SWORDFISH HUNTERS

Swordfish hunting is an ancient tradition that has its roots in Phoenician culture. It is certainly a spectacular event, rich in traditions, colors and customs of a people who share their destiny with the sea. 

The place where this tradition is perpetuated is the Strait of Messina, between the waters of Scylla and Charybdis. 

To date, no more than a dozen boats remain practicing this custom, called "feluccas", distributed in the Calabrian seaside villages of Scilla, Bagnara, Palmi and in the Sicilian Ganzirri.

Scilla, a seaside village on the Costa Viola, is certainly the place of choice for this age-old practice.

In the places dear to Homer, the meeting is almost at dawn at the small port of Scilla: the light touches the promontory of the Ruffo castle, where everything originated, casting its shadow on the clear water, giving life to an ethereal atmosphere . After a quarter of an hour, two cars emerge from the morning fog; with their headlights they signal that they have seen me. The men come down and ask me if I brought the sandwiches: it's not so much a friendly concern as an explicit request: you can't go hunting without bread, it would bring bad luck. And they, the swordfish hunters, are superstitious.

I get on board on the planking of the emerald green bridge and look around: the boat seems to be made in the image and likeness of the "emperor of the sea", a name used by the locals to refer to the swordfish. 

A long, partly retractable gangway has been added to the bow, which can reach up to 35/40 metres, connected with a complex system of ropes and tie rods to the main mast. It will be used to get as close as possible to the fish, without producing a shadow and in silence, making it perceive the vibrations produced by the hull on the water as distant: in that deception, "u nfriccinaturi" or also called "u lanzaturi" will be able to strike the shot mortal.

Rocco, the harpooner, checks the equipment i.e. ropes, darts and harpoon and then settles down at the top of the long walkway in solitude staring at the horizon: it is the dawn of a new day of struggle between man and "u pisci" . 

Rocco is silent, doesn't give confidence, is very superstitious. He tolerates my presence but doesn't want me around and when the first fish of the day is missing he gives me a dirty look, the crew mutters: they think it's bad luck and to myself I hope that the day will take a different turn, but the the truth is that he suffers. Salvatore, a member of the crew and Rocco's right-hand man, approaches me and whispers "he has a sick wife waiting for him at home, he can't concentrate, it's a challenge with himself" - I nod - and I stand aside on the roof of the cabin with the wind in your face and the sparkle of the sun in the deep blue of the sea on the horizon.

The harpooner is the most important member of the crew, since the success of the fishing and of all those families who live only on this depends on him. His task is to throw the three-meter trident with a firm and decisive hand at the long and sinuous cobalt blue shape: not just any fish but a giant of the sea, strong and shrewd with whom he will engage in a spectacular fight.

A long antenna is mounted in the center of the boat, a metal pylon 25 meters high, on which the lookouts, the "ntinnists", climb. Their task is to constantly scan the surface of the sea with the naked eye, aided only by glasses with polarized lenses so as to have clearer vision in any weather condition.  The helmsman is also up there with the ship's controls, so that the chase can be undertaken quickly as soon as the prey is spotted. 

Antonio, an "antinnista", joins me on the cabin, kneels down and makes the sign of the cross while whispering something, then begins the climb. In this ancient struggle it is not always man who wins; numerous, and not only among the inhabitants of the sea, have been its victims over time, which is why the protection of "Santa Maria Biniditta" is invoked.

With great agility and safety, in a few minutes he reaches the top of the antenna and immediately afterward he looks out and shouts at me “vini, vini!!!”  (Trasl.: come!) motioning to join him: they have spotted a Spada and the felucca's engines begin to roar, sliding quickly through the waters of the Strait.

I gather courage and begin the climb while I hoist my camera to the top with a basket. I quickly climb the first section, then the pylon becomes narrower with diagonal holds: I turn to look down and my blood runs cold; I can only continue, so I concentrate by looking only at my hands and I pass the second section; the third is even narrower and while the boat is moving, the antenna oscillates left and right. Once at the top they open the hatch of the basket and outstretched arms welcome me amid shouts and shouts: the view from up here is spectacular.

We are about to reach the prey when the silence is broken by shouts: “Rocco, go to the band and get your irons!!!“. Amid the screams of the crew, the harpooner sprints towards the top of the gangway, while the boat makes a rapid maneuver, then almost stops and advances in dead silence. Standing on the bow, Rocco takes the harpoon connected to a long stick and throws it into the water with a sharp gesture. It all happens in an instant, but when he runs towards the stern I understand that it has hit him.

The fish is left with "kaloma", a rope, while with all its strength it tries to escape towards the depths of the sea, tugging at the ropes in a frenzy and making the surface of the water foam. “Always go! always go!” the captain continually shouts to the crew who unroll the large orange ropes with strength and sweat.

After about twenty minutes the waters stop boiling and between shouted commands and incomprehensible chants, three men begin to pull in unison. After a while, from a whitish gurgle, an enormous shape emerges from the water and turns over, showing its silvery belly: it will weigh more than 100 kilos. When it lands on the hull it struggles forcefully, shaking its dangerous beak violently. The atmosphere is electric and when they finally manage to get the better of the fish, smiles of satisfaction appear amidst sighs and screams.

The elderly Antonio quickly approaches the lifeless body and with four fingers scars his cheek, drawing a sort of cross. It is the "cardata ra cruci", "u sfregiu" an apotropaic and mysterious gesture that represents the victory of man over the animal. 

Among the various hypotheses, the one that is also a sign of prosperity or recognition towards the fish for its noble fighting value seems to be accepted. The sign must not be made by the harpooner; hierarchies, mixed with beliefs, must be respected. 

 This hunt is full of superstitions and minor rituals related to luck/bad luck and prosperity, which hunters are very careful about.

Once the fish is well placed on board, we set off again for a new adventure. I sit back on the roof of the cabin and we continue sailing towards the coast of Sicily, Torre Faro. “a posta” is right there in front today. This is the term that indicates the allocation of fishing space decided by the harbor master's office for the various feluccas, eleven in total.

Near two lucky hunter figurines, there is also a little boy. He represents the future of this dying activity and today he will have to climb the tree for the first time because tradition requires him to do so by the age of fourteen. He passionately explains to me the secrets of the sea, warning me that soon a good moment will come because the current will change: when this happens, in fact, the swordfish rises to the surface. They don't know why, they only know what they need.

In this stretch of sea, different marine currents intersect, those of the Aegean Sea and those of the Tyrrhenian Sea, with different physical-chemical and oscillatory characteristics.

This causes frequent changes in current to be created, where the ascending and rising currents collide forming the typical "cuts", visible even to the naked eye as a darker stripe on the horizon: it is there that the sea swells and can form the sea vortices narrated by Homer.

It is precisely these characteristics of the sea that allow swordfish to rise to the surface from the depths of the sea and that marine biodiversity is surprisingly abundant here.

We don't have to wait too long for another prey to be spotted, and this time we are even luckier: "Stitti a parigghia, curri Rocco!!! ” shouts the helmsman - while the crew settles into their seats and the boat hurtles at full speed again.

Swordfish have always chosen the shallow waters of this strip of sea to mate between May and September, but in those love games a tragic fate awaits them:

. “E pigliaru la fimminedda / Drittu drittu ’n tra lu cori / E chiangia di duluri / E la varca la strascinava /E lu sangu ci curriva / E lu masculu chiangiva” sang Domenico Modugno: “Chist’è ’na storia / D’un pisci spada / Storia d’amuri…”. 

The love story is that of a couple of swordfish - the "parigghia" in fact - united until death and the hunters know it well.

The ship chases the female and Rocco hits her without hesitation: “a prisi!” - while the ropes slide quickly into the water, the boat turns quickly to chase the male who, instead of escaping, continues to swim close to his beloved, sometimes even trying to hit the ship with his sword, but in doing so he will face certain death. He too is hit, and a small lifeboat leaves the boat to attempt to recover the two fish at the same time.

The loot is starting to be rich and the crew is in excellent spirits. Once the catches have been carefully arranged, the deck of the large felucca is washed of blood and the equipment is arranged.

On Rocco's sides are his weapons: a harpoon for smaller fish and "irons" for large swordfish. Intrigued by the large darts mounted on the trident, I ask him where they bought them - “Patri Antoni i facisti” - he replies with a certain reverence. So I ask him who he was – “chiddu chi insignei u mesteri a tutti” (dialect expression). Ancient tools handcrafted by Calabrian master blacksmiths with the painstaking patience of alchemists, including castings and special ointments. A secret technique that will disappear with them. 

“Patri Antoni”, born Antonio Alfonzetti, living legend for swordfish hunters. He was a child when it all started. He was at the pier playing - he tells me the next day when I go to visit him at his home - with a stick and a fork with the tips bent like a harpoon. Suddenly, as if materialized from his dreams, a baby swordfish passed in front of him. It was his first prey.

After fourteen hours in the open sea we return to the marina with the day's catch and by now I feel like a member of the crew too.

Here, in addition to small groups of elderly fishermen, the "junk dealer" awaits ready for weighing. The weight is written on the sword of all specimens and then taken to the fish shop where they are slaughtered.

For hunters - who are asked by tradition to fight without the use of nets and technology - the swordfish is an almost sacred figure, respected in its own way. 

Their activity, even before a job, is a passion proudly perpetrated by family dynasties. In this legendary strip of water, an archaic rite of love and death does not seem to bind only the fate of the prey but also the feelings of their executioners.