A community of 229 residents protects its only source of income, a lobster sold for up to R$215 per tail, creating a protected area across 687 km² in the South Atlantic and attracting the attention of authorities in the United Kingdom.
Written by Flavia Marinho
A community of 229 residents created a 687 km² marine protected area to support lobster fishing, leading to a reduction in maritime traffic and attracting the attention of UK authorities and monitoring organizations.
The day begins before sunrise, with the metallic sound of a hammer striking an old oxygen cylinder. In Tristan da Cunha, in the South Atlantic Ocean, this gong has a direct meaning: it’s fishing day.
And here, fishing is not just a tradition, it’s a survival. With just over 200 people living in the most remote inhabited place on Earth, practically everything depends on the ocean, especially the main source of local income: the São Paulo lobster.
The most striking detail is the contrast. Even surrounded by millions of square kilometers of open sea and 2.414 km away from Saint Helena, the island attempted to do something that larger countries still struggle to implement: protect almost all of its sea while simultaneously keeping its economy running.
But the threats don’t stop there. Climate change, invasive species, and even ships that turn off tracking systems are increasing the pressure on an ecosystem considered among the most pristine on the planet.
What sustains the island is a rare lobster, sold abroad for up to US$39 per tail, equivalent to R$215.
The star attraction of Tristan da Cunha’s economy is the St. Paul lobster (Jasus paulensis), a crustacean found only near remote islands in the southernmost oceans of the planet.
The meat is described as sweet and delicate, and the price is impressive: a single tail can fetch up to US$39 on the North American market, approximately R$207. The product is also exported to Japan and the United Kingdom.
In the archipelago’s cold and temperate waters, these lobsters live close to the coast, at depths of up to 200 meters. And they are not just an export item. They help maintain the balance of the marine environment itself, because they participate in the food chain, recycle nutrients, and serve as food for predators such as octopuses.
A short season and a 5 a.m. ritual demonstrate the weight of each day of fishing.
In Tristan da Cunha, fishermen have a tight window of opportunity to work. They only have 18 to 72 days of fishing per season, which makes every opportunity a priority.
The boats leave Callshot harbor, known as the Beach, while dogs bark and rubber boots clatter on the ground. The pace is fast, because there is no room for wasted time.
In January 2024, for example, a team set out in the Island Pride, an 8-meter orange boat, heading to a fishing spot on the south side of the island. The location doesn’t depend on sophisticated technology, but on triangulation using terrain references and reading the sea depth.
The work is hard. Large traps are set in deep water and remain on the bottom for hours, long enough for the bait to attract lobsters. In shallower areas, cylindrical nets are used in underwater kelp forests and are pulled aboard once an hour.
The island almost lost everything due to overfishing, and the rules only became firmly established after 1997.
Today, the community advocates taking from the ocean only what is necessary. But it wasn’t always that way.
Decades ago, overfishing significantly reduced the number of crustaceans. Initially, the activity was poorly regulated. Small lobsters and females with eggs were removed before they could reproduce, which weakened the stock.
The first clearer measures appeared in 1983, when the Island Council created size limits. Quotas came in 1991. However, according to the local Fisheries Department, these rules only began to be truly enforced from 1997 onwards.
The memories of the oldest residents show how abundant the fish once was and how everything has changed. An 82-year-old resident recounts that when he started fishing at age 15, he and a partner caught 1.360 kg in a single day using only 10 nets.
A company with an exclusive license captures most of the production, with daily inspections and shipment to Cape Town.
The operational base for commercial fishing is a South African company called Ovenstone Agencies, which held the concession for a large quota of lobsters from São Paulo, around 800 per year, in addition to 110 tons of Antarctic jellyfish (Hyperoglyphes antarctica).
This contract has a direct impact on daily life. The company provides jobs, electricity, and maritime passenger transport, including medical evacuations to Cape Town, South Africa.
Between August 2023 and April 2024, the company’s main fishing vessel, the MFV Edinburgh, fished around the islands of Nightingale, Inaccessible and Gough, bringing approximately 316 tons ashore. This volume represents the majority of the island’s annual production, which reached 441 tons.
The remainder of the quota, up to 125 tons, went to local fishermen in smaller boats, always under strict rules. There are limits on nets and traps, constant use of measuring sticks, and observers from the Fisheries Department accompanying the trips, measuring hundreds of lobsters every day.
The catch is processed, packaged, and frozen on board before heading to Cape Town. Throughout the year, the Fisheries Department also tags lobsters, tracks movements, uses underwater cameras, and takes random samples and biomass data to assess the health of the stock.
The marine protected area closed off 91% of the sea, reduced traffic by more than 20%, and became a real test of remote surveillance.
The boldest response to protect their main source of income was to create one of the largest marine protected areas on the planet.
The Tristan da Cunha marine protected area covers 687 km². In 91% of the territorial waters, commercial fishing is prohibited. In the remaining 9%, there is control with strict quotas, size limits, and onboard monitoring.
The plan also created Areas to Be Avoided for navigation, attempting to reduce the risk of accidents near sensitive habitats. The logic is straightforward: it’s not enough to control fishing, because much of the major damage has come from ships in transit.
The latest figures show that the change has had an effect. In 2019, before the creation of the protected area, 14% of ships transiting through local waters came within 46,3 km of one of the islands. In 2023, that percentage fell to 2%. And overall traffic within the protected area has been reduced by more than 20% since 2020.
Surveillance relies on technology because the island has no airport and no ship of its own to patrol the entire territory. Satellite monitoring and data from AIS, the Automatic Identification System, have become the island’s eyes in the middle of the ocean.
The UK’s Maritime Management Organisation assists the protected area by interpreting data and identifying suspicious behaviour, such as reduced speed, drifting in a prohibited zone or switching off AIS.
Climate change, invasive species, and past strandings show that the risk doesn’t come solely from fishing.
Even with the ocean considered healthy, environmental pressure has not disappeared. And there are signs that climate change could directly affect the foundation of the system.
There is still no conclusive evidence, largely due to the small number of studies. But there are indications that rising sea temperatures are already harming algae growth in the summer, a crucial habitat for lobsters. Warming may also push lobsters further south, out of reach of local residents.
And there is one factor that has marked the local history: incidents involving vessels in transit.
In June 2006, a massive oil platform called PXXI ran aground at Trypot Point after separating from its tugboat while being towed from Brazil to Singapore. There was no oil spill, but the impact came in another form: 62 invasive species were introduced.
Among them is the marimba (Diplodus argenteus), an omnivorous reef fish native to South America. It has spread to three islands in the archipelago, and only Gough Island remains free of it. A young lobster has already been found in the stomach of a marimba, which has raised concerns about fishing. This spread has become the subject of a study at the University of Exeter, with a student scheduled to spend four months on the island analyzing the expansion and interactions with lobsters.
Another incident occurred in March 2011, when the MS Oliva ship ran aground on Nightingale Island, spilling fuel and 65 tons of soybeans. Thousands of northern crested penguins and other seabirds died, and fishing in Nightingale and Inaccessible was temporarily suspended.
Even so, scientific expeditions have found abundant marine life. Among them, the National Geographic Pristine Seas expedition, led by Paul Rose in 2017, conducted the first detailed survey using divers, underwater cameras, and satellite tagging. The survey reinforced that the local seas are among the most pristine on Earth, with important seabird colonies, shark nurseries, and vast kelp forests.
The big question now is how long this will last.
An island without a coast guard uses satellites, but acknowledges its practical limitations and dreams of having its own ship.
The scenario looks positive on paper, but the execution has a sensitive point: patrolling a gigantic area without having the infrastructure to physically intercept intruders.
Tristan da Cunha has only one patrol boat, the Wave Dancer, with a range of 483 km. There is no coast guard. If a mechanical failure occurs, there is no immediate local rescue.
The annual cost of a fully equipped ship would be in the millions, beyond the island’s reach. Even so, the desire to own a ship appears as a strategic necessity.
For now, the official assessment is that there is a high level of compliance with the rules, with no confirmed cases of illegal fishing. But more recent reports from July 2025 indicate that the waters remain under constant pressure.
Two ships apparently entered areas to be avoided. One of them turned off its AIS less than 370 km from the protected area. And a fleet of five bluefin tuna fishing vessels operated 46 km from the boundaries. Turning off the AIS does not necessarily mean illegal fishing, because it could be a technical failure or a limitation of satellite coverage, but the behavior raises suspicions, even more so near areas rich in fishing.
What seemed impossible has become routine in a small community. But the tension remains: protecting a gigantic ocean with limited tools while simultaneously keeping alive the only activity that sustains the island.
