The First Time I Blew Up a Poacher's Boat

I suppose to tell my story, I should give you some background information on me. I grew up in Florida on the gulf coast. The town we lived in was a fishing town. Life was far from the resorts and beaches across the state. I fished in my daddy's boat for many seasons growing up. Until Hurricane Katrina hit. Fishing was never the same after that, and fishermen had to go twice as far to catch half as much. The matter was only worsened by the BP oils spill just a few years later. I decided I wanted to do something about it. I wanted to understand how marine life is affected by the fishing industry, by natural disasters, so I decided to become a marine biologist. My dad has long since retired and sold the boat. He and my mom live a quiet life now, still on the water. And he is still buddies with all the guys down on the docks. Now and then, I go with him down to watch them unload the catch of the day, and I can see his eyes beam, wishing that was still him. What I saw that day would only be the start of some of the most horrific, inhumane poaching practices I would come to see.

One boat, in particular, had an interesting bounty that day. Shark fins. As my father told me that that fishing practice is illegal and tells me what shark finning is, I see it happen right in front of me.

A deckhand yelled out, "Hey cap, we forgot one," holding up a four-foot tiger shark. Still an adolescent, not fully grown.

"Take care of it, and let's get this boat unloaded before someone starts peeping around, the captain snarled back.

Without missing a beat, he dropped the shark to the deck, straddled it to hold it in place while he hacked off its pectoral fins. The shark was swinging its tail violently, trying to get away from the carnage. He stood up, kicked the shark in the side, hacked off his dorsal fin, and rolled the finless beast over the boat into the water, where it sank to the depths below.

I stood there in shock and horror from what I just witnessed. I had heard about shark finning in various marine groups and networks I belong to, but I had always assumed it was an obscure occurrence. I decided that I was going to devote my time to researching this form of poaching from that moment. Hours upon hours of internet research. I came across some great quotes, like this one from celebrity chef Gorden Ramsey. "It is without a doubt the worst act of animal cruelty I've ever seen." There does seem to be a certain amount of concern out there about this practice, but no outrage. No proper understanding of how cruel this is and its impacts on our oceans as a whole.

I then shifted my research to what is being done about it. And that was even more disheartening. In the US, as of the year 2000, it was made unlawful to poses a shark fin in US waters without the corresponding carcass. So basically, you can still hunt sharks and take their fins; you just have to have the body it came from. Why? How does this help? The law was amended in 2010 to include that sharks have to be brought to shore with their fins naturally attached. But fins can still be harvested. I quickly realized that money is the driving factor. At $400 per kilogram, and trophy species' fins fetching upwards of $10,000 per fin. There is money to be made in this "industry".

I researched what was actively being done to stop this, meaning boats in the water, inspections, etc. When I came across an answer the San Fransico Marine Warden gave when posed almost the same question.

"I know it is going on. I know it's out there. But it is a very private matter-its, not the kind of thing that, you know, people are selling to the public."

It was then, and there I decided to do something about it. Something that would be big that would bring massive amounts of attention to this horrific practice. I was going to start blowing up poacher's boats. Yes, you read that correctly. Here is how I put my plan into action.

I started working out at the gym more, working on my stamina. I was already a great swimmer, so I just continued building on that. I spoke with my father for hours, learning how shark fin poaching happens, where they fish, where they unload. Where are the fins stored, and what are they used for? I began to wonder why my dad was helping me with so much information. I had a gnawing question I had to ask him.

"Dad, I need to ask you something. Please tell me the truth."

"Darlin', are you sure about that? You may not like what you hear," he responded.

"Those times you would take the boat back out at night. The times you said I couldn't go with you."

"Honey, just stop."

"No, Dad, I want to know! Were you poaching shark fins?" She asked, standing up away from the table. He sat across the other side, the light hanging over him like he was in an interrogation.

"Maria, stop."

I was yelling at this point. "YOU stop. I want to hear it from you. SAY IT!"

He slammed his hands on the table and yelled back, "YES! Is that what you wanted to hear? Three or four times."

Maria slumped down back on the chair. "Daddy, how could you?"

"I did what I did. Some decisions you just can't come back from."

I felt like I had just been stabbed in the heart. My father had always been respectful of the sea, followed fishing rules and regs to the letter. He was always so loving and caring and kind.

He was sitting back in his chair by this time, moving his hat back and forth over his head.

"You can make me a monster. And maybe I am. But I had to do what I had to do when the fishing became harder. Mortgage. Boat maintenance. And let's not forget your fancy Marine Biology degree."

"You had choices. Don't you dare blame this on me."

I gathered my things, kissed my dad on the head, and left. As I turned to get into my car, I looked back into the kitchen, and he was sitting with his face in his hands.

*** Two Months Later***

I changed my appearance drastically. Gone were the designer clothes and well-groomed hair. I let my hair's natural color grow out. Spent a lot of time in the sun. Adapted a wardrobe of work boots, jean shorts, and flannels. I needed to look like a day worker that needs some quick cash. I was no longer in Florida; I had traveled to the Sea of Cortez. Tiger sharks and hammerhead sharks were being poached for their fins at an alarming level.

I started hanging out with the local fisherman at the local dive bar. I flirted. I danced. I made sure they noticed me. And it worked. I was invited to the table of a captain and his crew. Drinks were flowing, and then the "fish that got away" stories started. So when booze and stories were flowing, I asked what they fish for. I said I was looking for some quick cash and wondered if they had any room on the boat for another set of hands. The group got quiet until one drunk deck hand blurted out, "Sharks." The captain smacked him upside the back of the head for his indiscretion.

This is it! This was my chance.

I took another shot, put my hand on the captain's thigh, and said, "Sharks, huh? Tell me more."

The whole group looked down at their drinks.

I broke the silence.

"Look, I don't care what you guys are fishing for. I just need some cash to move on to my next stop."

"I'll tell you what," the captain started, "No questions. Be at the dock around 9, and you can come out with us. Your pay will be based on the work you do and the catch."

"I'll be there," she said as she walked away, swinging her hips just a little more than usual.

"You sure you can handle it?" one of the deckhands asked, causing everyone to chuckle.

"Ask me that again at the end of the night, once you see what I can do. Later boys."

I walked away in disbelief that it worked. That approach really worked

As I made my way back to the fleabag motel I was staying in, my heart was pounding out of my chest. No time to re-think the plan. I had to be focused. When I got back to the room, I gathered my supplies—a small wad of C4 explosives with a timer. The environmental extremist group I am a part of taught me everything I needed to know about planting a bomb and getting off the boat in time. It couldn't be any simpler than that. Or at least that is what I told myself. This would be my first mission, and the pressure was overbearing, yet its nervousness was exciting. I put my wetsuit on under my clothes, grabbed the explosive and placed it carefully in my bag, and headed out the door for the marina, wondering if I would ever see the inside of this room again.

As I approached the dock, I could see the men already loading the boat with equipment and supplies. The boat had floodlights that illuminated the deck.

"Well, look who is serious after all. Hey, Capt'n woman on deck!" a deckhand sneered.

"You made it!" the captain said as he came on deck. "Listen. Don't ask questions. The less you see, the better. You will be chummin' it tonight and preparing bait. That's all. Shitty job, I know, but it'll get you what you need towards your next stop. Wherever that is." He said with a grin. "Got it?"

"Got it."

Somebody showed me to the chumming station out of view of the deck. I figured that would be the case. So for about the first twenty-five minutes heading out to sea, I did my job. Drew no attention to myself. Until I saw it. The buoy off in the distance was where I was to swim to once I jumped off the boat. It was time.

I quickly stripped my outer layer of clothes, grabbed my bag, and ran out to the deck. In my mind, I had some heroic line to yell out as I dove off the boat. I, in fact, did not. I placed my bag right by the stairs that led to the bridge, and set the timer. I announced, "I did what I did. And some decisions, you just can't come back from." Thanks, dad. And then I dove.

About halfway to the buoy, the boat exploded. More significantly than I had expected, but I was still figuring out the amount to use. I could hear a boat off in the distance. I reached the buoy and turned to look at the burning carnage I had left in my wake. Just then, the black rescue boat pulled me out of the water.

I heard, "not bad for your first mission, rookie," as I slid into the boat. As we sped away into the night, I couldn't help but watch the still burning boat getting further and further away. Had anyone lived? Are there guys treading in the water, sinking to the bottom like the sharks they killed?

"I did what I did," I said to myself as I turned away to look ahead.