Over a year of planning, two years of dreaming, and a few months out we could taste the Indonesian sunshine and took guesses at what underwater magic we were bound to see. The initial purpose of the birthday trip was a scuba-diving liveaboard traveling through the Banda Sea up to Raja Ampat – a hotspot of marine biodiversity located in the middle of the Coral Triangle. But my friends decided on an additional rendezvous to Lombok, Indonesia: the island just east of Bali has become a common surf destination and is often described as ‘what Bali used to be’. I decided to join last minute. Lombok was a spot I had been craving to see for years, but for a very different reason: the infamous Tanjung Luar fish market.

Tanjung Luar, the ‘shark market’, has become well known as tourists and conservationists from across the globe come to peek into this foreign world and document the plight of these endangered species. Overexploitation is undoubtedly the leading cause of global elasmobranch decline, and Indonesia is reported to be the biggest shark fishing country in the world. While shark exports initially began due to bycatch in tuna fisheries, target fishing eventually resulted as the demand for shark fins exploded in the 1980s. Fisheries are extremely important in this area of the world. While fins may be sold overseas, the meat is often used locally as an important source of protein, and the practice contributes significantly to livelihood income. Shark fishing has been going on for close to half a century now, but a combination of conservationist documentation and scientific efforts have brought attention to the need for management and activated efforts toward them. Unfortunately, management in low-income countries is not a cut and dry activity. There, it may be limited by resources, capacity, or socio-economic feasibility, and therefore require some kind of holistic assessment beforehand for management to truly be successful.

Although most of us were interested in going, only three ultimately committed to the hour-plus long scooter journey. The sun appeared from below the horizon with a peaceful, warm orange colour that contrasted the dirty browns and chaos met at the market itself. As we made the final turns into Tanjung Luar, the pungent smell of fish intensified as we encountered the bustling crowds of any Sunday market and directed in by local scooter control. The only foreigners in a crowd of locals, many pointed and giggled at us and the oddity we were to them. Unbothered otherwise by our presence, we made our way through the front gates and were welcomed by women and men with buckets of all types of various fish species – some I recognised, some that I couldn’t. I remember turning towards my friend Taylah and saying: “I find it so much harder to identify fish when they’re out of the water; it’s like they have a different look to them. And you can’t see the way they swim.” We wandered around a bit looking for a sign of where the sharks could be, when the stench started to get more intense. “I’m pretty sure it’s closer to the water, let’s go this way.”

Both Taylah and I have been working in the marine conservation space for the last five years. She and I met a few years on a boat contracted to help control the outbreaks of Crown-of-Thorns-Starfish out on the Great Barrier Reef. Ironically, the main objective of our presence was to conduct culling operations for these echinoderms. Their populations pose a significant threat to an already at-risk ecosystem; coral resilience is hindered by their sheer numbers and predation efficiency. All the staff onboard took that job because of the opportunity it presented: Voyages were undertaken for two weeks out at sea in some of the most remote areas of the Great Barrier Reef that have been virtually unseen by most. And for the three of us, our main goals on the boat revolved around any interactions with unique animals, but mostly larger sharks. Every dive we would cross our fingers and toes to encounter a large hammerhead, or tiger shark, or any creature we had yet to see underwater. Obviously, our values of both marine animals and the environment are based around biodiversity. So, when we turned the corner in Lombok and found what we were looking for, reality sunk in.

Indonesia isn’t known for a lot of socio-economic opportunities. The fishermen here may be the suppliers for a scrupulous market, but they are often cut out from the true value of these fins. Depending on the species, a kilogramme of shark fin can be retailed at around A$1,100. Yet fishermen interviewed at this market received an average of A$150 per trip. The lack of alternative options with equivalent income for shark fishers is the reason I had first heard of this market. Shark conservationist and activist Madison Stewart brought attention to this shark market on social media as she began a venture to shift the fishers away from shark fishing and into tourism. Project Hiu (‘hiu’ being the Bahasa word for shark) aims to work with the shark fishing community and pays them to engage in tourism and shift away from this high-risk activity. The project has now contracted eleven boats to operate as tourist vessels, conducts research trips for tagging sharks, and has provided essential services to these underdeveloped communities. Her work inspired my thesis investigating how many other NGO’s may be attempting similar work, and what lessons we can take from them.

The first thing I noticed was the dominance of smaller sharks covering the market floor. Was this because of unsuccessful fishing? Or a reduction in large sharks in general? Are they targeting smaller sharks on purpose? The rotten egg stench was mildly unbearable, though the people surrounding the platform seemed bored and unoffended. This was their normal. Fishermen on the boats tossed the smaller sharks straight onto the debris-covered sand – almost hitting another worker, the locals laughed at each other. To them, the sharks were just another kind of fish, necessary for food or money. Taylah and I turned around, trying to identify as many species as we could. We were unsure how invasive our presence was and didn’t want to walk on the platform to get a closer look at these species. I could clearly identify a blue shark and heaps of smaller scalloped hammerheads, both species I had yet to see in real life. But the worst part was seeing my personal favourite shark, a large tiger, next to two or three large scalloper hammerheads.

While we stood there whispering to each other, a local came up to us and asked us where we were from and pointed out some of the shark species. He wasn’t bothered by our photographing, though we tried to hide our true emotions in that moment – disbelief, shock, sadness. All these sharks that we had once been so desperate to see in the water were now – in numbers we never could’ve imagined – lifeless on the floor in front of us. Taylah had to turn around a few times to wipe her tears away. My eyes widened in disbelief at the relentless number of maggots crawling alongside the edges of the platform. Blood and dirt on the platform were rinsed away as the market workers shifted from hauling the animals onto the floor to hacking off the fins of the sharks. “All of this for a soup,” Taylah whispered, deeply disheartened as we watched another worker measure the fins of the larger sharks.

Once reserved for elites in ancient China to showcase their wealth, the increased economic status across China has led to an equal rise in demand for the dish. It is common to see the dish served at banquets, weddings, and other celebrations to represent abundance and prosperity. Still, there has been significant effort to better educate shark fin consumers with shark sustainability concerns. In fact, a recent publication investigating preferences shows that Singaporean consumers preferred “lower priced fins sourced from responsible fisheries or produced using novel lab-cultured techniques” (Choy et al, 2024). Despite 1.7 million tons of sharks sacrificed for this soup between 1999 and 2001 (Clark et al 2006), shark mortality could be up to four times more than estimates based on recorded shark catches. Other types of fisheries often have several tons as bycatch, while other sharks may be caught or killed both directly and incidentally by commercial and recreational fishermen. The media portrayal of sharks in Western culture hasn’t helped either. News reporting on ‘man-killers’ emphasises the truly minute number of shark bites, and movies like Jaws seem to warrant the uptick in shark fishing tournaments.

Living in Australia, I’ve met many surfers fearful of the presence of any sharks. But for my friends, having our heads under the water regularly, seeing the sheer number of animals on one day was overwhelming. We didn’t spend too long at the market overall, maybe around 30-45 minutes; that was the extent to which we could handle both the smell and the experience. None of us speak an extensive amount of Bahasa nor Sasak, so our engagement with the locals at the market mostly consisted of broken English and pointing at the different marine creatures. It was an odd feeling – I was finally at the place I had been so desperate to get to, on a vacation meant to ease my mental health, yet after this I felt indifferent. I had spent hours in university and in my own time reading about this place and its impacts, learning about the work different NGOs were doing to remediate the impacts of shark fishing, being guided by my desire to conserve and protect these animals that made me fall in love with the ocean. While it was easy to relate to Taylah’s feeling of heartbrokenness at the sight of these creatures meant to be roaming the open ocean, I also could understand completely how they ended up here. This wasn’t about anger or greed, at least from the perspective of the locals here. They were just doing what needed to be done, to make an income, to survive, to feed their families. And it just so happened this was the way that was done. Sharks were just another fish in the sea.

I’ve thought a lot about my response to the shark market. It didn’t hit me in the way it affects many others. On one train of thought – maybe this is what happens when we lose our intimate connection to the world around us. When we see nature as separate, we cannot feel the true extent of their loss. Though this doesn’t make too much sense, as I have always valued biodiversity and had a deep desire to interact with these animals underwater. On the other hand – maybe it is more an anthropological understanding. These fishers are sometimes surviving day to day or month to month, forced to conform in a production-based world, needing to prioritise a source of income over their own physical wellbeing. Or maybe it’s the impact of media these days. The shock and awe reduced in an age where we are constantly exposed to the worst of humanity and our negative impacts on the world around us. Whatever caused the separation between emotion and thoughts, it grew in me a deep admiration for the people working to protect these species and engage fishers. The initial interruption of this fishing industry can’t have been easy – convincing people who have fished this way their entire life to try to switch careers or help scientists. Local scientists and conservationists working with their community to show that a different path exists. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from conservation, it’s that it takes an extensive amount of time and dedication to influence and see change. And while it may be on an extremely small scale, any step in the right direction is something to be proud of.