They are among Aotearoa’s most famous seasonal delicacies, but freshwater conservationist Nic Naysmith wants New Zealanders to understand one important fact about whitebait — they are not actually a single species of fish.
What we call whitebait is the juvenile stage of several native freshwater fish species migrating from the sea back into rivers and streams, with īnanga making up the overwhelming majority of the traditional whitebait catch.
And the future of those fish is increasingly tied to something many people may never associate with their whitebait fritter — the grasses, wetlands and vegetation growing alongside waterways.
Naysmith, who leads the National Īnanga Spawning Programme — NĪSP — through Mountains to Sea Conservation Trust, has been travelling Aotearoa training whitebaiters, farmers, councils, iwi, hapū, Department of Conservation staff and conservation groups to find and protect the places where īnanga reproduce.
His message as the whitebait season gets underway is simple: if Aotearoa wants whitebait tomorrow, it needs to protect where the adult fish spawn today.
So what exactly is whitebait?
Biologically, there is no single fish species called whitebait.
The term describes juvenile native fish caught while migrating from the sea into freshwater.
DOC identifies six native species that can make up the whitebait catch — īnanga, kōaro, banded kōkopu, giant kōkopu, shortjaw kōkopu and common smelt.
Īnanga dominate.
DOC says they can account for around 90 percent of a whitebait catch depending on the river, making their survival particularly important to the future of the fishery.
The remaining fish disappearing into the fritter can include species considerably less common than īnanga.
Banded, giant and shortjaw kōkopu are found only in New Zealand, adding another dimension to the conservation debate surrounding the whitebait fishery.
Īnanga now officially Threatened
The conservation picture has become more serious.
DOC’s latest freshwater fish assessment moved īnanga from At Risk – Declining to Threatened – Nationally Vulnerable.
DOC says the change reflects the vulnerability of their spawning habitat, which is now estimated at less than 100 hectares nationally.
That is an extraordinarily small area upon which a nationally recognised fishery partly depends.
DOC also identifies habitat loss, disappearing streamside vegetation, barriers to fish passage, sediment, pollution and invasive species among the pressures driving whitebait decline.
For Naysmith, that means protecting whitebait requires considerably more than regulating what happens when nets enter the water.
It requires protecting the entire life cycle.
The secret life of īnanga happens in the grass
One of the strangest things about īnanga is where they lay their eggs.
Not permanently underwater.
They spawn among dense vegetation along riverbanks around high spring tides, particularly near the zone where saltwater pushes upstream beneath freshwater.
When the tide retreats, the eggs remain within moist vegetation.
There they develop for several weeks before another high tide reaches them, triggering hatching and carrying tiny larvae downstream towards the sea.
Several months later, the juveniles begin returning to freshwater.
That returning migration is when people know them as whitebait.
It means an apparently ordinary patch of long grass beside a river could actually be a nursery containing the next generation of īnanga.
Mow it at the wrong time, allow stock to trample it, remove the vegetation or alter the riverbank and thousands of eggs can potentially disappear.
DOC says īnanga eggs are vulnerable to drying, rodents, stock, mowing and riverbank engineering.
A freshwater fish with one foot in the ocean
Their complicated lifecycle also demonstrates why protecting a single part of a river is not enough.
Adult īnanga need suitable freshwater habitat.
They need accessible spawning areas.
Their larvae need to reach the sea.
Juveniles then need to make the journey back upstream.
Culverts, dams and other structures can become barriers during that migration, while degraded water quality and disappearing vegetation can reduce the habitat available once they arrive.
For Māori, those connections between awa, repo, whenua and moana are familiar.
The health of a species cannot necessarily be separated from the health of the wider environment supporting it.
Wetlands disappeared — and so did habitat
Naysmith points to the enormous historical loss of wetlands as one reason īnanga are under pressure.
Wetlands provide habitat for numerous native freshwater species and play an important role in the whitebait lifecycle.
DOC says the decline in native freshwater fish populations is directly connected to the massive reduction in freshwater habitat, with īnanga and kōkopu among species dependent on wetland environments.
As wetlands and natural river margins disappeared, īnanga became increasingly dependent on remaining streamside spawning habitat.
That makes identifying those small areas particularly important.
A spawning site may be only a narrow strip beside an awa.
But during the right tide at the right time of year, it can become critically important habitat.
Finding the hidden nurseries
That is where the National Īnanga Spawning Programme comes in.
Naysmith has been taking the science into communities, teaching people how to identify potential spawning areas and what can be done once they are found.
Mountains to Sea Conservation Trust confirms Naysmith leads both NĪSP and its Whitebait Connection programme, supporting hapū, iwi and communities to protect waterways.
Training includes identifying the saltwater wedge and recognising the thick streamside root structures īnanga favour for spawning.
Once sites are identified, relatively practical interventions can make a difference.
Stock can be excluded.
Vegetation can be restored.
Pests can be controlled.
Spawning areas can be protected from mowing and disturbance.
And temporary artificial habitat can be installed where natural habitat has been damaged.
Sometimes a mat can help save thousands of fish
Artificial spawning habitat is already demonstrating its value elsewhere.
Following Cyclone Gabrielle, DOC installed coconut-fibre mats around Hawke’s Bay river mouths where natural īnanga habitat had been damaged or smothered by sediment.
Rangers subsequently discovered clutches of eggs inside those artificial spawning areas.
It demonstrates an important point.
Freshwater decline is not necessarily irreversible.
Once critical locations are identified, relatively targeted restoration can sometimes produce tangible results.
NĪSP says it has now helped identify and protect dozens of spawning locations across regions including Northland, Auckland, Wellington, Southland, Tasman and Taranaki.
But just as the programme is gathering momentum, its future is uncertain.
$100,000 needed to keep programme alive
Naysmith says the National Īnanga Spawning Programme needs at least $100,000 to continue operating and develop its national online spawning map.
Previous support has included DOC and regional council partnerships.
But tighter budgets across local and central government mean existing funding is expected to run out within months.
That creates an uncomfortable possibility.
At the same time scientists are warning that īnanga spawning habitat nationally may have fallen below 100 hectares, one of the programmes specifically designed to locate and protect those remaining areas is searching for enough money to continue.
Naysmith argues losing that momentum would be a major setback.
Mātauranga, community and science meeting beside the awa
There is also a wider kaupapa behind the programme.
Freshwater restoration does not happen solely inside government departments.
Farmers control significant stretches of waterways.
Iwi and hapū carry generations of knowledge about their awa and fisheries.
Whitebaiters spend considerable amounts of time observing river systems.
Councils manage riverbanks, flood protection and land-use rules.
Scientists provide ecological monitoring.
Community conservation groups supply volunteers and restoration capability.
Bringing those groups together means knowledge about a spawning site can translate into practical protection.
In Whanganui, for example, īnanga are also known as atutahi, and DOC restoration work recognises the importance of protecting the long grasses and native vegetation used for spawning.
For tangata whenua, protecting these species is not simply about preserving something that might eventually become a fritter.
It is also about restoring the mauri of waterways and maintaining relationships between tangata, awa and native species.
The whitebait debate is bigger than the net
Debates about whitebait have often focused on fishing.
How long should the season be?
How large should nets be?
Should commercial sales continue?
How many fish are being caught?
Those are legitimate questions.
But Naysmith wants New Zealanders to understand that the decline cannot be explained by fishing alone.
DOC identifies habitat loss and degradation as major drivers of falling whitebait numbers, alongside barriers, sediment, pollution, invasive species and other pressures.
If the spawning habitat disappears, changing the net will not bring it back.
Know what’s in the fritter
Naysmith is now directing whitebaiters and consumers to whitebaitfacts.co.nz to better understand the fish behind one of Aotearoa’s most recognisable seasonal foods.
The aim is not simply to tell people what they should or should not eat.
It is to make the species visible.
Because once juvenile īnanga, kōaro and kōkopu are mixed together in a whitebait catch, their individual identities largely disappear.
Understanding what those tiny translucent fish grow into changes the conversation.
Some become īnanga.
Some become kōaro.
Some could become giant, banded or shortjaw kōkopu.
And each needs functioning habitat if another generation is going to return from the sea.
Saving the fritter starts beside the river
For Naysmith, the challenge is ultimately straightforward.
New Zealand can continue debating the whitebait fishery while the habitat supporting it disappears.
Or communities can identify the small, vulnerable places where these fish reproduce and protect them before they are gone.
A patch of streamside grass may not look like nationally significant conservation infrastructure.
For thousands of tiny īnanga eggs, it can be exactly that.
If Aotearoa wants the whitebait run — and the whitebait fritter — to survive for future generations, protecting the next generation of fish has to begin before they ever reach the net.
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