No fishing poles or bait were needed for hunting perhaps the most undesired animal in the Pacific – jellyfish.
“There’s really no use for the guys. They’re just a pest,” Andon said as he began pumping up his rubber raft. “But I don’t think there’s a better place than the Bay Area for catching jellyfish.”
 Alex Andon scoops a Pacific Sea Nettle into a bag. He will sell the jellyfish to a collector who may live across the country. |
Fishermen know them for depleting local fisheries, stinging like hell and tasting, at best, like a wet rubber band. And perhaps most frustrating of all for local anglers is that jellyfish are so prevalent — unlike so much other sea life — but there’s no way to make a buck catching them.
“There’s a bazillion jellyfish out here at certain times of the year,” said Pillar Pont Harbormaster Dan Temko. “I always thought that if you could find a way to sell them, you’d make a bundle. They sure are easy to catch.”
And 25-year-old Andon has devised such a way.
A graduate in marine biology from Duke University, Andon originally moved to the Bay Area in 2006 to take a 9-to-5 job at a Bay Area biotech company, but he soon ditched that to pursue a wingnut business idea about jellyfish that was swimming around in his head.
Swimming jellies have a surreal, otherworldly beauty. When displayed in an aquarium they combine the best qualities of a fish tank mixed with the best of a lava lamp. But keeping jellyfish in captivity is difficult. In a standard aquarium, jellyfish will be sucked right into the water pumps and squished into, well, jelly.
The Monterey Bay Aquarium was the first to devise a method to sustain jellyfish in captivity by using alternating water flows. The first jellyfish exhibit at the renowned aquarium became a hit among visitors, and public aquariums across the country soon wanted their own jellyfish aquariums.
“And I’m bringing jellyfish to the private market,” Andon said. “That’s the basis of my business.”
Now entering its second year, Andon’s business, “Jellyfish Art” is among the first companies to sell jellyfish displays for the average home or business, ranging in cost from a $250 desktop aquarium to custom-built tanks costing thousands. Surprisingly, the decorative business has been growing amid the crippling recession, and is now showing its first profits. The young entrepreneur says he’s been getting orders all over the country, both for his hand-made aquariums and the jellyfish he catches locally.
But meeting his customers’ demand for jellyfish means Andon has to closely monitor the weather conditions and seize any opportunity to catch more.
That’s why, on an early October morning when the seas were particularly calm, Andon cast off south of the Peninsula in his tiny inflatable motorboat to load up as many jellies as his boat could hold.
Calm wind and waters were a necessity, he explained, because those conditions would bring the jellies up to the water surface.
“They just don’t like turbulence and that causes them to swim down,” he said after about a half-hour of scanning the water while steering. “There’s one!”
Andon spotted an orangey blob on the port side, and he quickly grabbed the net and scooped his first catch of the day. He grabbed a plastic bag and nimbly opened the mouth of the bag while spooning the jelly in with the net. The jellyfish’s tentacles brushed over his unprotected hands, stinging him. He swore under his breath.
“I should wear gloves,” he reminded himself. “Sometimes I think I’m a wimp if I wear gloves.”
His catch was a Pacific Sea Nettle, a peachy-colored floater with long tentacles dangling from its bulbous body. Like all other jellyfish species, the sea nettle’s tentacles have microscopic needles that instantly stab out and inject venom upon contact with another organism.
Stings were a hazard of the job, but a good-looking sea nettle could sell for $30 to $200, Andon said. Andon soon spotted Moon Jellies, a delicate pinkish-white species found worldwide that is harmless to touch.
Jellyfish typically drift with the water currents and that causes them to stay in clusters. When Andon spotted one, five more were typically nearby his boat. Picking out only the smaller, better looking ones, he carefully netted each and tossed them in their own plastic-bag prison filled with seawater.
“They’re these delicate creatures living out in the open ocean,” he said, peering at one in a bag. “They’re lucky they don’t get eaten right when they’re born.”
Thinking Andon was fishing for tastier prey, sea lions would regularly pop their heads up hoping to steal a fish from the humans. They would soon swim away, disappointed; jellyfish aren’t their snack of choice. Few animals consume jellyfish, but those that do, such as sea turtles, can gorge on dozens at a time.
With the afternoon waning, Andon turned his raft back to the harbor. His raft was overflowing with jellyfish bags, and the floor of his boat had accumulated its own pool of water.
Bringing the raft up to the loading dock, Andon began hoisting his hefty catch into the bed of his truck. The jellies could only live for about a day without food, and he had to rush to San Jose International Airport to send out orders to Seattle and Los Angeles.
He then noticed a basketball-sized sea nettle floating alongside his raft in the turgid harbor waters. By far, it was the biggest jellyfish of the day, looking like it was chasing its captive siblings.
“Wow, look at that guy! That’s really eerie.” Andon said. “That really freaks me out.”
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