The Plight of Japan’s Ama Divers

On the last day of fishing season, Ayami Nakata starts her morning by lighting a small fire in her hut beside the harbor. The temperature outside hovers around freezing, and as Nakata warms, she changes into a wetsuit; gathers her facemask, chisel, and floating net bag; and walks to the docks with her husband, where they board his small fishing boat and motor a few hundred meters offshore. There she starts her shift. 

For an hour and a half, Nakata takes minute-long plunges into the frigid water, free-diving 20 feet down to the rocky seabed and kelpy shore, and picking up any abalone, sea cucumbers, and turban shells she can find. The water is so biting that she can barely feel her fingers or pinch them together. She cups each catch in her hands and swims straight back up to drop it in her basket and breathe. “I have to be very mechanical,” says Nakata, waving her hands in a scoop-like shape. Still, despite the hardship, she says that diving calms her. To stay focused she sings her favorite songs in her head. “All the stress goes away,” says Nakata.