Seafood.

To millions, just the sound of the word triggers a mouth-watering response that few other fares can match. Red snapper grilled to perfection; broiled lobster swimming in butter and garlic; salty, fresh-shucked oysters; boiled shrimp; batter-fried grouper; steamy bowls of conch chowder; savory crab cakes— the intoxicating sensual delights of seafood defy comparison in all gastronomy.

Chances are we humans have relished the delicacies of the sea since the dawn of our species. Today, even after millions of years of eating sea creatures, our appetite for seafood shows no sign of letting up. In fact, we're more ravenous for marine cuisine than ever. Worldwide demand for seafood stands at an all-time high, thanks to a relentlessly rising population and clever advertising and marketing schemes to sell more— and increasingly strange—food from the sea.

In the 1970s, this voracious consumption began to trigger alarm from scientists, politicians and corporate types around the globe. The age-old concept of the world's oceans being a vast, inexhaustible resource impervious to the whims of man began to ring hollow with fishery managers and marine biologists everywhere. For the first time ever, increasing fishing pressure was being seen as only part of the seafood supply problem. What scientists found really scary is what they saw happening to whole marine ecosystems— from sea grasses to coral reefs— from the impact of raw pollution and coastal development.

Three decades hence, even grade school children in the most far-flung corners of the globe have heard about the problems plaguing world fisheries. What for millennia was taken for granted— the freedom to pursue wild fish and other sea critters for the table or the marketplace (and the success in doing either)—is no more. Fierce consumer demand, coupled with the loss of marine nursery grounds and other habitat, has ratcheted up fishing regulations everywhere to the point where the joke among even the most conscientious anglers is that ignorance of today's complicated laws comes close to being a legitimate excuse to be an outlaw.

Faced with abundant and undeniable evidence of dwindling resources in seas the world over, maritime nations have erected a complex web of mostly "me-first" rules and regulations that now blankets most of the world's saltwater. Afoot is a desperate attempt to keep commercial fleets in business while saving something for individual citizens who want to catch fish and other marine life either to feed their families or pay big bucks just for the priviledge of enjoying the sheer fun of it.

And the upshot of all these laws? World fisheries, by and large, face their most perilous times in history, say most marine fisheries analysts, and the evidence is anywhere one cares to look.

In the worst cases, the avalanche of laws may have come too late for some popular species that have been hunted almost to the point of extinction. In the U.S., there's no better example than New England's storied cod fishery, once thought so vast as to be impregnable. To the surprise (and chagrin) of federal fishery managers, codfish stocks collapsed in the early 1990s, putting thousands out of work. Some biologists doubt that New England cod will ever return in numbers capable of supporting another commercial harvest.

Marine scientists have estimated that 13 of the world's 15 major marine fishing zones are being fished to their limits, are in danger of collapsing or are in various stages of recovery from overfishing. A 1998 report by the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization claimed that up to 70 percent of worldwide fish stocks urgently needed help to stave off collapse from overfishing.

In the U.S., a 2002 analysis by federal fishery regulators showed that of 304 managed fish species within U.S. waters, 93 species—almost a third—are either already overfished or approaching overfishing (another 655 fish stocks aren't even monitored.) Pollution is taking a heavy toll here as well—the harvest of oysters, clams and mussels is routinely limited in nearly a third of U.S. waters thanks to dirty water.

Fertilizers and poisons draining from agricultural lands, golf courses and coastal subdivisions have laid waste to countless acres of salt marshes and seagrass beds on both coasts. Fabled Chesapeake Bay, which in the 1930s H.L. Mencken called "a giant protein factory," has lost 90 percent of its aquatic plant life and half of its coastal marsh. In Florida, where dredge-and-fill is a practiced art, coastal ecosystems are a ghost of what they once were. A 1981 study determined that coastal development had destroyed more than 80 percent of Tampa Bay's historically luxuriant seagrass beds and nearly half of its marsh and mangrove habitats.

And all this after nearly 30 years of government regulators working from no fewer than seven federal agencies, some with overlapping authority, to manage the nation's marine environment. The country's top fishery agency—The National Marine Fisheries Service within the U.S. Department of Commerce—has watched the problems escalate despite its best efforts to keep a lid on things. Charged with balancing the typically conflicting interests of commercial and recreational fishermen while protecting stocks from overharvest, the agency uses such standard management tools as size and bag limits, closed seasons, limited access to fisheries, gear restrictions and quotas to forestall catastrophe.

But an independent marine resources watchdog group called the Pew Oceans Commission, begun in 2000, thinks that catastrophe is exactly where U.S. fisheries are headed if things don't change in a big way, and soon. Headed by Leon Panetta, President Bill Clinton's former chief of staff, the Commission says it's time to overhaul the entire philosophy driving U.S. fisheries management policy and install new measures based on a different set of values.

The Pew Commission supports an idea that's been kicked around by marine scientists for years but never fully implemented. Instead of trying to manage one species at a time—essentially the way things are handled now—Commission scientists argue that the best approach is to look at the bigger picture. They say managers should focus their energies on protecting the ecology of all marine life in a given area, not just that which supports a few species important to commercial and recreational fisheries.

Such an ecosystem-based management plan would call for some familiar management tools, e.g. size and bag limits, but would emphasize the importance of such things as habitat restoration, pollution control, predator-prey relationships between species, climate changes and so forth in setting up a fundamentally new management system for U.S. fisheries.

LOCK - DOWN AT SEA?

But one of the newest management tools championed by many eco-management advocates is scaring the bejesus out of lots of people both here and abroad.

The tool goes by more than one name and comes in a variety of forms, but its acronym—"MPA"—for "marine protected area"—incorporates some of the same conservation ethic behind marine parks and sanctuaries—ideas familiar to the public for decades.

To many, the term "MPA" is simply new jargon for marine reserves—zones where human access is limited either to biological or cultural resources. Reportedly, the oldest MPA in the U.S. was set up in 1975 to protect the remains of the U.S.S. Monitor off Cape Hatteras.

But increasingly, MPAs—a concept now taking root around the world—are becoming popularly viewed as a mechanism for putting large tracts of the ocean off limits to fishing of any kind, and in many cases, permanently.

Last year, Australia established the world's largest MPA, the 66,000-square-mile Heard Island and McDonald Islands Marine Reserve. New Zealand now has nearly 3,000 square miles of its coastal waters wrapped up in MPAs, and a new marine reserve is soon to be established in Antarctica. All of these new zones prohibit the taking of any wildlife by anyone by any means for as long as the reserves exist, on penalty of heavy fines, imprisonment or both for poachers.

For managing its beleaguered fisheries, the U.S. is a relative newcomer to using MPAs, but federal regulators not only have the authority to use them but a presidential mandate to do so. What comes as a surprise to many is that since 2000, fishery management by MPAs has been the law of the land.

In his last year of office, President Bill Clinton signed an executive order directing federal agencies to "strengthen the management, protection and conservation of existing marine protected areas and establish new or expanded MPAs" through the creation of a "scientifically based, comprehensive national system of MPAs representing diverse U.S. marine ecosystems."

This summer, the order—upheld by the George W. Bush administration—will see the convening of the first national Marine Protected Area Committee, a 30-member group of individuals chosen from around the nation to determine how best to put the nation's MPA mandate into gear.

It's hardly surprising that many commercial and recreational anglers regard the most stringent MPAs—those that prohibit all fishing, or so-called "no-take" MPAs—as an affront to what they regard as their rights to make a living and their freedom to enjoy what are clearly publicly owned resources. Last year in the U.S., concern over the issue turned to outrage in California when the state created the second largest no-take marine reserve in the country.

Hundreds of California anglers were livid when the state's top fishery agency locked up 25 percent of the state's 4,500 square-mile Channel Islands National Marine Sanctuary, permanently prohibiting the taking of any marine life by anyone. Sportfishing groups decried the action, saying that the closures—which total 175 square milesHundreds of California anglers were livid when the state's top fishery agency locked up 25 percent of the state's 4,500 square—mile Channel Islands National Marine Sanctuary, permanently prohibiting the taking of any marine life by anyone. Sportfishing groups decried the action, saying that the closures-which total 175 square milesHundreds of California anglers were livid when the state's top fishery agency locked up 25 percent of the state's 4,500 square-mile Channel Islands National Marine Sanctuary, permanently prohibiting the taking of any marine life by anyone. Sportfishing groups decried the action, saying that the closures—which total 175 square miles— amount to nearly 30 percent of Southern California's best fishing grounds. amount to nearly 30 percent of Southern California's best fishing grounds. amount to nearly 30 percent of Southern California's best fishing grounds.

But what especially angered commercial and recreational fishers alike was the fact that their participation in two years of public debate over the troubled Channel Islands fisheries-work that included an economic impact study which anglers paid for—ultimately led to no compromise in the state's decision to close the fishery.

California's stormy sail into "no-take" MPA waters should serve as a reminder to Floridians who treasure their saltwater fishing that a new day has dawned in fisheries management in the U.S., say leaders within Florida's recreational and commercial fishing industries. Anglers in the Sunshine State are just now waking up to the fact that Florida already leads the nation in the number of its offshore acres that now are officially off limits to fishing. As a consequence, despite their historic taste for battling each other, Florida's sports anglers and commercial fishers are finding common ground in their concerns over government fences sprouting up around their favorite fishing holes.

In 2001, anglers and divers in South Florida got a strong taste of what some fear will become the rule rather than the exception in how their seas will be regulated in the future. Following four years of public discussion, federal regulators created a no-take MPA aimed at protecting fish and other marine life from overfishing in waters off the Dry Tortugas. The Tortugas Ecological Preserve—now part of the Dry Tortugas National Park—served as a catalyst for closing off another part of the park, and today these closed Tortugas zones comprise the largest zero-take MPA (not even trolling is allowed)—at 260 square miles—in the U.S.

But in the end, establishment of the Tortugas reserve failed to ignite the kind of public uproar seen last year in California's Channel Islands closure. Principals involved credit substantial backing for the reserve from both commercial and recreational users, some of whom provided graphic testimony on the decline of Tortugas fisheries since the 1970s. The federal initiative even won grudging support from Florida's Fish and Wildlife Commission, which so far has been loathe to put MPAs into its own regulatory toolbox.

Still, the idea of permanently locking up public waters around Florida—or anywhere—to anyone but sightseers rankles many anglers who fear that whenever a problem arises in a fishery, regulators will almost instinctively push to slap down another no-take reserve. Regulators are looking at other candidates for reserves in Florida, including a 340 square-mile tract in the Florida Middle Grounds, an area located in the Gulf about 90 miles off Tampa.

"It's a sad commentary if this is what it's come down to when we have a variety of options available," said William Ward, owner of a seafood distribution business in Clearwater. Ward volunteers as an advisor on reef fishes to the Gulf of Mexico Fishery Management Council, one of eight regional bodies set up by the federal government to regulate the nation's fisheries.

"You hear some people say 'what harm can (no-take zones) do?'," he said. "They can put a man out of business and limit access to Americans who want to fish with their families."

Not surprisingly, Ward's sentiment is shared by more than a few sportfishing enthusiasts. Florida is home to roughly 2.3 million saltwater recreational fishermen—double the number of any other state in the union. Thousands are members of the Coastal Conservation Association, a national group dedicated to protecting the interests of saltwater anglers. Ted Forsgren is director of the association's Florida chapter. (continued)

"We simply don't see the need for the creation of MPAs that prohibit recreational fishing unless it can be scientifically determined that recreational fishermen are the cause of the problem and that other, less severe measures such as size limits, bag limits and gear restrictions have proven inadequate to solve the problem," he said. "Excluding the public should be a last resort and not a first option when effective alternatives are available."

Grouper on the Line

Chris Koenig grabs a braided polyethylene line tied to a large fish trap sitting on the rocky bottom 185 feet below. Quickly, he snaps the line onto a hydraulic pot hauler—the same kind used by lobstermen off Maine—and within seconds the trap and its contents are slowly headed to the surface.

When the trap's door opens aboard Shadow—the 50-footer hired for this latest project—a squirming mass of sea life plops and slithers onto the deck. Three 10-pound gag grouper flop amid a tangle of snapper, cusk and conger eels, porgies, triggerfish, giant spider crabs—looking like mossy, animated rocks—and a couple of fat red grouper, the sleek gag's pot-bellied cousin.

Koenig makes quick work of "de-gassing" the fish—puncturing their air bladders swollen by their ascent from their pressurized homes-and placing them into one of two large holding tanks circulating with fresh seawater. Within minutes, most of the fish are sufficiently recovered to be retrieved, one by one, measured, clipped and tagged.

Using surgical tools, Koenig clips a spine and a ray (essentially a boneless spine) from the dorsal fins of each fish. He then uses a special tool to insert a bright yellow tag-a seven-inch strand of plastic resembling a spaghetti noodle—deeply into the fish's back. The tag carries a 1-800 number that Koenig hopes whoever eventually catches the fish will use to phone in information on where and when the fish was landed. He swabs the tiny wound with Betadyne, an antiseptic, and seconds later the fish is overboard and swimming madly for home.

Koenig and his companions are afloat within the southern perimeter of one of two 100-square-mile experimental "no-take" MPAs that he and his wife and colleague, Felicia Coleman, helped create in 1999 in the Gulf of Mexico. The site, named "Madison-Swanson" for reasons that blur in the memories of 70-year-old grouper fishermen who've fished the area since they were deckhands in knee-pants, sits 50-odd miles southwest of Apalachicola in the Florida Panhandle. Roughly 10 miles on a side, the site is located about 50 miles northwest of its twin reserve, known as Steamboat Lumps. Together, the sites span 219 square miles of Gulf territory.

Koenig and Coleman—both research scientists within Florida State University's Department of Biological Science—are now into their 14th year studying the groupers of the northeastern Gulf. By all accounts, their findings have established their reputations within scientific, government and community circles as creditable researchers whose main agenda is scientific discovery.

Over the years, both have faced angry crowds of special interests in countless public meetings, fielding insults shouted by people unhappy with what the two FSU researchers say science is telling them about the health of the Gulf's grouper fishery. In 1999, when Coleman's three-year term as a member of the Gulf of Mexico Fishery Management Council was up for renewal, pressure from Florida's commercial and recreational fishing industries led Gov. Jeb Bush to withdraw her name from consideration. The experience taught her much about the dynamics of fishery politics, American-style.

Koenig has felt the wrath of both commercial and recreational anglers as well. But through it all, the scientists have prospered. Since their first seminal paper on the life history of gag grouper (Mycteroperca microlepis) appeared in 1996, the pair has successfully competed for more than $1 million in federal research dollars, by far the largest amount ever granted to the same scientists for grouper research. In 2001, Coleman was tapped as a Pew Oceans Commission fellow, joining an elite group of scientists honored for their contributions to marine conservation. That same year, she also won an Aldo Leopold Conservation Leadership Award from the Ecological Society of America.

This July, the pair is in line to enjoy a professional highpoint when the Gulf Council, meeting in Panama City, Florida, are scheduled to vote on extending the life of the two experimental Gulf reserves until 2010. Koenig and Coleman were the driving force behind the reserves' creation in 1998, and early indications are that the Council heavily favors the six-year extension.

Where's the Science?

No matter the management merits of MPAs, a strong case can be made that few of Earth's coastlands have more to lose or gain by ringing their shores with marine reserves than does Florida.

The state itself is a unique geologic creature of the sea. It's semi-tropical climate conspires with its 1,200 miles of shoreline to make the state's entire populace a marine culture, kept afloat by an economic pump primed by clean beaches, clean saltwater and public access to both.

Aside from the billions of dollars that Florida's beaches and ubiquitous roadside attractions generate from tourism each year, the state's reputation as the fishing capital of the world counts for billions more (see "Bottom Line," page 32). Little wonder that any talk of roping off even small areas of the state's multi-faceted marine environment to the public draws attention from all quarters.

To date, Florida's most restricted MPAs—those zones where little or no fishing is allowed-include 23 separate no-take reserves within the 3,674 -square-mile Florida Keys National Marine Sanctuary, the new 150-square-mile Tortugas Ecological Reserve; the two experimental reserves in the Gulf now under study by FSU's Koenig, Coleman and their colleagues; and two areas off Fort Pierce on the state's east coast.

These latter areas, known as the Oculina Banks Habitat Area of Particular Concern and the Experimental Oculina Research Reserve, now comprise what may be the largest MPA in the nation that is largely closed both to fishing and trawling. The habitat area was first set up in 1984, but a decade later, research by Koenig and Coleman on the impact of grouper fishing in the area helped lead to the addition of an adjoining 92-square-mile experimental reserve.

The main purpose for the reserve was to address alarming finds made by the FSU biologists about the area's gag grouper population. The researchers found a scarcity of male groupers plus widespread destruction of a popular grouper habitat-a dominant type of coral known as ivory tree coral (Oculina varicosax)—the organism that gives the areas their names. Taken together, these Oculina sites encompass roughly 300 square miles where now all bottom fishing, trawling and even anchoring is prohibited. But trolling for what are called "pelagic" (ocean-roaming) fish, such as marlin and sailfish, is still permitted.

When these no-take (or near no-take) MPAs are combined with the rest of the nearshore waters now under some brand of official federal scrutiny (Florida is home to at least 30 federally designated areas ranging from wildlife refuges to national parks) the state figures to represent a large portion of what is still a tiny fraction of U.S. territorial waters considered under the aegis of "wilderness protection." That fraction is less than half of one percent of all U.S. marine environments, according to a study by the Ocean Conservancy, a non-profit environmental organization.

Collectively, it's this minute percentage of U.S. waters now under some sort of governmental oversight that worries many scientists and environmental organizations now pushing for the expansion of MPAs nationally. Some have argued that as much as half of the world's marine waters need to be cordoned off from all types of fishing, including up to 30 percent of U.S. waters. It's these increasingly urgent calls for wide-scale closures based on blanket percentages that have divided natural allies and created a dilemma for many marine scientists.

"Some people feel you should just put (MPAs) out there, that it doesn't matter where," says Joe Travis, a well-known population biologist at Florida State. "Just put them out and not worry about where, or how big or how small and soon good things will happen. In my view, that's too simple."

Over the years, Travis has served as a collaborator on various projects with his friends and colleagues Coleman and Koenig. He and Joel Trexler, an ecologist at Florida International University, coauthored a paper in 2000 entitled "Can Marine Protected Areas Restore and Conserve Stock Attributes of Reef Fishes?"

Travis says the cause for expanding the use of no-take MPAs as a management tool is being harmed by what he called "zealots" who he believes are committed to the idea of MPAs before the science—side of these tools has had enough rigorous scrutiny.

"People are making a lot of claims for MPAs that frankly I'm not sure they can deliver. They're risking their credibility as objective scientists. Inside these areas, absent fishing, fish numbers will increase, but whether or not that benefit translates into more and bigger fish outside of the preserve remains an open question.

"There are reasons to believe it could happen and reasons to expect otherwise. The question will only be answered when enough data from experimental MPAs become available, and this is likely to require a decade's worth of patience."

Another well-known voice in the Southeastern community of marine scientists supports the concept of experimental MPAs to find answers. But Robert L. Shipp, heads the University of South Alabama's marine science department, also cautions against the wholesale endorsement of no-take MPAs as a panacea for easing fisheries problems both domestic and abroad.

Last year, Shipp, whose doctoral training was at FSU, wrote a paper aimed at summarizing the effectiveness of no-take reserves in restoring fish populations outside reserves. The study, commissioned by the American Sportfishing Association, has been used by some angling groups as ammunition in their fight against MPAs.

Shipp testified before a Congressional panel that even though no-take MPAs "may have numerous" benefits, as a way to manage fisheries to harvest as many fish as is biologically sustainable—a concept known as "maximum sustainable yield," the dominant objective of fishery management policies worldwide—no-take reserves aren't the best tool for doing that. He concluded that as a means of maintaining maximum harvest, such reserves "generally are not as effective as traditional management measures, and are not appropriate for the vast majority of marine species."

Coleman and Koenig realize that science still has a way to go to settle nagging questions about the effectiveness of marine reserves. They understand their colleague Travis' concerns over the apparent eagerness of some marine scientists and environmentalists to proliferate MPAs without fully understanding what they can and cannot do for protecting or restoring marine life.

But one thing they strongly believe that no-take reserves can do—and more effectively than any other management tool ever devised—is to protect spawning populations of fish and other marine life from being destroyed by overfishing and habitat destruction.

"These areas have extraordinary value as experiments to answer some of the more perplexing questions about fishing effects on populations and habitats," Coleman said.

Shipp agrees that if MPAs have any practical value at all in fisheries management, it's in their unique ability to save the biological integrity of those fisheries by giving marine organisms' an adequate opportunity to breed. In his paper, Shipp said reserves-whether or not they exclude all fishing—"can serve a positive function as a management tool in protecting breeding aggregations, in helping recovery of several overfished and unmanaged fish…and in protecting critical habitat which can be damaged by certain fishing methods."

He and other scientists also agree that certain exploited fish species pose much better recovery targets through the use of reserves than do others. In the Gulf of Mexico, there may be no better candidate for protection via reserves than the fish that for years has been the focus of FSU research, namely the gag grouper.

Trouble in the House

Commonly heard, in error, as "black grouper"—actually a related species-gag grouper are a mainstay of commercial and recreational fishing in Florida, particularly off the West coast. Even in the 1950s, the fish were so plentiful that commercial fishermen off the Florida Panhandle-pursuing the better-selling red snapper-would be forced to leave a good snapper "hole" that had been taken over by their voracious hordes.

Gags hardly occur in such numbers these days, but they nonetheless count for a serious—though unknown—punch to Florida's economy, although considerably less so than their more commonplace cousin, the red grouper. What federal managers do know is that each year, untold millions of dollars change hands from the commercial sale of gags and from sports anglers willing to spare no expense to pursue this hard-fighting -and despite the unfortunate name—fine-eating fish.

Somewhat surprisingly, as economically important to Florida as the Gulf's grouper fishery has been historically, it wasn't until the early 1990s that scientists learned the full story of some grouper's life histories—how and when they spawn and how and where they grow up. Most of that research was done at FSU by Koenig and Coleman working out of the university's marine lab located at Turkey Point in Franklin County, just an hour south of campus, and by their colleagues at a federal fisheries lab based in Panama City.

In 1989, the FSU researchers began the most comprehensive grouper research project ever done. For the study, the scientists targeted several Gulf grouper species, including red grouper, scamp and gags.

In the fall of 1996, the researchers published their first findings, among which were two key discoveries about the gag's life history. First, the study revealed that sexually mature gag grouper (i.e. usually those at least six years old) tend to move to deeper waters along about January each year to spawn. The fish set up housekeeping on so-called "patch" reefs concentrated at depths ranging from 150 to 350 feet. There, these females (like most groupers, all gags are born female, with an unknown proportion turning male in advanced years) await fertilization from usually much older males already living at these sites.

The spawning period, which can typically last through April, produces millions of fertilized eggs that get swept away from the spawning grounds by Gulf currents. Adrift, within three weeks these eggs morph into larvae—recognizable fish less than four millimeters long. The fry eventually get swept shoreward, where if they're lucky, they find a patch of seagrass in which to hide from predators, eat and eventually grow to a size (within six months or so) that enables them to escape the shallows for deeper water.

But arguably the single most fascinating discovery made by the FSU investigators was the origin of this annual bloom of gag larvae. Working with local fishermen, the scientists found a distinct geographical pattern to the gag's spawning aggregations. The fish's breeding habits turned out to be a profoundly depth-regulated activity confined to a zone that roughly follows the contours of what for generations commercial fishermen had referred to as "the 40-fathom break."

Conspicuous on nautical charts of the open Gulf, the contour line runs along the upper continental shelf, sweeping within 100 miles of Tampa and snaking its way north and west to come within 50 miles of the beaches of Panama City. The line signifies a fairly sharp "break" where the Gulf's depth slips to about 40 fathoms, or 240 feet.

Depth aside, the zone's primary feature is a sandy bottom that is fairly studded with limestone outcroppings, often dramatic ridges and pinnacles which scientists now recognize as the remnants of ancient shorelines. Such prominent reefs become havens for a myriad of marine life—gag grouper in particular. The FSU researchers found that each winter and early spring, spawning gag collected on these reefs like clockwork. As did fisherman.

By congregating in roughly the same places each year, the gags were easy prey for bottom fishermen armed with so-called "bandit rigs," large, electrically powered, deck-mounted reels. Typically baited with several hooks, "bandits" can be extremely effective at loading anglers' coolers in a hurry. Some of the commercial fishermen who agreed to work with Koenig in his early work reported catches as high as 3,000 pounds a day during the spawning season.

Aside from the location of the spawning fish, the research turned up a surprising find which Koenig and Coleman at first had a hard time believing. The thousands of females showing up to spawn each year were being greeted by only a handful of males. An analysis showed that at best, males made up only two percent of the spawning aggregations the scientists were seeing. On some sites, they found only one percent; on others, none at all.

For any biologist who knows much about population dynamics, the discovery of such a paucity of males in any wild species is a sobering find. Eventually, the FSU researchers concluded that the natural aggression of gag males made them likely candidates for being the first to strike a lowered bait. Earlier observations by grouper scientists working off Florida's east coast had suggested as much. Males were being caught out faster than they could regenerate. To Koenig, there was no more ominous sign about the future of the gag fishery than this.

"In a situation like this, eventually you get to the point where the structure of the entire population changes," he said. "Spawning capacity drops off sharply because of too few males around, and the ones that are there are increasingly smaller, which means they produce less sperm to begin with."

By 1993, Koenig and Coleman, fearing a collapse of the fishery, were calling for the federal government to step in and immediately close fishing on the gag's spawning populations. Their pleas before the Gulf Council initially went unheeded, but eventually paid off. They didn't get the closure they wanted, but in 1999, the Council agreed to set up two experimental no-take reserves situated squarely in the gag's prime spawning areas with the understanding that they would be evaluated in 2004 and discontinued if research found them to be of little value. (The federal managers passed another measure aimed at protecting the breeding stocks in 2001, installing a one-month closure on all commercial grouper fishing in the Gulf beginning mid-March, a measure now under review.)

At their May meeting, members of the Gulf Council heard testimony from Koenig and two other scientists—both federal biologists—who also have been studying the Madison-Swanson and Steamboat Lumps closures. Since 2001, Andy David, working with the National Marine Fisheries Service out of its Panama City, Florida headquarters and Chris Gledhill, a NMFS scientist from Pascagoula, have documented the aggregations using videography. David also is a doctoral student of Travis' at FSU.

David presented evidence that the experimental sites are working and urged the Council to extend their lives.

"We think it's going well out there," said David. "We've seen an increase in grouper in the reserves, which we would expect. Gag grouper have increased everywhere—but more in the closed areas."

Coleman and Koenig presented their findings, which indicated that the male population inside the reserves is now remarkably higher than outside them. They found that it was eight times easier ("catch-per-unit-effort," in fishery management lingo) to catch males inside the reserves than out, a strong sign that one of the reserves' key goals-increasing the population of male gags in the spawning sites-is being met.

Overall, though, they found that the size of the reserve gag, both sexes, weren't any larger than those outside—though the sizes of reserve red snapper and red grouper were much larger than outside populations. The larger the fish in any given spawning area usually translates into larger quantities of both eggs and sperm.

Now that the reserves aren't likely to end in 2004, as originally planned, the FSU biologists will have the opportunity to find definitive answers for other crucial questions. For example, do males stay on the spawning areas year-round, as some speculate? To get a handle on that, Koenig has inserted radio-tracking devices into every male his team has captured so far this year.

But answers to a far more difficult question that fishery managers are keenly interested in may be a long time coming. If breeding populations of gags are left undisturbed for a lengthy period, and sex ratios return to normal or near-normal, it's intuitive that millions more fertilized eggs will be cast into the Gulf. If so, will more larvae develop and start showing up in greater concentrations in seagrass nursery areas? The question, of course, goes to the whole point behind protecting spawning grouper in the first place.

Until they prove things, scientists must deal in theories, and in this case the theory that the production of more grouper larvae will lead to more adult fish is a sound one, Coleman explained. But in this case, scientifically verifying this assumption won't be easy, mainly because both areas combined make up less than 3 percent of the entire 40-fathom-break spawning grounds.

"For the moment, we can demonstrate with these reserves that you can recover the male population so that more females will have the opportunity to spawn," she said.

"But demonstrating a cause-and-effect between these reserves and an increase in larval transport to sea grasses poses some daunting—though not impossible—scientific and technological tasks," she said.

Freedom to Fish

In their May meeting, the Gulf Council took another look at a hot political button that sprang up shortly after the Gulf reserves were created in 1999—and punted.

What happened is a textbook example of how MPAs-no matter how well designed and purposeful they may be—can unexpectedly touch a raw nerve within special interest groups and wreck the best-laid plans of policy-makers. And in this case, the aggrieved party was made up of sportfishermen with political clout who originally had given the closures a ringing endorsement.

On the final day of deliberations on the proposed closures by the Gulf Council, a motion was made to ban all fishing-including trolling—in the reserves. Even though trolling is uncommonly used in deep water for catching bottom-dwellers such as grouper—the main species that the reserves aimed to protect—the Council saw the wisdom of keeping trollers out of the reserve to make it simpler for law enforcement to nab poachers. The motion to ban trolling passed on a mixed vote.

Coleman and Koenig strongly supported the measure, arguing that only a ban of all fishing in the reserves—regardless of the methods used—could guarantee that spawning stocks would be fully protected.

"Anything less than a total ban makes enforcement virtually impossible," said Koenig.

But the vote caught representatives of Florida sports fishing groups completely by surprise. Feeling betrayed, anglers dubbed the tactic "bait and switch" because the rule they had supported banned only bottom fishing. The Coastal Conservation Association quickly filed a lawsuit against the National Marine Fisheries Service to reverse the action, and a battle was enjoined.

In 2000, the suit prompted the fisheries service to temporarily suspend the no-trolling provision pending a review to determine how much of a problem this was going to cause law enforcement and what, if any, impacts trolling was having on grouper in the reserves. (At its May meeting, the Council learned that the study still hadn't been completed, so the decision to extend the reserves was tabled until July.)

But despite the feds initial concession on the issue, the trolling ban served as a catalyst for some powerful sportfishing lobbyists in D.C. to act. Disturbed by the Florida incident, the impending closures in California and other MPAs on federal drawing boards, the American Sportfishing Association (ASA) developed a strategy to put a bridle on what they perceived as an insidious encroachment on anglers' rights. The result was the introduction last year of a bill into the U.S. Senate by Senators John Breaux (D-La.) and Kay Bailey Hutchinson (R-Texas) and in the House by Colin Peterson (D-Minn.).

The bill, named The Freedom to Fish Act, called for a prohibition on denying access to recreational anglers to newly established marine reserves unless scientific data confirms that sportfishing is the cause of a specific conservation problem that can't be resolved using traditional conservation methods. Although the bill stopped short of calling for an all-out ban on MPAs, it nonetheless was generally opposed by environmental groups. Momentum for passage died at the end of the 107th Congress last year, but Mike Nussman, ASA president, told Research in Review this spring that the bill is expected to be reintroduced this year.

"There's a lot of arrogance in placing an MPA," Nussman said. "If you think about it from a common sense perspective, the case is being made against recreational anglers that going out there and dragging a hook through the water is having such a draconian effect that we can't sustain it.

"That's not to say we don't need to take steps (to better manage our fisheries) but are the impacts from recreational activity such that we have to go to the ultimate action of telling people 'no, you just can't go there'? Even in wilderness areas—our most protected level of terrestrial areas—the recreational use is valued and encouraged, but on the water, we put up a 'no trespassing' sign."

If nothing else, this latest legal wrangle signals that in the U.S. at least, efforts to use marine reserves as a cornerstone for building a new paradigm in fisheries management isn't likely to be a smooth sail, as reserve advocates had hoped. What's obvious to most observers is that increasingly, the burden of proof will be on scientists to produce hard evidence that MPAs, as a national policy, are worth the trouble.

Hearts & Minds

Back aboard Shadow, his sixth extended trip to the Gulf reserves so far this year, Koenig watches a boat approaching from the west. It's a bandit boat, slang for a commercial vessel rigged for serious bottom-fishing.

The 45-footer slows to a stop a quarter mile off Shadow's bow. Through his field glasses, Koenig sees two deckhands scurrying to send baited rigs to the bottom 220 feet below. The vessel has stopped atop a patch reef three miles inside the Madison-Swanson's southern border.

In the Shadow's wheelhouse, Koenig picks up the microphone on the boat's VHF and hails the vessel off his bow. Do you know you're fishing in a federal marine reserve? he asks the voice who answers. Getting no response, Koenig repeats the question.

Finally, the bandit boat's captain breaks the silence with "What reserve you talkin' about, cap?"

Koenig explains the facts—that the site is off-limits to bottom fishing and has been for three years. Coasties (the Coast Guard) catch you in here with lines in the water, and you're toast. Best to pull up your lines and head for a new latitude.

After a few more exchanges, a plume of black smoke erupts from the bandit boat's twin stacks. White water boils at its stern as the vessel pulls to the south. Koenig grins.

"They act dumb, but they know exactly what they're doing," he said. "He probably thought we were poachers, too, and he was among friends."

The incident underscores the difficulties scientists face in meeting the demands of studying the effectiveness of marine reserves. Not only must they deal with the tenuous world of research funding just to get into the field in the first place, once there they risk a daily gauntlet of crises ranging from balky equipment to crew members too sick to move. There's the constant vagaries of weather to face which can make offshore work a living hell if possible at all.

But they must also cope with the human element, typically by far the most daunting challenge of all. Poachers in the reserves are only one set of people problems, though they pose a serious threat to upsetting the whole experimental apple-cart. Poaching is the bane of no-take MPAs globally. Enforcing the Gulf closures—chiefly the responsibility of the U.S. Coast Guard—has been a challenge since the reserves were created.

Not surprisingly, the enforcement dilemma worsened appreciably after 9/11 when the Coast Guard suddenly had more urgent issues on its plate. Since then, Coleman and Koenig have worked closely with the "coasties" to step up enforcement and apparently things are improving, he said. Last December, a long-line commercial boat operator out of Panama City was apprehended and subsequently fined $88,000 and slapped with long list of sanctions. Another poacher—this time a sports angler—was arrested in April.

But from poachers to politicians, there's usually no shortage of people who simply don't like what Koenig, Coleman and others are trying to do. Frankly, many American opponents of marine reserves regard them as a federal confiscation of their birthright to hunt, catch and eat fish. It's a second-amendment issue to more than a few.

Everything considered, the likelihood that regulators will vote to keep their Gulf experiment alive is a testimony to the success the FSU researchers have had in winning over some of their staunchest skeptics, whose ranks still put a lot of stock in such views. Chief among these are veteran commercial fisherman living along the Florida Panhandle, along with their political spokesmen.

"We could not have done half of what we've been able to do if some of these guys hadn't recognized the value to their livelihoods of what we're doing," Koenig said. "We owe them a hell of a lot."

In the early 1990s, the FSU scientists won the trust of a handful of commercial grouper fishermen from Panama City and Apalachicola that gained him invaluable information pinpointing locations of gag breeding grounds. This led directly to the no-take closures, which by all accounts most Panhandle fishermen now support.

An early and outspoken critic of the FSU grouper research is Bob Jones, the venerable director of the Southeastern Fisheries Association, which represents more than 500 commercial fishing and trawling companies, most of them in Florida. Jones, who initially opposed the closures, now says he supports Koenig and Coleman's work.

"We can live with the extension (of the reserves)," he said. "Those things need lots of (scientific) data collected over a long period of time to really determine their effectiveness."

Jones says that unlike most recreational anglers, commercial fishermen are used to seeing closed areas in their work. Back in the late 1960s, Jones said his association was instrumental in putting 3 million acres near the Dry Tortugas off limits to shrimp trawling. To protect juvenile swordfish, in 2000 the feds shut down a huge region off the Florida Panhandle known as the Desoto Canyon to long-line boats, so named for the baited lines they use which can stretch for miles.

"It only makes sense to protect some areas, and I don't feel that Chris or Felicia have any hidden agendas. I've got confidence in them."

Steve Rash is another prominent naysayer turned defender. Since 1989, Rash has owned and operated Water Street Seafood in Apalachicola, one of the largest distributors of seafood in the Northeastern Gulf. Rash's fish regularly wind up on the toniest tables from Las Vegas to New York City.

Talking to a Wall Street Journal reporter in 1999, Rash dismissed Koenig's work and declared that the marine biologist didn't know "a mullet from a marlin." Since then, he's found common ground and mutual respect with the FSU scientists. Today, Koenig and Coleman use Water Street's dockage as a base of operations.

Like others in the seafood trade, Rash is concerned over the cumulative effect that all government regulations—particularly closed seasons, tighter quotas and no-take zones—are having on Florida's commercial fishing industry. He knows all too well, as does Jones, that the main agenda of some regulators and sportfishing groups is to eventually force all commercial anglers out of the water, period.

Even so, he strongly agrees that unless spawning populations are protected, some of his most important fisheries will go awayEven so, he strongly agrees that unless spawning populations are protected, some of his most important fisheries will go away-and the net effect will be the same. and the net effect will be the same.

"We'll all be out of business then," he said. "In my opinion, anybody who doesn't see the wisdom of protecting breeding populations of fish is a candidate for a sanity check."