Fortune on the rocks: the men risking their lives for barnacles

On northern Spain’s Coast of Death local men risk their lives searching the jagged cliffs for gooseneck barnacles, a rare delicacy for which diners will shell out hundreds of euros. Christoph Otto meets the percebeiros of Galicia.

On northern Spain’s Coast of Death local men risk their lives searching the jagged cliffs for gooseneck barnacles, a rare delicacy for which diners will shell out hundreds of euros. Christoph Otto meets the percebeiros of Galicia
On northern Spain’s Coast of Death local men risk their lives searching the jagged cliffs for gooseneck barnacles, a rare delicacy for which diners will shell out hundreds of euros. Christoph Otto meets the percebeiros of Galicia Credit: Photo: Christoph Otto

The fishermen meet in the middle of the night in Barizo, a small port in Galicia, northern Spain. Caps pulled over their foreheads, they stare out to sea, which must be flat and smooth for the conditions to be right. They are heading for the small islands that lie off the coastline to search for gooseneck barnacles, or percebes. It is here, where the roaring surf crashes wildly on to the rocks, that the largest and fattest examples – the ones that bring in the most money – grow.

Galicia is the poorhouse of Spain: there are few jobs and none that pay well. The shipbuilding industry, once the pride of Galicia, is in ruins, and the sea is overfished. Hunting for gooseneck barnacles is one of the few ways in which to earn money. Gourmets pay a high price for the rare stalked crustaceans: in a restaurant a plateful can cost €100. On the eve of important festivities, fishermen can make up to €300 per kilo at auction – with luck they can earn €1,000 in a day. But the stakes they play for are high; this is a dangerous way to make a living.

Cances braces himself for a wave at Islas Sisargas

Cances braces himself for a wave at Islas Sisargas. Photo: Christoph Otto

The full moon dips slowly towards the sea, and the precipitous rocks loom out of the water as if from a prehistoric world. Cormorants screech above the waves; the air tastes salty. The men travel far out to sea in a wooden boat, the Quintera, rowed by its owner, Manolo. In the stern, wedged between sails and provisions, sit Rafa and José-Luis in scruffy tracksuits, steadying themselves against the sides of the boat. The wind is freshening up, and they pull their oilskins over their thick, black hair. Rafa, 19, stares out to sea. His father, Cances, pulls on an old, torn wetsuit, and José-Luis’s father, José, also gets ready for the hunt. The men are all anxious, although they don’t talk about it.

The Costa de la Muerte, the Coast of Death, is the region between the fishing village of Malpica in the north and Cape Finisterre, so called because of tricky northwesterlies and barely concealed rocks, which have often proved fatal for fishermen and seafarers. The many whitewashed stone crosses along the coastline are memorials to the drowned. One of the worst tragedies occurred in 1595, when 25 ships of the Spanish Armada were hit by a storm and 1,705 sailors died. In the past five centuries more than 500 ships have capsized and thousands of seamen drowned. Many of these were percebeiros. On average, five fishermen die every year. Recently a 28-year-old died when a wave threw him so violently on to a rock that he was knocked unconscious and drowned.

Crosses commemorate the dead. Photo: Christoph Otto

Ahead of the boat, sharp-edged rock formations appear, their dagger-like tips shining silver-grey in the diffuse light. This group of islands is called Islas Sisargas. As the boat draws up, there is a hectic bustle on board. Cances picks up a knife and a net and prepares to jump. He lands on a rocky outcrop, which the breakers immediately cover with white foam, and seconds later Rafa, José and José-Luis follow. As soon as they are gone Manolo rows the boat backwards with all his might so that the next wave does not smash it to smithereens. The four men quickly climb to the summit of the rock, less than 25ft up but safe from the waves. From here, secured by their sons with a single rope, Cances and José descend into the raging surf and expertly cut the crustaceans from the rock.

Conditions must be perfect to harvest gooseneck barnacles: good weather, a quiet sea and the right point in the lunar cycle. Spring tides and a particularly low ebb happen every two weeks, with a full and a new moon; at all other times the long-necked barnacles are under water. The lower the sea level, the better, as the barnacles usually live below the waterline, where they are safe from predators.

barnacle

The mouthparts of a gooseneck barnacle. Photo: Christoph Otto

Barnacles are a genus of primitive invertebrates that have populated the oceans for 500 million years. Unlike other crustaceans, they cannot move. The larvae stick themselves firmly to rocks with their cement glands, and use the tentacles in their mouthparts to collect the plankton that is whipped up by the surf. In the mid-19th century Charles Darwin devoted eight years to studying a total of 10,000 specimens, which he arranged and classified in species and subspecies. This work helped him to develop his theory of evolution.

Firmly anchored on the rock face, gooseneck barnacles often live near mussels. But unlike these shellfish, they have resisted all attempts to breed them. Scientists suspect that they need the tides to survive, and it has proved impossible to recreate these conditions in a laboratory. They thrive in intertidal zones where there is particularly strong surf, so it is at these points that the best specimens, which fetch the highest prices at auction, can be found. Those that are easiest to reach, on the upper edge of the rocks, stay dry for too long during the ebb tide, and are as thin, mushy and tasteless as Moroccan gooseneck barnacles, which lack the mineral-rich Galician granite on which to flourish.

high winds and submerged rocks characterise the Coast of Death

High winds and submerged rocks characterise the Coast of Death. Photo: Christoph Otto

It is on one of these rocks that Cances and José now stand, filling the nets on their belts. So far their hunt has gone well, but then there is a shout. ‘Moita mar!’ – Look out, high waves! – Rafa calls from above. Cances’s hand is around the safety rope, and he is hanging head down on the rock. He has no time to protect himself. A large wave grabs him and throws him against the rock; the current drags him down immediately. Rafa, whose hands are bleeding, cannot hold the safety line any longer and lets go. Yards of rope glide through his hands. Seconds pass, a lifetime to Rafa, who has turned deadly pale, but then a hand emerges, reaching desperately for a ledge. Rafa pulls his father up as fast as he can. Finally Cances’s feet, too, find a hold on the rock. He shakes off the water like a wet dog. ‘Let’s get on with it before it’s high tide,’ he says to his son, trying to smile.

They continue for another two and a half hours, until their nets are filled. Galicia’s government has strict catch quotas: six kilos per man per day. Anyone taking more risks a hefty fine and the loss of his licence. To make sure the quota is adhered to, the catch can be sold only at the state-run fish market. (Some who operate without a licence secretly sell the barnacles directly to restaurants.)

Anselmo, from Mens, near Barizo, helps his wife sort the catch. Photo: Christoph Otto

As soon as the men are back on shore, their wives help with the sorting. Before the barnacles can go to auction, they must be cleaned and sorted into classes according to quality. Only then do the fishermen set off for the auction hall in Malpica, which belongs to the 32 state-run fish exchanges in the region. At these, about 400,000kg of barnacles, valued at €10 million, are handled annually. Outside the hall, vans from Madrid and Barcelona (which between them will take two thirds of the catch) and the surrounding area are already waiting. Inside, the percebeiros stand in front of the sale table in their tattered trousers. A fisherman tips his catch on to the metal plate, and a man sorts through them, pushing the barnacles back and forth with a wooden board. The dealers gather around, their faces betraying nothing. The starting price for a kilo is €125 and it falls every second until a trader from La Coruña strikes at €40. The figure for José and Cances’s catch also comes hurtling down in price, and finally stops at €65. The two men are satisfied – they have made €780 between them, hard-earned. And with a little luck they can set out again tomorrow: the moon is still full and the weather forecast for the coming days is favourable.

Manuel Lopez officiates at the state-run auction in Cedeira

Manuel Lopez officiates at the state-run auction in Cedeira. Photo: Christoph Otto

In Botafumeiro, a fish restaurant in the old district of Barcelona, Moncho Neira, the head chef, reaches into a porcelain dish and examines the catch. He holds a handful of still-living gooseneck barnacles to his nose and breathes in the aroma deeply. ‘He who eats gooseneck barnacles not only has the delicious crustacean but also half the Atlantic on his plate,’ he says euphorically. ‘When cooked they set the palate in ecstasy.’

Gooseneck barnacles taste so intensely of the sea that the secret of their preparation is extremely simple: you put them in boiling water, ideally sea water, for a couple of minutes, without any other seasoning. Purists say you should be able to taste the waves of the surf and the plankton on which the crustacean has fed. You break open the shell – using the thumbnail of one hand, at the point between the stalk and the end that looks like a hoof – and twist the barnacle apart, then suck the flesh from the black shaft, a ¾in-1½in, orange-brown rod that tastes like a combination of crab, shrimp and oyster. You can also eat the barnacles raw. Cances simply bites off the upper end, sucks out the inside loudly and then gleefully chews on the flesh. But what was once considered a dish for impoverished fishermen is rarely on their menu today.

a couple of minutes in boiling brine is all the barnacles need

A couple of minutes in boiling brine is all the barnacles need. Photo: Christoph Otto