Nusa Lembongan Island, which boasts luxurious mansions owned by seaweed farmers who contribute significantly to the island's economy, may be losing it's next generation of such farmers.

The late Made Kawijaya, also known as Pan Tarsin, was the pioneer of seaweed farming in Lembongan. In 1986, the man who used to poach sea turtles was awarded the Kalpataru award, the country's highest award for nature conservation.

That Pan Tarsin received the Kalpataru was in itself shocking, says his son Wayan Tarzan.

"They used to call my father a criminal for hunting endangered sea turtles and coral reefs, before he became a seaweed farmer," he says.

In the 1980s, Pan Tarsin was a notorious poacher of sea turtles. Battling high waves and chill ocean winds was part of his daily ritual. At the time, there was little else a man could do but hunt sea turtles and other prized bounty, including coral reefs and giant clams.

The endangered giant clams were especially valuable. The flesh, high in protein, and the shell, coveted material for high-quality ornaments, could help feed a family for a whole month back then.

But then there arrived on the island an official from the Klungkung Agriculture Agency, asking residents to start cultivating seaweed.

"He brought two types of seaweed, five kilograms of each. And since the hunters weren't catching enough sea turtles, they began learning how to farm seaweed," recalls Tarzan, part of the second generation of seaweed farmers in Nusa Lembongan.

The first harvest was a failure, and so was the second. Seaweed farmers did not make any money because the seaweed they produced was bartered for basic commodities, such as rice.

And then one day a customer from Ujung Pandang, now Makassar, in South Sulawesi, came with an offer to buy seaweed at Rp 300 (3 US cents) per kilogram. The farmers were buoyed by new hopes -- a rare commodity in what had always been one of the poorest regions in Bali province.

That hope was further strengthened by the advent of the island's tourism industry. Visitors and holidaymakers began trickling into the island.

Bali is now Indonesia's largest producer of seaweed after West Nusa Tenggara, East Nusa Tenggara, Central Sulawesi and South Sulawesi.

The cotonii and spinosum are the most commonly cultivated types.

In addition to seaweed, Pan Tarsin and his son began looking for opportunities in the tourism industry, deciding to build a hostel called Johny Losmen, one of the oldest in Nusa Lembongan.

The island's draw for visitors now revolves around two main attractions: the seaweed fields peppered around the island, and marine activities such as diving and surfing.

The seaweed farmers tending their plants, and the thousands of small boats scattered along the coast, have become a permanent fixture.

But the future is not looking very rosy for those who helped pull this island to its feet.

Tarsin was cremated this year. Tarzan has switched professions to become a contractor for hotel developments in his village after the tourism industry began garnering more local attention.

"All of my kids said they don't want to be farmers and decided to learn more about tourism in Bali. I'm pretty confused myself. What's going to happen to seaweed farming in the future?" Tarzan says.

A number of farmers have begun outsourcing their work to people from outside Nusa Lembongan.

The areas that used to be the heart of the seaweed industry are mostly populated by old women laboring over the post-harvest work of drying and seed-preparing.

"There are very few young people who are willing to farm seaweed. I suppose it can be called rough work," says Made Wiyata, 35, a farmer in Jungut Batu village.

Wiyata says his generation could be the last of Nusa Lembongan's seaweed farmers, adding he wasn't even sure whether he could still tend to his own farms due to stiff competition.

The number of non-Nusa Lembongan natives who have taken up seaweed cultivation on the island is on the rise. The increased supply has naturally caused price fluctuations.

"Right now it's only Rp 5,000 per kilogram of dry seaweed. Last month it reached Rp 13,000. I don't understand how the price can fall that much," Wiyata says.

Wiyata, who owns six seaweed fields inside a 600-square-meter area, can produce about one ton of dry seaweed, making about Rp 5 million a month at the current price of Rp 5,000 per kilogram.

His net income is only half that, but he remains stoic about it.

"It's not bad," he says.

"It's just a pity the young people are more willing to work in the tourism industry."

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