From Shrimpers to Pioneers: The Vietnamese-American Legacy in the Gulf Tuna Fishery

Nestled along the southern Louisiana coast, the small fishing community of Dulac holds a remarkable story of transformation, resilience, and innovation. What began as a modest shift from shrimping has evolved into one of the most significant and least told stories in American fisheries: the rise of the Vietnamese-American tuna industry.

The Shift That Changed the Coast

In the late 1970s, many Vietnamese families who had resettled in the Gulf region turned to shrimping—a familiar livelihood echoing their roots back home. But as the shrimping economy tightened and profits shrank, opportunity appeared on the open ocean.

One man in particular Ken Trinh—an innovator, businessman, and fisherman—led the charge in the Dulac region. Recognizing the potential of the tuna fishery, he began converting old shrimping vessels into longliners, boats designed specifically to target yellowfin tuna. His confidence sparked a movement.

"He was probably 80% responsible for it all," David Maginnis recalls. "He convinced other families to build new boats, to take the risk. And once one did it, others followed. That’s how our community works."

A Model That Spread Across the U.S.

What started in Dulac quickly caught fire. Vietnamese fishermen in other coastal towns—Venice, Galveston, Sabine Pass, Pensacola—adopted the same model. Some communities had fleets of 30 or more boats, all inspired by that first wave of conversions.

This innovation didn’t stay confined to the Gulf. Fishermen from the Dulac area carried their expertise to California and even Hawaii, planting the seeds of a Vietnamese-led tuna industry far beyond Louisiana.

Fishing, Labor, and the Cost of Success

The success of this fishery was built on hard work and deep community ties, but the economics were always complex. In Hawaii, the longline industry operates differently: deckhands there share in the profits, sometimes earning over $30,000 per trip. However, many of the crew are Indonesian workers on restrictive visas, earning a base wage of $500 per month and rarely leaving the boats.

In contrast, the Gulf model was smaller and more community-driven. Fishermen bore more risk but also had more control. Boats that performed well could gross up to $100,000 on a single trip, but the high costs of operation and the burden of ownership meant those earnings were hard-fought.

Licenses became commodities in themselves, fetching high resale values, and the boats symbolized pride and perseverance.

The Evolution of a Business

Eventually, like all of the Vietnamese immigrants who had grown up in the fishery, saw the need to evolve. Rather than selling their catch to larger processors, they began marketing and distributing the fish themselves. This shift to vertical integration wasn’t just about profit—it was about preserving control and ensuring sustainability.

"A lot of what we did wasn’t just about fishing," Maginnis reflects. "It was about building something that could last."

A Vanishing Generation

Today, that legacy stands on uncertain ground. The children of the original pioneers are not entering the industry. The youngest tuna fishermen in the Gulf are in the late 50s. New boats aren’t being built. Younger generations are choosing different careers, ones with fewer risks and more predictability.

It’s not just tuna—it’s a trend across nearly every domestic fishery in the United States. Scallops, groundfish, shrimp—all are seeing fewer boats, fewer new entrants, and more red tape. Policies like limited access and leasing quotas make it harder for newcomers to break in. There was growth in the industry when families thought they could pass on their knowledge to their children, and they would have an easier time to make a living. Once live bait was banned from being used in 2000, there was a drop in returning fishermen. Then there were new areas that couldn’t be fished, and more policies that continued to restrict the tuna boats in the Gulf of Mexico.

Remembering the Legacy

This isn’t a story of decline, but of impact. The Vietnamese-American tuna fishery reshaped the Gulf, brought innovation to the industry, and built a community that turned hardship into opportunity.

"We’re not saying it’s over," Maginnis says. "But people should know what it was—and what it still means."

In telling this story, we honor a legacy that changed the coast, and perhaps, with the right support and recognition, still has more to give.

The Bottom Boat Fleet of South Louisiana: A Story of Resilience and Bounty

In the brackish, rich waters of South Louisiana, a special kind of fishing culture thrives. It’s built on generations of experience, tight-knit families, and a fleet of vessels known as bottom boats. These boats—and the communities that run them—are at the heart of the Gulf seafood industry, providing an incredible array of species caught close to shore.

Bottom boats refer to smaller, often family-owned vessels that target species like snapper, grouper, drum, and other reef fish using hook-and-line or bottom longline gear. They’re nimble, community-based, and deeply tied to the rhythms of the Gulf.

Unlike large industrial trawlers, bottom boats operate on a scale that allows for careful handling of fish, lower environmental impact, and greater adaptability. Many captains know exactly where to go and when—navigating tides, seasons, and storm patterns with an intuition that can’t be taught in a classroom.

These boats are also incredibly important for economic resilience. In towns like Dulac, Chauvin, and Grand Isle, fishing isn’t just a job—it’s a lifeline. When hurricanes hit or markets fluctuate, bottom boats help keep money and food circulating locally.

But like so many traditional industries, the bottom boat fleet faces mounting challenges. Regulatory complexity, leasing costs, aging infrastructure, and competition from imported seafood all take a toll. And yet, these captains keep going—hauling in beautiful fish, rain or shine, to feed their families and yours.

At Jensen Tuna, we’re proud to work with this fleet. We see their skill, their heart, and their history. And we believe they deserve more recognition—not just as producers of great seafood, but as stewards of a way of life worth protecting.

So next time you order Gulf fish, think about the boat that brought it in. Chances are, it was a bottom boat—working the waters with purpose, passion, and pride.

The Untapped Value of Number Two Tuna

You’ve probably seen the pristine, ruby-red slices of tuna at a sushi counter, artfully arranged and glistening with freshness. That’s what the industry calls Number One tuna. But for every piece of Number One, there’s another side to the story—one that doesn’t make it to the spotlight. Enter Number Two tuna: the underappreciated, less glamorous, but incredibly valuable sibling in the tuna family.

So what is Number Two tuna, exactly? It’s not bad fish. In fact, it’s often the same species, caught in the same waters by the same skilled fishers. The difference comes down to aesthetic and technical grading—things like color, fat content, and texture. If a fish isn’t the perfect shade of red or doesn’t hold together in the exact right way when sliced, it’s graded a Number Two.

But here’s the catch: Number Two tuna is still fresh, still delicious, and still caught sustainably by hardworking crews. It just doesn’t fit the narrow definition that high-end buyers want. This grading system creates a huge imbalance in the market, where great product gets overlooked or undervalued.

That’s a problem for fishers, who depend on the whole fish to make a living. It’s also a missed opportunity for chefs, retailers, and consumers who want both quality and value.

At Jensen Tuna, we see Number Two tuna as a key part of our mission to reduce waste and support the full value of a boat’s catch. We work with chefs who know how to bring out the best in every grade of tuna—from poke bowls and ceviche to grilled steaks and sandwiches.

Supporting Number Two tuna isn’t just about dollars and cents—it’s about respect. Respect for the fish, for the people who caught it, and for the ecosystems that make seafood possible. By embracing the whole spectrum of quality, we help create a system that’s more resilient, more inclusive, and more delicious.

Understanding Leasing and Quota in Commercial Fishing: Why It Matters to Your Seafood

When you walk up to a seafood counter or order fish at a restaurant, you probably aren’t thinking about the leasing and quota systems that determine what fish is even available to you. But behind every filet of tuna or snapper lies a complex structure of regulations and economics that impacts everything from pricing to sustainability. These systems—though largely invisible to consumers—shape who gets to fish, how much they can catch, and how the seafood supply chain functions.

At its core, the quota system is meant to help manage fish populations responsibly. Under these systems, regulatory bodies set annual catch limits for specific fish species, dividing that quota among fishers or companies. In many cases, those rights can be leased or sold, creating a marketplace for access to the ocean's resources.

This may sound fair on the surface—allocating a sustainable amount of catch to prevent overfishing—but the system has ripple effects that are felt especially hard in working waterfront communities. Many small, independent fishers can't afford to buy quota outright. Instead, they’re forced to lease access from large companies or absentee quota holders, cutting into their already slim margins. In some cases, quota prices can be so high that fishers end up working just to pay off their lease.

This uneven playing field can have long-term consequences. When fishing rights are consolidated in the hands of a few, entire coastal communities lose their economic lifeline. Boats sit idle. Young people look for work elsewhere. Generational knowledge disappears. And ultimately, consumers may find fewer choices, higher prices, and less transparency at the seafood counter.

As a seafood buyer, you may not be able to reform national policy—but you can support companies that choose to work with a diverse fleet and advocate for fairer systems. At Jensen Tuna, we believe that access to fish shouldn’t depend on who can write the biggest check. It should depend on who’s willing to do the work, respect the resource, and contribute to a healthy future for seafood.

Why We Buy the Whole Boat

When we say we "buy the whole boat," we’re not just using a catchy slogan.

It’s a core part of how we operate at Jensen Tuna—and a powerful way to support sustainable seafood, vibrant fishing communities, and better transparency across the supply chain.

The term "buying the whole boat" means exactly what it sounds like: instead of cherry-picking only the most marketable species or highest-grade fish, we buy everything the boat lands.

That includes multiple species, multiple sizes, and multiple grades. We then work to find homes for each part of that catch, using creative sourcing, product development, and storytelling to make it all valuable.

Why does this matter?

For starters, it helps fishers. When a buyer agrees to purchase the whole catch, it gives boat owners more financial security and reduces waste. Fishers don’t have to throw back or discard perfectly good fish just because it’s not trendy or high-end.

It also helps with sustainability. If we’re going to eat from the ocean responsibly, we need to use what the ocean gives us—not just what looks good on a white plate. Diversifying demand eases pressure on overfished species and encourages a more holistic view of seafood.

Buying the whole boat also builds trust. Our partners know we’re not just in this for the top-dollar fish. We’re in it for the long haul, working together to tell the full story of each landing—from dock to table. We think that kind of relationship creates better business and better food.

At the end of the day, every fish has value. It’s our job to unlock it—and to make sure our customers understand just how much care, risk, and labor went into every bite.