Not subscribed?

The reef flat in Com stretches out for 100 metres from shore. At high tide, myriad fish species graze on the algae and amongst the coral; the occasional crocodile swims through; and fishing boats are launched. At low tide, reef life is stranded in hollows, within easy reach of searching hands. An octopus here, a sea urchin there, a yelp and a sea snake swim-wriggles away.

Adaun stopped and hovered. We had been walking across the slippery rocks of the reef flat in the dark on what seemed like an unknown quest. Suddenly, he lunged, grabbing a indistinguishable blob from the sea. In a single movement, the blob revealed itself tentacles wriggling, now impaled on a length of wire. Another octopus for the table.

Paolo holds up his morning's work. A good catch is about twenty to thirty octopus, each speared one after the other on a long section of wire. Unlike fishing, gleaning is a family affair with women and children as well as men involved in the search for food on the reef flat. The octopus will end up on the family's table, with some being sold locally for cash.

Anselmo displays his collection of sea urchins. "I sell them to dealers who supply the Japanese and Korean markets. They're a delicacy there," he explains.

A shortage of certain sea urchin species in the waters around Japan and South Korea has led to an upsurge in demand from Timor-Leste. It has the feeling of a local boom, but with no sense of when a bust might come.

The morning's catch is brought home and cleaned and prepared. There is something slightly macabre about these hanging collections of still writhing cephalopod.

After hours following the community across the reef flats, avoiding snakes and other dangers, the team returns to the guest house for breakfast. Coffee from beans grown on the slopes rising behind. A selection of sweetish buns from the local bakery and a plate full of fried octopus, a salty marine bacon.

Over breakfast, the team watches the last figures leave the flats and wander home. Robella, our host and member of the local environmental group ponders whether this practice of gleaning is sustainable.

"People go out each day and take everything they can from the reef. We don't know where the octopus come from. We don't know when they'll run out. We have to be more careful."

The last mouthful of breakfast is seasoned with guilt.