3
There were plenty of fish in the sea
The archaeology of fish consumption in Australia
Introduction
Settlement of the Australian continent occurred 60,000–65,000 years ago (Clarkson, et al. 2017). At that time, global sea levels were considerably lower, and Australia was part of a vast landmass, called Sahul, joined with Papua New Guinea to the north and Tasmania to the south. We know that people must have made water-crossings to reach Sahul, either from the north into New Guinea, or south along the Lesser Sunda Islands into Australia. Did people eat fish and other marine resources thousands of years ago when they crossed into Australia? This question is difficult to answer, as today the coastline of most of this supercontinent lies submerged, creating challenges for understanding how people may have used these earlier coastlines.
The history of fishing in Australia has been dynamic; from the earliest evidence of First Nations fisheries to colonial encounters, the nineteenth and twentieth century industrialisation of fisheries, and widescale uptake of recreational fishing over the past 50 years. Beginning with evidence of fishing just to the north of Australia at 42,000 years ago and continuing through to early nineteenth century British colonisation, we examine what we know about the role of fish in Australia’s past. We look at the numerous ways that archaeologists study fish remains (a specialist field termed “ichthyoarchaeology”), from simple taxonomic identifications to highly specialised scientific methods like isotope analysis, and discuss case studies from archaeological sites across Australia. These archaeological assemblages are of vital importance, and we discuss how they can contribute unique information about the social and cultural significance of fish as food for the inhabitants of Australia in the past and through to the present-day.
Where do archaeologists find fish remains and what do they find?
Shell middens and mounds
Archaeological fish remains can be found in an assortment of different site types in Australia, and the preservation of these remains is largely dependent on the individual site formation processes and depositional conditions. The kinds of fish remains that can be found include bones, otoliths (ear bones), teeth and scales; however, evidence of fish consumption can also be gleaned from the presence of fishing tools and technologies such as fishhooks, nets and traps (McNiven and Lambrides 2021; Rowland and Ulm 2011).
One of the most common site types in coastal, estuarine or riverine environments in Australia is shell middens. These are accumulations of animal remains including shell (or mollusc), fish and other marine and terrestrial fauna, artefacts, charcoal and hearth stones from fires, and other floral remains, which were constructed by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. These sites were often culturally important meeting or gathering places, where people would come together and prepare food and use the shells and other raw materials, such as stone, to manufacture tools and ornaments like fishhooks, shell beads and flaked stone tools. Over hundreds, or even thousands of years of use, these sites continue to grow in height and surface area and become what archaeologists would characterise as a shell midden or mound. Ages of middens along the present coastline in Australia typically range from the time of the most recent sea level stabilisation, from ~7,000 years ago (Manne and Veth 2015; McNiven 2006), but most date to the past 4,000 years (Faulkner 2013; Lambrides et al. 2020). Some much earlier middens have also been recorded (Barker 2004; Richards 2012). Riverine/freshwater middens along some of the country’s ancient inland systems have been dated to approximately 29,000 years ago (Westell et al. 2020). Middens can also contain historic material, dating from after British colonisation.
Shell middens provide valuable information about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples’ subsistence regimes, food preferences, species availability, and the impacts of natural and human-induced environmental changes. The dates of middens, their location and their contents indicate that different areas of the coast were used at different times, which is likely a result of a diverse range of cultural and environmental factors, such as sea level stabilisation, marine productivity, and population and sociocultural changes. While shell middens are frequently dominated by mollusc remains, fish remains and other fauna within them can provide valuable and often unique information.
Fish bones and teeth
Fish bones are made up of organic (primarily collagen) and inorganic (bioapatite) components, along with lipids and water. Fish bone can vary in its inorganic composition, and this can make it prone to degradation (Nicholson 1996; Szpak 2011). Bone survives in conditions with a relatively neutral pH, because if sediments are too acidic, the bones will leach away and if they are too alkaline, they can crumble and disintegrate. Bones also degrade when conditions alternate between wet and dry, and if they are left exposed to the elements for extended time periods rather than buried relatively quickly. It is because of this that, in many parts of Australia, bone only survives in protected environments like rock-shelters and caves, or within a shell midden. Shell middens are ideal places to preserve bone because the shells create an environment with a neutral pH.
Fish skeletons are composed of spines, vertebrae and distinctive cranial bones. Traditionally, archaeologists use a set of five paired cranial bones (dentary, premaxilla, maxilla, articular and quadrate) (Figures 3.1a to 3.1c) and “special” bones (such as unusual vertebrae or spines) to identify different fish taxa, although more recently, it has been convincingly demonstrated that fish may also be identified using all of their vertebrae (Figure 3.1d) (Lambrides and Weisler 2016 Figures 3 and 4). Fish come in all shapes and sizes, with some species having more delicate and fragile bones (i.e. mullet, surgeonfish, flying fish) and others having relatively robust skeletons (i.e. tuna, parrotfish, grouper, catfish). What is preserved at an archaeological site is therefore a result of soil chemistry (pH), the robusticity of skeletal elements and how bones are treated prior to, during and after consumption.
Figure 3.1a Warrior catfish (Hemiarius dioctes) neurocranium (part of the skull). © Tiina Manne.
Figure 3.1b Barramundi (Lates calcarifer) premaxilla and maxilla (part of the craniumskull, associated with the mouth). © Tiina Manne.
Figure 3.1c Barramundi (Lates calcarifer) quadrate and preopercle (part of the craniumskull). © Tiina Manne.
Figure 3.1d Salmon catfish (Netuma thalassina) vertebrae. © Tiina Manne.
Fish otoliths
Otoliths are hard, calcium carbonate structures that assist with a fish’s balance and hearing. They are located in the head of all bony fish, directly behind the brain (Figure 3.2). They form in the embryonic stages of a fish’s development, grow continuously throughout its life, and possess unique characteristics that set them apart from all other skeletal structures. Different fish species have otoliths of different shapes and sizes, and an otolith’s internal structure has seasonal growth rings, similar to those of a tree. Features of otoliths can be used to identify the species, size, age, growth rate and season of death of an individual fish (Disspain et al. 2016).
Figure 3.2 Close-up X-ray of otoliths © Morgan Disspain. Mulloway skeleton with otolith circled: James King © Australian Museum.
Fish scales
Most bony fishes have scales covering their bodies in a sheet of flexible, overlapping plates. Structurally, there are two types of bony fish scales: ganoid or rhombic, which are found in some early fishes; and, round or bony-ridge scales, which are found in most bony fishes. While both types of scales can be used to identify fish to family, and sometimes to even species level, they are rarely found in archaeological sites owing to their fragility. There are exceptions to this however, such as the plate-like scales of triggerfish and boxfish, which preserve well and are readily recovered from Australasian coastal archaeological sites. The continued growth of fish throughout their lives results in sustained growth of bony-ridge scales, and the addition of material to the edges of each scale results in low ridges and depressions, called circuli. As a result of these growth records, fish scales can be used in studies of seasonality and aging (Guillaud et al. 2017; Robson et al. 2018).
How do archaeologists study fish remains?
Some archaeologists spend a considerable proportion of their time in a laboratory, and for those that study animals remains, such as ichthyoarchaeologists, many hundreds of hours are spent sorting, quantifying and identifying fish remains assemblages. The first stage of archaeological fish remains analysis involves the detailed examination of all recovered remains to determine the fish bone elements that have preserved in the site. The morphology, or shape, of an individual element is variable between families, genera and often species. Through comparisons with modern reference collections, archaeologists can identify ancient bones, otoliths or scales to taxon. It then becomes possible to determine the range of fish species that people targeted in the past and whether this changes through time (Lambrides et al. 2019).
Increasingly, biomolecular techniques are being used in conjunction with traditional identification protocols that rely on morphological differences between elements to facilitate identifications. These biomolecular techniques, such as aDNA (ancient DNA) and ZooMS (Zooarchaeology by Mass Spectrometry) facilitate more specific (i.e. to genus or species-level) identifications and quality assurance (i.e. testing whether morphological identifications are accurate) (Richter et al. 2011).
Significantly, because fish remains are organic, they can be dated using radiocarbon dating techniques, which allows archaeologists to assign timeframes to the fish’s death, and by association, the activities of the peoples that captured and ate the fish (Disspain et al. 2017).
Fish generally grow larger the longer they live, and as a result, the size of some individual elements (specifically otoliths and vertebrae) can be used to estimate the size of a fish. In order to do this, ichthyoarchaeologists first need to establish the relationship between fish body size and individual element size. This is accomplished through the development of reference collections. Fish are captured, weighed and measured, and their remains are then processed, weighed and measured. Once adequate sample sizes are obtained, the relationships between the weight or length of an element such as an otolith and the overall weight or length of a fish can be established. Subsequently, once an otolith from that same species is found within an archaeological site, it can be used to estimate the size of the fish it originated from.
The morphology of fish remains can also be used to determine the age a fish was when it died. Elements – scales and otoliths, in particular – contain growth rings, which can be attributed to growth fluctuations in response to seasonal variations in environmental conditions. Therefore, counting the growth rings can provide an estimate of the age of the fish at the time of its death. In addition to providing an estimate of the age of death of the fish, the annuli/circuli can also provide information about the season of death. By recording the nature of the edge increment, and whether it was laid down in a warm (fast growth) or cool (slow growth) season, the season of fish capture can be determined (Figure 3.3) (Disspain et al. 2016).
Figure 3.3 Mulloway otolith section showing annuli (Disspain et al. 2016).
Stable isotopic analysis looks at the isotopes – atoms with extra or missing neutrons – of different elements. The ratios of isotopes of the same elements vary between different substances (e.g. different types of food) and ecosystems (e.g. freshwater and sea, or between different climate zones). As fish grow and continually renew their tissues, the isotopes that are in the food they eat and the water they live in are constantly being incorporated into their body tissues, including their skeleton, scales and otoliths. Analysis of the oxygen isotope values of fish otoliths can provide information on the temperature of the water in which the fish lived (Rowell et al. 2008; West et al. 2012), while strontium isotopes can be used to investigate where the fish were being caught (Dufour et al. 2007). Studying concentrations of trace elements (chemical elements whose concentration is very low) in fish remains such as barium, through techniques such as inductively coupled plasma mass spectrometry (ICP-MS), can indicate the salinity levels of the water that the fish lived in throughout its life (Disspain et al. 2011).
Historical records can be used to bridge ichthyoarchaeological data with contemporary fisheries records. Historical data sources include archival fisheries reports, early fishing publications, newspaper articles, menus, artworks (Thurstan et al. 2015, 2016), archived fish remains (Schaerlaekens et al. 2011; Selleslagh et al. 2016) and early fisheries datasets (Fowler and Ling 2010). Oral histories are also particularly useful, and contain information relating to fish abundance, location of catch, fish size, catch rates, fishing methods and technologies, and which fish were (or were not) popular.
Why do archaeologists study fish remains?
Ancient fish remains are a key source of evidence to help archaeologists and palaeoecologists reconstruct past fishing practices, capture technologies, cultural preferences for certain fish species, past environments and fish habitats through deep time (Balme 1995; Lambrides et al. 2019). This information can then be used to investigate people’s behaviours and how they used their environment, as well as any environmental change caused by their activities (Casteel 1976; Disspain et al. 2016; Izzo et al. 2016).
To find out about people
Through the study of past Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander fish use and management, and changes in fishing strategies over time, we can gain an understanding of pre-colonial social-ecological marine and freshwater systems. Fishing remained an important source of subsistence throughout the post-contact period and beyond. Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples’ interactions with water bodies are an integral facet of contemporary cultural knowledge and practice, and waterways have provided (and continue to provide) a vital continuous connection to Country. Ancient information obtained from archaeological fish assemblages provides valuable snapshots into the subsistence activities of peoples in the past, as well as social dimensions of these fisheries – such as types and numbers of fish captured, and the time of year fish were caught. Furthermore, fish assemblages may provide understandings of whether people used specific techniques to enhance fish habitats and populations, and whether there may have been a gendered division of labour.
A variety of fishing techniques or capture technologies were employed by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people across the continent, including spear fishing, line fishing, harpooning, poison and the use of stone, coral, wooden and fibre fish traps (e.g. basket traps, stake fence weirs, coral/stone-walled fish traps) (McNiven and Lambrides 2021, Tables 2 and 4). The Gunditjmara people of western Victoria constructed elaborate stone-walled fish traps to harvest short-finned eels. McNiven and Bell (2010) estimate that Gunditjmara eel catches during the eeling season (late summer and autumn) weighed many tonnes and likely numbered in the tens of thousands of eels. Careful excavation and comprehensive radiocarbon analyses demonstrated that the sediment infill of a channel dated to 6,600 cal. BP (McNiven et al. 2012), which makes this the oldest known fish trap in the world. In 2019, these aquaculture systems were recognised on the UNESCO World Heritage List, with the Budj Bim Cultural Landscape being one of the first sites in Australia to be listed for its Aboriginal cultural values alone. Some fish traps, such as the nationally significant network of extensive stone fish traps at Brewarrina in the Murray Darling Basin, are still in use by Aboriginal people today (Black 1947; Hope and Vines 1994). Past fishing methods can inform our understanding of the technological skills and ecological knowledge of a community and may indicate the relative importance of fish within wider subsistence activities as a function of the time and energy invested in fishing.
The identification of archaeological fish remains to taxon can usefully inform our understanding of peoples’ interactions with seasonally available species. The presence or absence of these seasonally available species in an assemblage may convey information about the way people moved around the landscape throughout the year to target these potentially culturally important or preferred fish species (Colley 1990; O’Connor 2000). Examples of these sorts of studies are common (e.g. Bowler, et al. 1970; Hale and Tindale 1930; Ulm 2006).
Some studies have attempted to link archaeological fish remains to possible capture techniques by examining the relationship between fish feeding behaviour, fish size and likely procurement strategy (Balme 1995; Butler 1994; Colley 1987). For example, Colley (1987) identified archaeological fish bones from two sites, dating to approximately 8,000 BP at Rocky Cape (north-west Tasmania), and determined the samples were dominated by rocky reef fish including wrasse, conger eel, porcupine fish and leatherjacket. The site also included species commonly found in association with bays and estuaries, such as freshwater eel, barracouta, whiting and mullet. Based on local knowledge concerning the environment and fishing methods, it was suggested that the rocky reef fish were most likely to have been caught using a baited box trap, while the fish from the bays and estuaries were most likely harvested using a constructed tidal trap.
Additionally, the size of fish present in the archaeological record may be indicative of the fishing techniques that were employed by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people (Disspain et al. 2016; O’Connor and Veth 2000). For example, spearing in shallow water usually results in the capture of larger prey, as larger individuals are easier to hit. On the other hand, gill nets capture a narrow size range of fish dependent on the net’s mesh size, while fish traps constructed of netting or wickerwork will catch all fish over a certain size (O’Connor 2000). Balme (1995) inferred from the spatial distribution and uniform size of >500 otoliths that nets were the most likely fishing technique used at the Casuarina North Ridge site, from the lower Darling River area of western NSW. Similarly, at the nearby Kaleenatha Loop site dating to the early to mid Holocene, the size and species of otoliths were interpreted as being from fish that were gathered from small pools or traps. It was concluded that people must have made string from vegetable fibre, had a social structure that allowed them sufficient time to make and maintain nets, and been aware of the conditions under which netting was effective (Balme 1995). Balme (1995) also discussed how net fishing was a cooperative venture, requiring two or more people, and that the fish meal provided by netting was an end product of a corporate investment of labour. Ultimately, the labour involved was costly, but the abundant food resulting from the use of the net was equally considerable. Hence, information about fish size enables researchers to deduce information concerning fish population dynamics, Aboriginal subsistence strategies and social structures.
In many cultures around the world, women are predominantly responsible for the collection of fish (Chapman 1987; Lahn 2006). In Australia today – and likely in the past, as evidenced by ethnographic and historic records – fishing was undertaken by both men and women, with recorded differences across the continent in male-only and female-only activities. For example, woven fishing baskets are made by the Gunditjmara women of south-west Victoria but are used by men to fish (Gunditjmara People and Wettenhall 2010). Weisler and McNiven (2016) argued that archaeological evidence for small-sized fish in Torres Strait middens most likely reflected capture of small fish in reef pools at low tide by women and children as recorded ethnographically. Along the Sydney coast, prior to and shortly after 1788, the predominance of women fishers was widely documented (Attenbrow 2002). Despite the widespread continuation of traditional fishing techniques post-contact, there is some suggestion that late nineteenth-century attempts by the Aborigines Protection Board to encourage Aboriginal men to pursue fishing as a commercial venture by giving them boats, fishing nets and fishing lines, led to a decline in the role of women as fishers in Aboriginal communities (Bennett 2007; Roberts 2010).
To find out about past fish populations and their environment
Fish stocks have experienced severe depletion since the industrialisation of fishing during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, with changes over time in fish abundance, size and growth rates indicating the depopulation of key species. Having long-term age/size/growth structure data for a fish stock provides an opportunity to assess how population characteristics change as a consequence of fishery exploitation (Disspain et al. 2018; Fowler and Ling 2010). Fish populations generally experience some degree of size and age truncation that reflects the removal of the larger, older individuals from the population, even when relatively conservative fishing regimes are implemented (Longhurst 1998).
Attempting to return pre-colonial fish stocks to “baseline states” is difficult because of the shifting baseline syndrome (Hobday 2011; Izzo et al. 2016; Pauly 1995). The “shifting baseline syndrome” refers to the concept that fish populations are measured against baselines identified by each successive generation of researchers, baselines which themselves may represent significant changes from even earlier states.
The establishment of ancient fisheries baselines is advocated by contemporary fisheries experts as a means of understanding and potentially maintaining and restoring degraded and collapsing fisheries. There are problems associated with using only recent data when examining how fish populations have changed over time, as earlier changes will not be accounted for, resulting in the establishment of inappropriate reference points for evaluating losses from overfishing or decreased water flows due to modern water use for agricultural purposes, or for identifying rehabilitation targets (Pauly 1995).
Systematic collection of fisheries data in most parts of the world only covers a very shallow timeframe (often 1970s onwards), making assessment of long-term population dynamics beyond the industrialised fishing era problematic. Using fish remains from archaeological sites can circumvent this issue and extend the recent record of fish population data (see Disspain et al. 2018; Galik et al. 2015; Jones et al. 2016 for examples). When combined with historical archival information and/or modern fisheries data, changes in fish abundance, age and size over time can be examined, thereby addressing the shifting baseline issue (Haidvogl et al. 2015). Understanding the dynamics of fish populations prior to industrialised fishing can be challenging, but provides critical baseline data for fish conservation, rehabilitation and management.
A history of fishing in Australia
Deep time First Nations fisheries
The earliest record for fish remains in the Australasian region is found at the site of Asitau Kuru (formerly Jerimalai) in East Timor, where mackerel, tuna and bonito were caught and consumed 38,000 to 42,000 years ago (O’Connor et al. 2011). In addition to fish remains, early evidence for complex fishing technology (O’Connor et al. 2011) was recovered at Asitau Kuru, along with evidence for the manufacture of ornamental artefacts from the mollusc Nautilus (Langley et al. 2016; see also Langley and O’Connor 2018 for a review). Langley and colleagues (2016) argue that the Nautilus artefacts, in combination with the fishing technology, suggest that coastal landscapes were closely tied to cultural practices and were a significant part of the social lives of the people visiting the site. Other archaeological sites with early evidence of marine fish and mollusc consumption in Australasia include Laili Cave in East Timor (44,000 BP), Gua Makpan on Alor Island (40,000 to 38,000 BP), Buang Merabak in the Bismarck Archipelago (41,000 BP) and Kilu in the Solomon Islands (29,000 BP) (Hawkins et al. 2017; Kealy et al. 2020; Leavesley and Allen 1998; O’Connor and Chappell 2003; O’Connor et al. 2011; O’Connell et al. 2010; O’Connor et al. 2017; Wickler 2001 but see Anderson 2013a; Anderson 2013b; Bailey 2013; Erlandson 2013).
The earliest evidence for coastal exploitation in northern Australia comes from Barrow Island off the present-day coast of Western Australia (Veth et al. 2017). Here, evidence is in the form of marine molluscs at the site of Boodie Cave, which date to 42,000 years ago, when the coast was 30 to 40 km to its west. They included mudwhelks, a robust gastropod mollusc that could have been brought overland in clumps of mud. Fish are not recovered until after 10,000 years ago, when the coastline was much closer. Once the coastline is adjacent to the site, a diverse array of marine resources was brought up to the cave; wrasse, bream, surgeonfish, tangs, triggerfish and shark, along with turtles, crabs, sea urchin and over 40 species of mollusc (Veth et al. 2017). Nearby to the north, in the Montebello Islands, a similar pattern is found with a marked increase in marine foods at Haynes Cave, including fish, once the coastline reaches the rock-shelters approximately 7,000 years ago (Manne and Veth 2015; Veth et al. 2007).
Although there is limited evidence of coastal exploitation from approximately 10,000 years ago in other parts of Australia (e.g. Richards 2012), most archaeological evidence for the use of coastal resources occurs well after 7,000 years ago, usually the past few thousand years, once sea levels were close to their present levels (Lambrides et al. 2019; Monks 2021). This does not indicate that people only focused on marine resources following sea level stabilisation, but rather that older evidence is very likely to lie submerged (Benjamin et al. 2020; Ditchfield et al. 2022).
Along the eastern coast of Australia, there is evidence for an increase in reliance on marine fauna from 3,500 years ago, leading some archaeologists to suggest a significant and large-scale shift in the subsistence activities of coastal peoples, known as the emergence of maritime specialist economies (Lourandos 1997; McNiven 2004; Ulm 2011). To be a marine specialist is thought to go beyond a reliance on marine animals for protein needs, but rather, it is to be “spiritually embedded within seascapes rich in cosmological meaning” (McNiven 2004). A recent synthesis of archaeological fish data from 44 sites along the eastern Queensland coast supports this argument, suggesting that after 3000 BP, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people began to have a much greater focus on fish and included an increasingly larger number of species into their subsistence regimes (Lambrides et al. 2019).
Colonial encounters and historic accounts of First Nations fisheries
The displacement of First Nations peoples throughout Australia reduced the capacity for Aboriginal communities to play a major role in waterway ecology; they were replaced by Europeans who related to, and managed, the rivers in a very different way (Humphries 2007). When the British arrived in Sydney in January 1788, they encountered communities of Aboriginal peoples who gained a substantial part of their diet from fish. Aboriginal fishing technologies (e.g. spears, shell fishhooks and small canoes) were well documented by colonial writers (Colley and Attenbrow 2012). Observations and accounts of fish in coastal waters form a small but continual part of the narrative of exploration and settlement (Pepperell 2018). Fish were obviously an important source of fresh food to the colonists, so it is not surprising that their supply was a subject of interest in early writings and records.
Examples of this are the ethnographic and ethnohistorical accounts that record details about Ngarrindjeri fishing practices in South Australia (e.g. Angas 1847; Krefft 1865; Taplin 1879) and, although such sources are inherently biased (Clarke 1994; Heider 1988), they can still provide useful information if used judiciously. From their observations, Krefft (1865) and Hawdon and Bonney (Hawdon and Bonney 1952) documented that Ngarrindjeri subsistence regimes traditionally consisted mainly of fish, a view supported today by community members (Ngarrindjeri Tendi et al. 2007; see also Chapter 1 in this volume). A variety of techniques were used by the Ngarrindjeri to harvest fish, including the use of fish nets made from manangkeri (bulrush Typha sp.); fishing weirs made from branches, stakes or woven rushes; spears and clubs; bark canoes, reed rafts and large floating fishing platforms; and woven baskets (Berndt et al. 1993; Clarke 1994; Ngarrindjeri Tendi et al. 2007). Interestingly, the fishhook and line were not used in the Lower Murray region until after the arrival of Europeans (Clarke 1994).
Angas’ (1847; Angas cited in Tregenza 1980) illustrations of Aboriginal peoples and landscapes are also informative, with one image sketched at Second Valley, beside the mouth of the river Parananacooka (South Australia), showing people fishing with nets (Figure 3.4). Of the methods of fishing he observed, he noted:
The mode adopted by the tribes inhabiting the vicinity of Rapid Bay, is nearly similar to that of Europeans; they use a net about twenty or thirty feet in length, stretched upon sticks placed crosswise at intervals; a couple of men will drag this net amongst the rocks and shallows where fish are most abundant, and, gradually getting it closer as they reach the shore, the fish are secured in the folds of the net, and but a few moments elapse before they are laid alive upon the embers of the native fires that are blazing ready before the adjoining huts. The nets are composed of chewed fibres of reeds, rolled up the thigh, and twisted into cord for the purpose (Angas cited in Tregenza 1980, 47).
Figure 3.4 Coast scene near Rapid Bay, sunset (Angas 1847).
Ethnographic and historical records also demonstrate that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people actively managed aquatic and marine environments to enrich freshwater fish populations (see McNiven et al. 2012; McNiven and Lambrides 2021; McNiven et al. 2021 for detailed summaries). These methods included: constructing weirs to extend the duration of seasonally available freshwater; the creation of fish traps or pens from reeds, brush or stone arrangements to capture and keep fish alive until needed; the restocking of waterholes; and even the protected rearing of juvenile fish (Barber and Jackson 2011, 2015; Campbell 1965; Duncan-Kemp 1968; Gilmore 1934; Maclean 1978; Williams 1998).
Weirs, traps and pens were likely employed in many different regions of Australia to sequester freshwater and fish. In the Roper River region of the Northern Territory, Campbell (1965) describes how trees were cut down to create dams to capture water during the wet season. Water from streams was channelled toward the dams using structures made from stakes, paperbark and clay. By actively maintaining available freshwater, Aboriginal people created and extended the duration of available habitats for fish, water birds and other faunal and floral foods beyond the natural wet season (Gunn 1908; Jackson and Barber 2016). Fish traps and pens were also common in regions of Channel Country in south-western Queensland as well as along the interior waterways of New South Wales. Duncan-Kemp (1968) writes how Aboriginal people in Channel Country constructed pens using slabs of coolabah and woven reeds, along with large stone traps. Golden and silver perch, stickleback and bream, along with other fish could be kept “by the hundreds in good seasons, and here they were kept alive – and fat – until required for a feast … [and were] plentiful when other fish were scarce and shy of line and hook” (Duncan-Kemp 1968, 275). Gilmore (1934) reported the use of large log dams to trap fish between the upper Murray River and the Lachlan River during the 1870s and 1880s. In addition to these larger structures, Gilmore (1934) details numerous smaller fish traps placed in gullies along ephemeral water courses.
Gilmore (1934) also describes how Aboriginal people in New South Wales would both restock waterholes and protectively rear small fish. Waterholes without fish were restocked using fish eggs or small fish collected from elsewhere. This introduced stock would be transferred using “coolamons [large wooden dishes], water filled hollow logs or baskets” (Gilmore 1934, 196). Both male and female fish were introduced, presumably to create new generations of stock (Gilmore 1934). Along the Darling, Murrumbidgee and Lachlan Rivers, Aboriginal people created barriers from trees and stones to enhance fish stocks (Gilmore 1934). These barriers would allow small fish through, but prevent the larger ones, and, in doing so, would stop the large fish from consuming the small individuals and decimating the fish stocks.
Early European use of fish, nineteenth- and twentieth-century industry
Pepperall (2018) examines numerous early Dutch, English and French historical accounts of fishing in Australian waters to provide an understanding of what fishing was like during the seventeenth, eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Early accounts from the first few years of British settlement in Botany Bay describe seasonal shifts in fish abundance, with fish being scarce during the winter months (Colley and Attenbrow 2012; Pepperell 2018). While summer fish stocks were more reliable and described as “tolerably plentiful” (Colley and Attenbrow 2012; Tench 1789, 128–9 [1979, 69]), fish catches even then only served to feed the population fresh fish, as there was never enough to preserve. Fish that were most commonly recorded as being caught in these early years included mullet, bream, mulloway, mackerel and multiple species of stingray.
Stingrays were happily consumed by the British colonists, which as Pepperall (2018) notes, were familiar as they were similar in shape to skates, a kind of ray that was caught and eaten in Britain. Sharks were also consumed seemingly regularly by early explorers and settlers, and they were likely also targeted for the oil that could be procured from their liver. Insight into how sharks may have been prepared may be gleaned from the writings of William Dampier, the English mariner and privateer. In May 1699, en-route to Australia from Brazil, Dampier notes:
We caught 3 small Sharks, each 6 Foot 4 Inches long; and they were very good Food for us. The next Day we caught 3 more Sharks of the same Size, and we eat them also, esteeming them as good Fish boil’d and press’d, and then stew’d with Vinegar and Pepper (Pepperall 2018, 105).
While large numbers of fish were caught on occasion – such as during annual mullet runs along parts of the eastern coast – early European explorers frequently remarked on the inconsistent nature of fish catches. Pepperall (2018) argues that despite the diversity of marine fish species found in Australian waters (4800 species, with 520 being endemic), inconsistent fish catches were due to the overall low biological productivity of Australian waters. Alternatively, this inconsistency may very well indicate a lack of local ecological knowledge by early Europeans.
While ethnographic accounts provide a glimpse of the early historical period of Australia through the eyes of its newly arrived inhabitants, historical archaeological sites provide material evidence for fish use in the early colonial days. For example, Colley (2013) examined fish remains from the Quadrant Site in Sydney, which were mostly recovered from houses, tanneries and slaughterhouses dating between 1830 and 1860. Bones of native fish such as snapper, bream, garfish, mullets and flatheads dominated the assemblages, but there was also evidence for species that do not occur naturally in Australia, including ling and salmon. Many species of northern hemisphere salmons and trouts were introduced into Australian waters from the nineteenth century onward (Clements 1988), but ling was likely a preserved fish import, consistent with records documenting British settlers’ preference for non-local fish species. Colley and Attenbrow (2012) also compared archaeological fish bones from Aboriginal sites in coastal Sydney with those from the Quadrant historical site. They determined that while technology – specifically imported nets for catching garfish and mullets – explains some fish bone assemblage variability, cultural attitudes, commercialisation and urbanism are also important factors (Colley and Attenbrow 2012).
Following European exploration and expansion, numerous industrial fisheries were developed throughout Australia, frequently in areas fished for millennia by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples. One example of this is the fishery that grew within the Coorong and Lower Lakes region in South Australia. As discussed earlier, ichthyoarchaeological evidence from this region demonstrates that fish had provided significant food resources for the Ngarrindjeri people for thousands of years. Historical-era fishery continued to target various species in freshwater, estuarine and adjacent marine habitats in this region, with two fishers operating in the Coorong and Murray River mouth, even before 1846 (Ferguson et al. 2018; Olsen and Evans 1991). Further commercial fishing activities were stimulated by the development of the steamer-barge trade through the ports of Goolwa and Milang in 1853, and by completion of a rail link to Adelaide in 1885, with the number of fishers increasing to 30 in 1912 (Wallace-Carter 1987). To examine whether there had been any significant changes to mulloway populations in the waters of eastern South Australia over time, Disspain and colleagues (2018) compared archaeological fish size, age and growth data, as well as month of catch data, from archaeological fish otoliths, historical anecdotes and contemporary data sources. They found that the data corroborated each other in many aspects. The time of catch for all three datasets was seasonal, with increases evident during the summer months, and no evidence of significant change in fish length over the time span of the three data sources (1670–1308 cal. BP through to CE 2014). Given the impact that fishing in the region is regarded to have had, we suggest that while the maximum recorded size has remained stable over time, the abundance of these large specimens may have declined.
Looking forward to the future of Australia’s fisheries
Ancient fish remains found in archaeological sites provide evidence that Australia’s oceans, estuaries and inland waters have sustained its people for tens of thousands of years. For generations, fish and fishing have continued to occupy an important economic, cultural, social and spiritual role in the lives of many Australians.
In this chapter, we have presented ways that archaeologists study ancient fish remains and what they can tell us, and have discussed a sample of ichthyoarchaeological research in Australia. With the modern world’s fisheries in a dire state, these archaeological records provide invaluable data for conservation biologists and fisheries management, ensuring fish remains a staple food for Australians for generations to come. These data critically extend the baseline from which we have to manage modern fish populations from only 50+ years into the past (~1970s onwards), a mere snapshot of people’s uses of these habitats, to many thousands of years before the present-day. Archaeological and historical fisheries data is uniquely placed to inform a range of conservation issues through an examination of the factors (e.g. people, climate, etc.) that have influenced fish dynamics over thousands of years and may indeed continue to do so into the future (Alleway et al. 2016; Disspain et al. 2018; Klaer 2001).
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