When emotions were high last year over the gill net ban, commercial fishers staged protests on the highways leading to recreational marinas. At this gathering last October near Yscloskey in St. Bernard Parish, fishers blockaded the highway.

Day Six: Friday, March 29, 1996 Paradise pushed to the limit Power shifts to sport fishing The big one that didn't get away 'I'll stop fishing when I die' Northwest salmon fading fast

Power shifts to sport fishing

By Bob Marshall,
Staff writer

During his eight years as a state legislator, Randy Roach had seen some dramatic shifts in political power. But none compared with the sudden swing in 1995 that resulted in gill nets being banned from Louisiana waters.
  In the course of one legislative session, the sport fishing lobby grew from minnow to whale.
  ‘‘For several years there was pretty much political parity on the issues between sports and commercial fishing interests,’’ said Roach, who represented Lake Charles in the House from 1988 to ’95. ‘‘Things went 50-50, or maybe 55-45, one way or the other. It was usually pretty close.
  ‘‘But in 1995, the sports lobby came back and ... Wham! Suddenly they were on top 90-10. They literally steamrolled the opposition on the gill net ban, something they had been only able to talk about for 10 years.

Gill netter Dwight Reyes pulls his nets filled with mullet from the water near Venice. Gill netters can fish for only six weeks this year, netting a short list of species, only during daylight hours andonly onweekdays. Eventually, even that limited netting will be phased out.

  ‘‘I mean, it was no contest. Sudden, complete dominance. That is a very rare thing in politics.’’
  It was unheard-of for sport fishers in Louisiana and the Gulf. Since the early 1980s, when gill nets first sparked their political activism, recreational fishers had made plenty of noise, but won few political battles.
  All that changed during a dramatic 18 months starting in November 1994, when Florida voters overwhelmingly approved a ban on gill nets in their waters.
  Legislatures in Louisiana, Alabama and Mississippi followed in the spring of 1995 with partial bans on the nets, which critics say are wasteful.
  Louisiana’s sport fishers capped the turnaround early this year, when Jimmy Jen-kins, president of the Gulf Coast Conservation Association — the sport fishers lobby — was named secretary of the state Department of Wildlife and Fisheries.
  The changes are part of a larger trend that has shifted the balance of power from commercial fishers to sport fishing interests all across the Gulf of Mexico. It is a battle that could change the way fish are managed and regulations are written for years to come.
  But while the sport fishers’ victories were dramatic, lawmakers and lobbyists say the turnaround had been building since the mid-1980s, and reflected two key factors for political success: numbers and organization.
  The sport fishers have both; the commercial interests never did.
  ‘‘It was always a matter of time, because of the numbers; there are many more recreationals than commercials,’’ said Mark Hilzim, executive director of the GCCA from 1986 to ’92. ‘‘Our job was getting the Legislature to recognize our economic impact.’’
  Marine recreational fishing had been quietly building into a major economic power since the 1980s when the Gulf Coast began experiencing explosive growth. Studies credit sport fishing with at least half of the $5 billion to $6 billion generated by the Gulf fishing industry each year. About 57,000 full-time jobs are directly connected to the region’s recreational fishing, and the American Sportsfishing Association estimates that 4.6 million recreational anglers fish in the Gulf, a large voting bloc for lawmakers to consider.
  But sport fishers say state agencies were slow to acknowledge them because saltwater species are generally considered a commercial commodity. Until recently, for example, biologists assigned to manage marine fisheries at the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries worked in the ‘‘Seafood Division.’’
  ‘‘We never went to the Legislature as favorites,’’ Hilzim said. ‘‘Commercial fishing controlled the committees. We were always underdogs.’’
  That began to change in 1986, thanks to a recipe. Cajun chef Paul Prudhomme’s blackened redfish became a national craze, and in a few months what had been a relatively unimportant commercial species was fished to the brink of depletion.
  Film of commercial boats netting so many of the fish that they had to throw away thousands enraged sport fishers.
  The GCCA entered the political arena and, using the redfish as its logo, lobbied to have commercial fishing for the species closed. Commercial fishers responded by using their political clout to temporarily close recreational fishing as well, a move that galvanized sport fishers to action.
  After two years of bitter debate, the Legislature finally agreed with the sport fishers, and in 1988 it designated redfish a game fish, making it off-limits to commercial fishers.
  Roach considers that decision the beginning of the end for commercial fishing interests.
  ‘‘That event really was the first time the Legislature said that a recreational fishery was more important than a commercial effort on the same species,’’ Roach said.
  The vote was close, but the sport fishing crowd had established a beachhead.
  Hilzim, who left the conservation association in 1992 to become secretary of the state Department of Culture, Tourism and Recreation, has watched the continued rise of sport fishing’s power with interest and insight, and pinpointed four keys to its current dominance.
  ‘‘First, the commercials lost important allies on the key (natural resource) committees in the Legislature,’’ he said. ‘‘Many times we couldn’t get bills onto the floor because of those guys. By 1992, they were almost all gone.
  ‘‘Two, pure demographics. Politics is numbers. Eventually the sheer weight of the rec numbers — 600,000 of us to 1,500 netters — took its toll on the voting.
  ‘‘Three, the commercials hurt themselves by refusing to work with the recs earlier. They had any number of opportunities to take the initiative. I think there were some commercial guys who knew that and wanted to change some things, but they weren’t listened to by their leaders.
  ‘‘And, finally, the Florida vote.’’
  If redfish was the turning point for recreational fishing in Louisiana, Florida’s ban was the benchmark for the Gulf Coast.
  ‘‘That was the catalyst for what happened in Louisiana,’’ Hilzim said. ‘‘Without that vote, I don’t think the GCCA would have had the success it had here last year.’’
  Florida outlawed the nets with a 72 percent landslide in a vote of the people that provided powerful precedent. Texas had banned gill nets by government proclamation in 1988, but Florida’s public vote was a clear sign that things had changed.
  ‘‘For a major state, with a seafood industry we can relate to, to take that kind of step was a major factor,’’ Roach said. ‘‘The Florida vote, in many people’s eyes, validated the GCCA’s position on gill nets here. People who weren’t that familiar with the issue saw the big margin and said, ‘Well, there must be something to the (sport fishers’) complaint.’
  ‘‘Timing is everything. The GCCA was able to capitalize on the Florida vote. Plus it was an election year. Legislators — especially those from north Louisiana — were only hearing one thing from their constituents: Ban the nets.’’
  Like Hilzim, Roach said much of the sport fishers’ success was rooted in the commercial industry’s two major failings: lack of organization and resistance to change.
  Unlike sport fishers, commercial fishers had no single umbrella group representing their interests. And the competitive and independent nature of the business fosters resistance to organization.
  ‘‘Several of us (legislators) who were trying to strike a balance could not get the attention of the commercials to the reality of the political winds that were blowing,’’ Roach said. ‘‘We were never successful in getting them to back off a little and be more realistic.’’
  A week after the Florida gill net vote, Carl Turner, director of the Louisiana Seafood Marketing and Promotion Board, announced a proposal by commercial fishers for dramatic reforms, including a ban on set gill nets, closed seasons, limited entry and other ideas long championed by conservation groups.
  When asked why the sudden change of heart, Turner said, ‘‘It’s amazing what you will do when you have a gun pointed at your head.’’
  But by then, the GCCA smelled blood, and it wasn’t willing to back down on the push for a total ban.
  Six months later, the recreational fishing lobby flexed its newfound muscles and changed the landscape of Louisiana’s coastal fishery politics.
  ‘‘I don’t think commercial fishermen ever faced reality,’’ Roach said, ‘‘until it was too late.’’