CANNING FISH

Korero (AEWS), Volume 2, Issue 3, 14 February 1944, Page 13

CANNING FISH

A KORERO Report

In pre-war days of plenty New Zealand imported her salmon and sar-

dines from abroad. America, Britain, and Norway supplied the easy-to-open, easier-to-eat tins of fish which were the second string to every housewife’s bow and the first to every bachelor’s. But the war found other uses for the precious tin and other markets for the fish, and before long both these varieties became as rare as hens’ teeth. To-day the civilian has only dim memories of the flavour of a pink salmon steak or the taste of sardine sandwiches (unless, of course, his wife provided against the famine). But the serviceman has the compensation of being able occasionally to tickle his palate with herrings in tomato sauce or pilchards caught and canned in New Zealand.

In messes in the Middle East, on South Pacific Islands, and on Air Force stations at home and overseas, servicemen have been able to enjoy a luxury that has long been denied civilians. Only eighteen months ago it was discovered that fine-quality sardines could be caught in quantity in the Marlborough Sounds. And there are more fish in the

Sounds than ever came out of them. At present the Picton cannery can handle only a limited quantity of fish, and every can produced is destined for consumption in the Services, but after the war, when additional equipment can be purchased, the owners hope to can sufficient fish to meet peacetime needs.

The manager of the Picton cannery will hotly deny that sardines are luxuries. He considers that these fish are an essential item in the diet of any healthy people. The oils in the sardines help to prevent colds and guard against influenza and tuberculosis. The fish bones as edible chalk are a good source of organic calcium necessary in the building of sound bones and teeth.

Moreover, the natural fish-oil is far more valuable than the substitute vege-table-oils in which the fish are ordinarily packed. That is why Picton pilchards are not packed in olive-oil, but are left to produce their own natural oil. Fish packed in olive-oil have usually had their own oil extracted to be sold to chemists as a medicinal oil or as a commercial oil to be used in some paints.

The present industry at Picton was m ovcd to the Sounds soon after the “ Niagara ” was sunk in Auckland waters. Previously pilchards had been caught in the Hauraki Gulf, but the mines which had destroyed the “ Niagara ” made trawling dangerous and the arc light used to attract the fish disturbed both local residents and neighbouring police-stations. It was found that suitable fish had their spawning-grounds in the Sounds, so the factory and fleet moved south.

The labour problem was easily solved. Handy to Picton is the Waikawa Pa, and no one is more skilled in handling fish than the Maori. So Maori boys and girls were employed in descaling, cleaning, and canning the fish —congenial work handy to their home and valuable to the war effort. In the first year alone was paid in wages, and the firm is encouraging social activities and the traditional Maori art and crafts amongst

the employees. The manager, who is himself partly Maori, is most interested in the welfare of his staff.

The fishermen trawl for the fish in the deep waters of Pelorus and Queen Charlotte Sounds. Five to six tons have been taken in one net from Picton Wharf. The work is done on moonless nights, and a huge net of | in. mesh is used. Unlike the usual trawling net, which may have 6 ft. to 8 ft. of net between deadline and corkline, the pilchard net is 140 ft. deep, has 4,000 corks, and forms a 400-yard circle. It costs over £SOO. It must be strong.

The fishermen estimate that at times there have been 80 tons of fish in the net, though, of course, the excess over the quantity that the factory can handle is allowed to escape by temporarily sinking the cork line. Neither is it possible to drag the net aboard the ships. The living mass of fish is shovelled aboard, and when after the war the full

catch is used a mechanical grab will be necessary to remove the fish from the net.

In the Hauraki an arc lamp was used to encourage the fish to shoal, but this is not necessary in the Sounds. The phosphorus in the water indicates the location of the shoals of fish to the lookout man in the trawler’s crow’s nest, and the net is spread in a huge circle to enmesh them. As the net closes, a solid mass of silver fish threshes the surface of the water.

The method of communication between the trawlers and the factory is unusual. Carrier pigeons are taken out on the boats and bring back to the factory the news of the size of the catch and the time the trawlers expect to arrive in Picton.

The fish are transported to the factory in cases. They are first put into a descaling machine, which is a cylinder of fine mesh netting about 5 ft. long and 2| ft. in diameter. As the cylinder revolves, blades act as a gentle abrasive removing the scales. A jet of water washes the scales out of the machine.

The work on the cleaning-table is done by about a dozen Maori boys and girls. Grasping a fish in one hand, with a single deft motion they pass the knife blade over the fish’s gills and flick off rather than cut the head, drawing with it the entrails. Then they cut off the tail and drop the fish into a water-flume, down which it is washed into wire baskets at the end of the table. The heads and tails are dropped into a bin in the centre of the table. One of the more expert girls can handle two fish at a time, and it is rare for a worker to cut a finger. The foreman expressed the opinion that less adept workers would probably be minus most of their’s after a week.

The wire baskets are then placed in a measured solution of brine for a predetermined time.

At the canning-table the fish are packed tail first into the cans by hand. An average of ten to twelve fish go into each can, though with small fish as many as seventeen are packed. The full tins are placed on a travelling belt and conveyed to a machine, known as the

“ crimper,” which lightly fixes a lid to each can. The inside rim of the lid is sealed with a rubber gasket. Thus the tin is known as the solderless can.

The tins then spend seventeen minutes in a miniature steam oven, known as an “ exhauster,” which, as its name implies, exhausts the can of air and produces the required vacuum. Emerging hot from the exhauster the cans must be handled with gloves and are put on a double seamer, which finally hermetically seals the tin. The tins are next washed in a bath of soda and hot water and packed into wire trollies before being cooked for ninety minutes at 220° F. in a retort holding 1,500 cans. Then they are suddenly cooled in cold water.

This process kills any bacteria in the fish and leaves the can ready for consumption. The cans are stored (or incubated) for at least ten days in order to give any faults in the canning time to appear. Labelled and packed four or five dozen to a case, they are ready for the mess tables of the Services.

The fish are about 6 to 7 in. long with a silver belly and a blue and green mottled back. The fish heads, guts, and tail are now dumped, though some are used by fishermen for bait. With proper machinery fish-oils could be extracted from them and the residue dehydrated into stock meals or valuable manures. In other parts of the world car paints of a highly lustrous quality are made from the scales. Seccotine, or fish glue, is another by-product extracted from bone and scale waste.

The usual catch is about 200 cases, but since the cannery can use only 100 cases at present and the catch of one night must be canned next day, the surplus is used in the making of anchovy.

The fish are transferred into casks, the operators taking care that there is one layer of salt to each layer of fish. After some days juices which might ferment are spilled off and replaced by brine solutions of specific strength.

Every day for six months the casks are inspected and the fish pressed down by weighted lids. The rate of “ cure ” is carefully observed and the brine manipulated accordingly- A remarkable feature

of this process is that the usually termed “ white meat ” of the fish is seen to turn a distinct red colour typical of anchovies.

The kegs are then ready for shipment to manufacturers overseas, where the contents are mashed and sieved, the bones and excess salt removed, and the meat finely milled into sandwich pastes and flavouring sauces.

The casks, with their galvanized hoops, are made in Christchurch. Holes are plugged with raupo —a trick which seems of Maori origin. The cans are made in Wellington.

The whole factory is being improved and large freezing chambers are almost completed. These will help to keep the cannery staff regularly occupied because on stormy days when the trawlers cannot put to sea the workers can draw supplies

from the freezer. Elsewhere in the world the vagaries of fish-catching mean much idle time. The catching season lasts only six months of the year, but so far the work of labelling has kept the staff busy during the off season. Last year during a rush period the ladies’ patriotic committee of Picton provided voluntary labour for labelling the cans.

One of the happiest features of this infant industry is the act that it provides congenial work for the Maori population of Picton, and provides it close to their own homes. And if the best test of whether a Maori is “ happy in his work ” is whether you can hear him singing, then the employees of this factory must be more than satisfied. Maori harmony echoes through the old building all day long, and the smiles on the workers’ faces do not seem to be reserved only for pay-day.