By Ken McLaughlin
Mercury News
Front Page, Mercury News, Tuesday, Jun 04, 2002  

Under the soft light of a three-quarter moon, Victor Ghio's cedar-hulled 
Catherina G purrs out of the Santa Cruz Harbor Wednesday, just before 
sunrise. 

Past the buoys where a half-dozen of his sea-lion nemeses seem to smile as he 
cruises by, he makes his way out onto the still waters of the Monterey Bay. 

Ghio, 85, is one of only two Italian commercial fishermen left from the days 
when fishermen used to dock their boats on the municipal wharf. 

``I guess we're the last of the Mohicans,'' he says with a laugh that creases 
a face lined from years of sun, wind gusts and the constant spray of salt 
water. 

``A Day on the Bay'' was held Sunday in Santa Cruz. The event honored Ghio 
and 90-year-old John Bassano, who fishes with his son Wayne. The event also 
symbolically passed the torch to a new generation of fishermen who are mostly 
a mix of Vietnamese refugees, Latinos and a broad assortment of 
European-Americans.

The fact that so few of Santa Cruz's 50 or so commercial fishermen are of 
Italian descent would surprise most Santa Cruzans. Most of the famed fish 
restaurants on the city's wharf -- Stagnaro Bros., Carniglia's, Gilda's, Riva 
-- have Italian names.

But during the past few decades, the old Italian men of the sea have died 
off. Their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren became butchers, 
teachers, doctors, architects, software engineers and attorneys.

Sunday's fishermen's feed was a revival of an Italian-American tradition that 
began in 1938 and lasted until the start of World War II. It was revived for 
three years beginning in 1979.

The event, held on the picnic grounds at the Oblates of St. Joseph, featured 
accordion playing and opera singing. It brought together high school students 
to learn about Santa Cruz's fishing heritage and raise money for Loaves & 
Fishes, which operates a food pantry and soup kitchen in Watsonville.

``We wanted the event pan-Latin,'' said Riccardo Gaudino, an 
Italian-Irish-American who was one of the organizers.

Crab, enchiladas

Non-profit groups such as Salud Para la Gente bought tables so those who 
couldn't afford the $30 at the door could attend. Along with the crab, 
calamari and pesto macaroni, the chefs dished up cheese enchiladas.

``I must be a mix of every nationality because I like it all,'' joked Hope 
Lopez of Watsonville.

Standing at the rear of his boat, waiting to hook up his lines for the day, 
Victor Ghio explains why he never married. He never wanted his love of 
fishing to compete with a woman. 

``I'm married to the sea,'' he says. ``I will fish every day until I'm gone 
or just can't do it anymore.'' 

Even when the fishing is bad, he says, life is good. ``I'm away from 
everyone, the traffic, the noise,'' he says. ``It's my world, and I don't 
answer to no one.'' 

Ghio's grandparents, Stefano and Vittorina Ghio, had come to Santa Cruz 
before the turn of the 20th century with more than five dozen families from 
Riva Trigoso, a village south of the bustling Northern Italian seaport of 
Genoa. Their son, Victor, one of eight children, was born in Santa Cruz and 
raised in a part of town called La Barranca, on the cliffs above the wharf.

The Genovese and other Italians began coming to California in the 1880s. The 
Northern California landscape -- the rolling brown hills and craggy coastline 
-- was similar to their own. In San Jose the Italians became farmers; in 
Monterey, San Francisco and Santa Cruz, they became fishermen.

In economic terms, the timing was fortuitous. In the early 1880s, many 
Monterey Bay Chinese fisherman who had dominated the industry since the early 
1850s were becoming victims of rampant racism, regulations and restrictions. 
Chinese camps around the bay began closing, making it easier for the newly 
arrived Japanese and Italians to compete for fish with the Mexicans and 
Portuguese.

Starts young

Victor Ghio's father and grandfather were both fishermen. He first learned to 
fish at age 8 or 9 and went into the business after graduating from Santa 
Cruz High in 1935.

Like many Italian-American boys trying to prove his patriotism after Italy 
declared war on the United States, he enlisted in the U.S. Navy before Pearl 
Harbor. Their parents and grandparents who weren't citizens were forced to 
give up fishing in early 1942, when the U.S. government ordered Italian and 
German nationals -- and all people of Japanese descent -- to move east of 
state Highway 1. That meant staying off the bay.

After a decade in the service, Ghio had his 30-foot Monterey cabin style boat 
built in Sausalito for $6,000 in 1950. Over the years, the wiry Ghio has 
fished for just about every kind of fish found in the bay: halibut, sardines, 
sable fish, sea bass, rock cod and salmon.

Ghio has endured 17 surgeries to his back, knees and other parts of his body. 
He lost half of four of his right fingers two years ago in a fishing accident 
when he caught his hand in a recoiling line about 12 miles out to sea.

Luckily, his younger brother Johnnie was on board. He radioed the Coast 
Guard, which notified a passing oil-skimming ship to come to the fishermen's 
aid. Ghio was flown by helicopter to Stanford University Hospital.

Ghio was back at the helm of the Catherina G several months later, although 
he says losing part of the use of his right hand has made life on the seas 
more difficult, more perilous.

Particularly for Ghio. Most of the Catherina G, named after his mother, lacks 
safety rails. And Ghio can't swim.

By 9 a.m., Ghio's frustration is growing. ``Everybody got fish yesterday, but 
today's there's nothing,'' he growls. 

He moves from spot to spot to avoid other boats and the sea lions who want to 
grab his salmon before he can. 

At 9:58 a.m., one of the two trawling lines attached to outriggers on each 
side of the boat finally begins jiggling. One by one, he begins removing all 
20 hooks, each a couple of fathoms apart. But when he removes the last one, 
he realizes the fish has slipped away. 

Fishing alone for salmon is not for those weak in spirit or physical 
strength. It involves weaving together an intricate web of lines and pulleys, 
pulling up 50-pound weights and lifting heavy boxes of gear.

To pay for his diesel fuel, Ghio needs to catch two salmon. To turn a decent 
profit for the day, he needs a dozen. Most days he catches only one or two.

Ghio is a case study of how the economics of salmon fishing have changed 
dramatically in recent years, says Michael Weber, author of several books on 
fishing, including one published this year, ``From Abundance to Scarcity.''

Fish-farm glut

The economics are dismal, he says, mainly because of the salmon glut caused 
by fish farms in Maine, the Puget Sound, British Columbia and Chile owned by 
international conglomerates.

That means Ghio gets about $1.75 a pound, 50 cents less than he got two 
decades ago.

He lets out a sigh and a curse over the fish that got away. Moments later, 
however, the line on the port side begins tugging, and he brings his first 
salmon on board. The 10 1/2-pound male Chinook flops around on the bright red 
deck before Ghio takes out a knife and, with the precision of a surgeon, 
slits open the fish's stomach. 

Even as he cleans the fish, he never takes his eyes off the other trawling 
line on the starboard side. He quickly drops another 20 hooks into the water. 
But he gets no takers. 

Two hours later, Ghio, visibly frustrated, decides to roll up his lines and 
head back to the dock. 

When he reaches his berth on Dock R, several other commercial fishermen jump 
up to help him tie up his boat. They ask him how it went. His glare tells 
them not to ask again. 

One day, one fish.

The supply of fish along the California coast has dwindled dramatically in 
recent years. State officials say it's because of overfishing. Fishermen in 
the Santa Cruz Harbor blame it on ``drag boaters'' who use weighted nets like 
bulldozers to scrape the ocean floor, killing too many juvenile fish.

Weber has interviewed dozens of fishermen who live on the margins. A 
minority, like Ghio, wouldn't know what to do with their days if they didn't 
fish. So they live on Social Security checks and savings.

And while most struggle financially, like Ghio they can't stop either.

``Fishing,'' Weber says, ``is as much a way of life as it is making a 
living.''
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Contact Ken McLaughlin at kmclaughlin@sjmercury.com or (831) 423-3115.  
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