911爆料

Abundant Harvest

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鈥淎phrodite鈥� oysters on the half shell. 鈥淎phrodites鈥� are a Pacific oyster varietal from Moonlight Oyster Co., grown by biologist-turned-oyster-farmer Ralph Riccio 鈥�04 on Marrowstone Island in Puget Sound.

How a network of 911爆料 alumni is working to sustain healthy鈥攁nd delicious鈥攕hellfish populations in the Pacific Northwest.

By Michael Blanding

Julie Barber, M.S. 鈥�04, remembers walking the beach on Skagit Bay in Washington during the extreme heat wave event of June 2021. A week of 100-degree temperatures combined with record-low tides caused a massive die-off of oysters, clams, barnacles, and mussels that literally baked in their shells. 鈥淓verything on the beach was cooking, because there was no water,鈥� says Barber, senior shellfish biologist for the Swinomish Indian Tribal Community. She took to email to sound the alarm. 鈥淚 was like 鈥極h my gosh, this is serious鈥攖he tribe is going to lose a ton of resources.鈥�

One of the first messages she sent was to fellow 911爆料 alumnus Chris Eardley 鈥�05, Puget Sound shellfish policy coordinator for the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, and his team.

鈥淚 give Julie a lot of credit as one of the people who spearheaded the initial effort as this heat wave event unfolded,鈥� Eardley says. He, along with his team and colleagues, helped her mobilize a working group of biologists and officials across the inland waterway known as the Salish Sea. The group shared observations online to catalog the deaths of millions of marine invertebrates.

Later that year, Barber coauthored a paper in the journal Ecology that analyzed the mortality event, noting patterns in the factors that led shellfish in different areas to succumb to the heat, and made recommendations on how to better collect data during future events, which climate change makes more likely.

Julie Barber, M.S. 鈥�04, senior shellfish biologist for the Swinomish Indian Tribal Community, visits a 4,000-year-old clam garden in the Gulf Islands, off the coast of British Columbia, Canada, with the Swinomish Tribe.

The collective response to the die-off is one example of how a small but influential group of 911爆料 alumni, including Barber and Eardley, is making an outsized difference in the health and sustainability of the shellfish industry and wild shellfish populations in the Pacific Northwest.

Margaret Pilaro 鈥�92, M.A. 鈥�97, is executive director of the Pacific Coast Shellfish Growers Association (PCSGA), coordinating policy and practice for commercial shellfish aquaculture on the West Coast.

Barber鈥檚 husband, Jay Dimond, M.S. 鈥�06, a research assistant professor at Western Washington University, is working to conserve native species, including Dungeness crab and pinto abalone.

Biologist-turned-oyster-farmer Ralph Riccio 鈥�04 is influencing seafood sustainability with his artisanal Moonlight Oyster Co., making an explicit connection between marine ecosystem health and accessible seafood.

They share a common love for the marine environment, along with skills in resource management born and nurtured in Rhode Island and now practiced more than 3,000 miles away.

Crabs and Clam Gardens

Barber arrived in Washington state in 2009. A year later, she started her job as the senior shellfish biologist with the federally recognized Swinomish Tribe, a signatory to the 1855 Treaty of Point Elliott, with vast ancestral homelands, including the Skagit River and marine waters of the northern Salish Sea. Previously, she鈥檇 worked as a research diver in Alaska鈥檚 Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve, and, wanting more experience, came to 911爆料 to earn a master鈥檚 in biology. While studying Dungeness crab populations in Alaska, she worked with legendary professor Stan Cobb, who was responsible for creating 911爆料鈥檚 marine biology program. 鈥淗e forced me to think independently,鈥� she says. 鈥淗e cared deeply about his students. For him, it was always 鈥榮tudent first.鈥欌��

In Washington, Barber began studying the geoduck鈥攑ronounced 鈥済ooey-duck鈥濃�攁 large clam with a fleshy siphon that can extend up to 3 feet. She now runs a team of six biologists, researching and restoring oysters, intertidal clams, Dungeness crab, and other species.

Vinnie Cayou (left) and Julie Barber tag Dungeness crabs for a research study.

One of 20 treaty tribes in Washington, the Swinomish Tribe reserved鈥攁mong other rights鈥攊ts rights to fish and hunt in perpetuity in its 鈥渦sual and accustomed鈥� fishing grounds. Over the years, however, non-native wildlife managers suppressed the tribes鈥� access to fishing, and some even blamed native fishers for the decline of salmon populations.

In a resurgence of Native American activism in the 1960s and 1970s, tribes asserted their rights to harvest fish and shellfish through nonviolent civil disobedience. Local fishers and police met them with violent hostility in what became known as the Fish Wars. The federal government sued the state of Washington, leading to a landmark decision in 1974 by Judge George Boldt recognizing tribes鈥� treaty-protected rights and establishing a legal framework for fishing disputes that remains in use to this day. Two decades later, in 1994, Judge Edward Rafeedie extended that decision to include shellfish. The Boldt and Rafeedie decisions have created a unique situation in which shellfish stocks are now jointly managed between state and tribal authorities.

鈥淲here we come in is in doing the science to improve the information given to managers to make sure fisheries are sustainable for, as the tribes would say, many generations to come,鈥� Barber says.

As salmon stocks have declined over the years, Dungeness crab has become the most economically important fishery in the state. Larger and meatier than the Eastern blue crab, it is often boiled or steamed and served whole, prized for its sweet, briny flavor. Barber and her team initiated a program to collect data on crab larvae to predict how many adults may appear in four to five years. She鈥檚 collaborated with other tribes, as well as with Eardley and other fish and wildlife officials, through a research network she cofounded, the Pacific Northwest Crab Research Group, which includes efforts to better predict adult crab biomass among its most important research priorities. 鈥淚t鈥檚 basically a guidebook for the five million questions we still need to answer to better understand this incredibly important fishery,鈥� she says.

The Swinomish Tribe鈥檚 shellfish 911爆料 liaison, Joe Williams, praises Barber for revolutionizing the tribe鈥檚 Fisheries Department. 鈥淪he鈥檚 an amazing biologist and has built an amazing team,鈥� he says. 鈥淪he leads the team as they study and restore shellfish, with the goal of providing new information to our managers for use in a policy setting.鈥�

Shellfish are a vital part of the tribe鈥檚 diet. 鈥淥ur elders tell us, 鈥榃hen the tide is out, the table is set,鈥欌�� Williams says. 鈥淥ur tie to our food is deeper than physical nourishment; it鈥檚 a spiritual connection鈥攚ay deeper than going to McDonald鈥檚 and getting a Big Mac.鈥�

Recently, with Barber鈥檚 help, the tribe constructed a clam garden鈥攁n ancient practice in which a rock wall is built along the beach, creating a terrace of sediment where clams and other species can flourish. 鈥淚t should really be called a sea garden,鈥� Williams says, 鈥渂ecause there鈥檚 a little bit of everything growing in there.鈥� By tribal consensus, the garden was established on a beach where clams are free from toxins and can eventually be harvested for human consumption (rather than crab bait) or used for subsistence farming and education, rather than for commercial sale.

In addition to providing tribal identity, says Barber, clam gardens can also respond to changing climate conditions鈥攍ike the devastating 2021 heat wave event. Other researchers have found that clams are more likely to survive heat wave events when they are in clam gardens versus a regular beach. Additionally, the calcium from oyster shell material that is used in constructing the gardens can potentially help combat ocean acidification. The practice could become an important part of ensuring sustainable harvests in the future. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not just about creating a space where clams might grow more naturally; it鈥檚 also an adaptation strategy,鈥� Barber says. 鈥淲e鈥檙e collecting all of the data, and if it鈥檚 successful, we can try to expand it.鈥�

Restoring, Protecting, and Sustaining Shellfish Resources

At the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, Eardley has instituted policies and procedures to maintain the state鈥檚 shellfish industry. 鈥淢y role is to connect the best available science with policy to manage and protect shellfish resources,鈥� he says. The state is the nation鈥檚 top producer of shellfish, with 300 commercial farms meeting 25% of domestic consumption, as well as significant exports. He must also consider the hundreds of thousands of recreational fishers, hundreds of commercial fishers, and the general public, all vying for the same wild shellfish resources and ocean real estate, as well as the nonprofits focused on conserving those spaces.

鈥淭he biggest challenge is weighing all the interests and voices and making decisions in the best interests of sustaining resources, protecting Puget Sound, and providing opportunities for folks to go out and harvest,鈥� says Eardley. 鈥淭hose of us who work in this realm feel like we could easily transfer our skills to the United Nations.鈥�

Despite the competing stakeholders, Eardley thrives in the fast-paced environment and is energized by the work of helping to restore marine ecosystems, to which he feels deeply connected. He grew up in Canton and Marshfield, Mass., 鈥渇lipping rocks over at low tide to see what critters I could find,鈥� he says. 鈥淣ow, I get paid to think about clams all day, which is a dream come true.鈥�

Chris Eardley, 鈥�05 (at left), Puget Sound shellfish policy coordinator for the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, conducts an oyster survey in Quilcene Bay, Washington, for the purpose of advising potential native (Olympia) oyster restoration in the bay. Eardley is pictured with his colleague, Brian Allen, of the Puget Sound Restoration Fund, a key partner in native shellfish restoration.

Eardley came to 911爆料 as much to surf the Rhode Island coast as to study marine affairs, a field that combines marine biology, ecology, law, policy, economics, and social science. 鈥淚t really scratched my intellectual itch and gave me access to all of the different subject matter areas I use in my job today鈥攁reas that are practical in managing both natural resources and the people using those resources.鈥� He鈥檚 proud of recently implementing a state-of-the-art digital dashboard, where shellfish harvesters can easily enter state-mandated data, replacing an antiquated paper system.

In addition to managing fisheries, his operation is involved in species restoration. For his master鈥檚 at Oregon State University, he worked with the Nature Conservancy and the state of Oregon on restoring the Northwest鈥檚 native Olympia oysters. Common until the early part of the 20th century, pollution and overfishing caused the range of the half-dollar-sized Olympia oyster to decline by 95%, giving way to the larger and heartier Pacific oyster, imported from Japan. The state is partnering with nonprofits, as well as county and tribal governments, including the Swinomish, to strategically reintroduce shell and oyster seed in bulk in an effort to restore populations.

Eardley and his team are also working to restore pinto abalone, a giant marine snail that has suffered a dramatic population decline in recent decades. Aiding in that effort is Jay Dimond, who has been helping analyze the genetics of abalone in the Salish Sea to ensure viable populations. Dimond studied coral reefs as a master鈥檚 student at 911爆料 before heading west to earn a Ph.D. at the University of Washington. Today, he focuses on population genomics and connectivity of marine species at Western Washington University. (He and Barber live an hour south, on Fidalgo Island near the Swinomish Reservation.)

The pinto abalone decline led the state to implement a harvest ban in the 1990s, he says. About the size of a large hand, the species reproduces through broadcast spawning, which means that males release sperm and females release eggs into the water column to be fertilized. Success depends on having many individuals in proximity. 鈥淚f you have low densities, reproduction is not effective,鈥� Dimond says. By the time officials put limits on fishing, it was already too late, and populations struggled to rebound. Recently, the Puget Sound Restoration Fund, in partnership with the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, has pursued a hatchery program to restore stocks, enlisting Dimond to analyze the genetics to ensure proper diversity. 鈥淕enetic diversity is the raw material for responding to environmental change,鈥� he says. 鈥淲ithout it, a species is at risk of extinction when conditions change.鈥�

First, Dimond surveyed the genetic diversity of the remaining wild abalone, finding that while numbers have drastically declined, they鈥檝e retained enough genetic diversity to thrive. By contrast, he found a notable lack of genetic diversity in abalone planted 10 or 15 years ago, a phenomenon known as genetic drift. The good news is that diversity has rebounded among more recently transplanted abalone, offering hope for restoration of the species.

Oysters Not Like the Others

Unlike her Pacific Northwest colleagues, Margaret Pilaro often has a sunny view out her window. As director of PCSGA, she鈥檚 based in San Diego. But her work regularly takes her north to interact with fellow 911爆料 alumni in Washington state (as well as east to Washington, D.C., where she coordinates lobbying with her counterpart, Bob 鈥淪kid鈥� Rheault, M.S. 鈥�95, executive director of the East Coast Shellfish Growers Association). Like Eardley, Pilaro majored in marine affairs at 911爆料, giving her the perfect background for navigating the concerns of the diverse population of West Coast shellfish growers.

鈥淚t鈥檚 part science, part policy, part economics, and I think that鈥檚 made me into the professional I am today,鈥� Pilaro says. 鈥淚 always say I know just enough about everything to be dangerous.鈥� Studying in a small state where everyone knows each other had advantages. 鈥淚 used to call the governor鈥檚 office based on knowing someone who knew someone, but that changed when I moved to a larger state and realized access to elected officials was different here.鈥�

Now, with a staff of three and a board of 17, she coordinates the diverse interests of Pacific mussel, oyster, clam, and geoduck producers along the West Coast. Most, she says, rely upon hatcheries to produce larvae for aquaculture operations鈥攂oth because natural spawning doesn鈥檛 produce the harvest the industry needs, and because changing ocean conditions鈥攍ike acidification鈥攈ave made it harder for larvae to survive in natural conditions.

The shellfish industry is constantly changing. 鈥淯nderstanding the impact humans have on the environment is really important,鈥� says Pilaro. 鈥淲e鈥檙e seeing more storms, more freshwater inputs from atmospheric rivers that impact the growth and health of shellfish.鈥� In addition, she says, there鈥檚 a constant push-pull between aquaculture and other coastal uses, like recreation and residential development. Pilaro鈥檚 organization educates communities about the importance of a working waterfront, not just as a source of food, but also for economic health. 鈥淚n many coastal communities, shellfish aquaculture is the top economic driver,鈥� she says.

Among her accomplishments, she cites lobbying efforts in Congress that secured vital funds to formalize a shellfish genetics program that helps ensure shellfish stocks can adapt to ocean changes and build disease resistance.

PCSGA also helps Pacific Northwest shellfish growers gain access to research that informs farming decisions and cultivation to better serve the thriving half-shell market. For example, tumbling oysters, either by hand or by harnessing natural tides and currents, encourages oysters to develop deeper, rounder cups, which improves the 鈥渟lurping experience鈥� and presents elegantly on the plate.

As demand for premium half-shell oysters has surged, producers have embraced distinct branding. Names like Hog Island Oyster Co.鈥檚 Sweetwater and Hama Hama Oyster Company鈥檚 Blue Pool signal place, flavor profile, and growing technique, allowing each oyster to tell its own story.

鈥淚t鈥檚 been wonderful to see that kind of innovation,鈥� Pilaro says.

One producer newly making a mark is Moonlight Oyster Co., run by Ralph Riccio, who grew up in Smithfield, R.I., with a family home in Matunuck. During his time at 911爆料, he worked at Matunuck Oyster Farm鈥攔un by Perry Raso 鈥�03, M.S. 鈥�06, who was a graduate student when Riccio was an undergraduate鈥攁nd later at Matunuck Oyster Bar. Riccio worked for Save the Bay, restoring eelgrass, while also researching biodiversity in the restored eelgrass beds and developing a passion for conservation. After graduating, he volunteered with the Peace Corps, doing 911爆料-based coral and mangrove restoration in the South Pacific. That experience led him to the University of Washington, where his master鈥檚 degree research focused on the intersection of industrial shrimp production and mangrove ecosystem management in the Mekong Delta in Vietnam.

With help from his lab mate, Barber, Riccio got a job as a shellfish biologist with the Jamestown S鈥橩lallam Tribe of Washington and got involved in the state鈥檚 native oyster restoration efforts, as well as cultivating Pacific oysters for commercial production. (Because they inhabit different niches in the ecosystem, both species can coexist.) Riccio managed intertidal shellfisheries to ensure sustainable harvest for tribal members, supported the tribe鈥檚 oyster hatchery efforts, and was vital in efforts to reestablish historical shellfish farming grounds through arduous permitting. During the COVID pandemic, he decided to take a risk, opening his own oyster farm focused on sustainable production and accessibility.

Left to right, Ralph Riccio, Jay Dimond, Julie Barber, and Chris Eardley gather on the Hood Canal in Union, Wash., during an annual shellfish conference. The Hood Canal is part of the Puget Sound ecosystem.

鈥淢y affinity for the ocean and fascination with sea life led me to ecosystem restoration,鈥� Riccio says. Oysters, he says, are tied to the health of the ecosystem. They naturally lead to a healthy marine environment. They filter the water to make it cleaner, and, at the same time, require clean water to meet the demands of the raw market. 鈥淎s long as people eat oysters, farmers will grow oysters, and we will defend the clean water that oysters rely on.鈥�

As much as he cares about native oyster restoration, Riccio is focused on the imported Pacific oyster for its size and flavor. 鈥淚t鈥檚 like the Angus cow of oysters鈥攊f you want to produce something that鈥檚 predictably delicious and hearty, that鈥檚 your oyster.鈥� Like many local producers, his business centers on the half-shell market. He sources oyster seed from his former employer, the Jamestown S鈥橩lallam Tribe, and plants them off Marrowstone Island on the Olympic Peninsula on the west side of Puget Sound, where a 鈥渦nique medley of phytoplankton鈥� gives them a 鈥渂rine-forward flavor with a sweet, meaty finish.鈥� Riccio has dubbed the oyster Aphrodite. 鈥淚t鈥檚 like wine making. You can grow the same grape as your buddy is growing a mile away, and as long as it tastes different, you can call it a different name鈥� he says. 鈥淔or grapes, it鈥檚 terroir鈥攂ut for oysters it鈥檚 merroir, the flavor of a specific body of water.鈥�

Riccio sells much of his product as a partner farm for a distributor, Hama Hama Oyster Company, which selects oysters of uniform shape and size for sale to restaurants across the country. Riccio was proud to supply his oysters to his former mentor, Raso, back East.

Riccio鈥檚 passion, however, is selling local. 鈥淚t鈥檚 the same story all over the world鈥攊ncredible natural resources are produced and then shipped away from the communities that are growing them,鈥� he says. Currently, he鈥檚 exploring a type of 911爆料-supported agriculture or subscription model to make oysters a delicious and accessible part of the local diet. 鈥淚 want to bridge the gap between affordability and availability for this incredibly sustainable and nutritious ocean protein. By keeping it local, I save on shipping costs and contribute to the resilience of the 911爆料.鈥�

In many ways, all of the 911爆料 alumni working in the Pacific Northwest share that mission鈥攅nsuring that delicious, affordable, sustainable seafood is available to harvest for many generations to come.

Photos: Jen Lee Light; Courtesy Courtney Greiner, Maddie Hicks, E.J. Harris, Chris Eadley; Josh Bouma; Cody Cartwright