edinburgh pandas into the bargain, too.
     The increase in production to date has been accommodated entirely on the west coast, as will any further increase, it having always been government policy not to allow fish farms along the north and east. Currently Scottish planning guidelines state: 'There is a presumption against development of marine finfish farm developments on the north and east coasts to safeguard migratory fish species' (my italics), absurdly implying that west coast salmon prefer to stay at home. A more likely explanation would be that the proprietors of the great fishing rivers, the Tweed, the Tay, the Dee and the Spey possessed more clout than those in the west back in the 1970s, when the policy was formed, and still do.

 

     One of the most surprising things in all of this is the fact that the expansion of fish farming over 20 years by a factor of 20 times took place with very little public scrutiny, there being no requirement for an operator to obtain planning consent. Matters were under the control of the Crown Estate, who did consult local authorities but in an advisory capacity only. A problem for the general public was that the Crown was not only the owner of the seabed and entitled to rent it out, it was also the custodian of the rights of the public to use the sea for navigation and recreation and thus charged with defending them, a conflict of interest that was usually resolved in favour of the money.
     On 1 April 2007 it became necessary for an operator to obtain planning consent, so that decisions are now made by people who are democratically accountable. The combination of this, the political pressure and the seemingly insatiable demand for the product is producing a state of war along parts of the coast.
     The west of Scotland is now threatened with a new generation of fish farms, on a scale that the original operators could never have imagined. An illustration of what is going on is the current situation in the beautiful stretch of water north of Crinan comprising Seil Sound, Loch Shuna and Loch Melfort, already home to about 10 fish farm sites. A subsidiary of Morpol, a company mainly owned from Poland, proposes to double the size of one of its operations and to treble the size of another. If allowed each site would then be allowed to hold about 500,000 mature salmon.
     The proposed farms would occupy between 30 and 40 hectares of the surface of the sea, with concrete feeder barges and generators running night and day to power the feeding systems and underwater lighting. Fish farms attract seals and the operators intend to apply for a licence to shoot them, as it's cheaper than surrounding the cages with a second anti-predator net. They also propose to use acoustic deterrent devices to chase away seals, despite research showing that these can be seriously damaging to other wildlife, such as porpoises, dolphins and whales.
     In dealing with the current applications planning committees will require to consider the likely impact of these operations on the local economy.
     In Scotland generally tourism employs 130 times the number of people that fish farming does and in Argyll it is absolutely prime. The list of local businesses is endless, from hotels and pubs to sea and land excursions, all supporting local families whether as owners or supporting services. The yachting community spends £39 million annually on the west coast alone and wildlife tourism throughout Scotland brings in £65 million.
     Locally-owned and staffed businesses create further economic activity too, spending locally and of course paying tax in the United Kingdom, as opposed to multi-nationally-owned ones who take their profit abroad.
     Objectors will be arguing that visitors come to see the scenery, the heritage and the sea-scape, not to see noisy industrial installations and the wildlife being shot.
     What will not be for local planning committees to decide or even discuss is the broader issue of whether or not fish farming is sustainable. That debate is taking place elsewhere and I will not add to it here, other than to say that an end to a system that relies entirely on self-monitoring, as Scotland does, could be good not only for the environment but for the industry itself. Chile learned this the hard way a few years ago, when almost its entire industry, then the largest in the world, had to be shut down to deal with the uncontrollable spread of infectious salmon anaemia. In Norway the government has introduced a system of disclosure, allowing members of the public to monitor the figures posted for individual farms, data that doesn't get disclosed in Scotland.
     In recognition of the problems Stewart Stevenson last month announced what he called a 'facilitated discussion' among representatives of the industry and the salmon fishing boards, but no others, then seems to have changed his mind and decided to hold a full consultation with a view to legislation following some time next year.
     There's another lesson, which Scotland will do well to learn. Chile is now back on stream, with the aim of resuming full production. As a result, spot prices for salmon have collapsed. It may yet prove to be foolish to bank the future of Scotland's rural economy on a fickle marketplace.

 

Ewan Kennedy is a retired solicitor