By Jesús Aguado
If you leave San Miguel and head toward Celaya, turn at the junction toward Guanajuato, then cross over the falls of the Presa Allende, and you will spot a large stretch of greenery along the shoreline. There are meters upon square meters of this green growth. They are water lilies, considered a pest by the National Biodiversity Commission.
The lilies cover a large expanse of the banks on the eastern side. “The fishermen from the Allende Dam area cannot set out now, because the wind is blowing the plague there,” says Don Rogelio, while sitting on a mountain of dried lily pads. “You feel like that when it’s dry, not when it’s wet,” he says with a laugh. Sitting in a boat that is resting between the water and the lilies, Doña María shows us the plant, and tells us how it multiplies every day, the problems it has caused, and those it can cause if not controlled. She hasn’t gone fishing for a week because the lilies become entangled in the fishing nets.
From a distance
The Allende Fishermen’s Union had a hard time this year when the lack of rain lowered the water level. It was at its lowest since the dam’s inauguration in 1969, down to 11 percent of its capacity. This, in conjunction with the pandemic contingency, reduced the fishing potential and impacted the fishermen further because they could not sell their products in the tianguis. They eagerly awaited the rains. And yes, this season was a good one in their eyes. In fact, the dam is above its maximum level, at 101 percent, with 171.77 cubic hectometers of water. But with the currents came water lilies, which have expanded upstream and are now multiplying in La Begoña, the unofficial name for the reservoir.
Currently there are 42 fishing boats from the Allende-Pantoja and Flores de Begoña union. It is those residents who are most concerned about maintaining a clean dam and reservoir. Because of the water lilies, going out to fish entails a whole series of maneuvers. The fishermen have organized themselves, and every weekend they extract kilo upon kilo of lilies. But they need help.
When Atencion went to talk with members of the fishermen’s union, a boat could be seen in the distance swaying back and forth with the wind. Julio Valdez rowed while Julio Jr watched and learned. Once Valdez senior reached the “green zone,” moving the boat was no longer so easy, although he was rowing hard. The lilies slowed him down. Julio got desperate, put down the oars, leaned over and began to remove the plants by hand in front of the boat. After creating an opening, he used an oar as a pole to push the boat. It was as if his boat were “La Borracha” and he was navigating along a chinampa—shallow man-made lakes used by Meso-Americans. He used the oar as a pole on the right side, then swung it over Julio Jr. and pushed on the left. Finally, he jumped out of the boat, and dragged it ashore.
Bad days, no help
Julio Jr says he would always see his father, friends, and family set off into the water and return with kilos of fish. “I always wanted to know how it felt. Now that I’ve done it I don’t feel anything. But at first it felt really ugly,” he told us, a Coke stowed in his white boots. That particular day was bad, and they came back with only about two kilos of mojarra. “It’s a bad day, because it’s windy, and it carries the fish elsewhere,” he noted, as his father agreed with him. In this case they blamed the wind.
María Valdez has been fishing for as long as she can remember. She would get in the boat, paddle out, throw out the net, and then check to see what she had caught. These days she does not know how she will manage; the lilies get tangled in her nets, which either break or get dragged to a remote location. She has found some sections of it, but as far as the rest “who knows where it is. A small net costs around 250 pesos. Mine was big, like four put together,” she told us.
Sitting in a boat, Doña Maria reached into the water and pulled out a large lily pad. “Look at the flower; it’s purple, it’s very pretty. But see how about ten little plants have already multiplied. It will continue to grow and multiply if we let it. It can spread even further, dry up the dam, kill the fish, it can cause a lot of damage if we let it,” said Doña Maria.
Roberto Vargas is a representative of the fishermen. He confirms that about 50 people are ready to start cleaning the dam. But there is one problem—they do not have tools like pitchforks. They also need simple protective equipment, such as rubber boots. He urged, “Help us, we need to rescue the water for the fishermen, but also for all those who come on the weekends to enjoy the sunset; for those who comes to have roast meat, or to have a few drinks. Organizations, public or private institutions, we need your help. We are ready, and we know how to eradicate the water lilies.” He asked that if you are able to offer support, contact him on 415 158-9759.
Boats for forty pesos
Fishing activities in the presa—the reservoir—began in 1972, three years after the opening of the dam. The flooding displaced residents like Gregorio Vargas. His parents had dedicated themselves “down there” in the current mud of the dam, to the manufacture of flowerpots and vessels. However, the special clay that they used was covered by the water. Don Gregorio had no choice but to move to molding and firing bricks, like many others in the community. But then something happened around 1972.
Don Gregorio recalls that federal government officials visited Flores de Begoña to form a fishermen’s cooperative. About 40 people signed up. “They brought a boat from the municipality of Yuriria so that we could see it, and then could build our own. I looked it over, again and again, with a partner. And yes, we were encouraged and began to build them. They were made completely of wood; now they are made of fiberglass.” Don Gregorio recalls that “in those days, the planks of wood, 30 cm wide by 6 meters long, cost five pesos. Six pieces were needed to make a boat.” We asked how the planks were sealed so that no water got in. Don Vargas shared his art. “The bed, or the base, is bathed in boiling wax.” Then the boat is thrown into the water so that the wood is hydrated, and it can turn correctly. At that time, the cost of crafting a boat did not exceed 40 pesos, because they were made for friends. Today making one of those fishing boats can cost six thousand pesos. They are no longer in great demand, but Don Gregorio still makes them, along with his son Roberto.
At dawn
Doña Consuelo Aldama inherited the trade of making flower pots and vessels, but life’s necessities led her to become a fisherwoman. Together with the other fishermen, she learned little by little what fish to catch, what type of nets to use, and where to get them. Now the net sellers are coming to the dam.
Doña Consuelo remembers that she would leave the pier at 1am to go fishing. Two hours later she would be back at her house with live fish in buckets. She walked about two kilometers to the highway, waited for the bus to Celaya, and then to Villagrán. In Villagrán, she had a space in the flea market to sell the catch. “We took them mostly alive to sell them.” But when she could not sell in the tianguis area, she had no choice but to take her buckets and go house to house offering mojarras, charales or sardines. She could sell them right there, by the dam, where a buyer from Yuriria had been coming for years, but the payment per kilogram was, and still is minimal. She no longer goes out in her boat. Instead, she buys her son’s catch, but since the start of the contingency she has not gone to Villagrán.
