What 'AI' Can't Catch

Two dull thuds on metal. Followed by a clatter on plastic. At the stern of the boat, a wooden beam rises into the air. A metal rod is fixed into one of its holes, around which bright-yellow-gloved hands wind the dripping net. The pedal on the floor is reminiscent of a knitting class. Only a quiet hum accompanies the turning of the drum reeling in the net. Could a robot be standing here in ten years' time? Humanoid, weatherproof and stoic in the face of nature's whims? Will a fully automated machine one day haul fish from Lake Lucerne?

Experts warn of a massive decline in paid human work. 'AI' will increasingly perform tasks more cheaply and efficiently: people risk being replaced. The focus tends to fall on traditional office jobs or positions in IT and manufacturing, though fields such as law, medical diagnostics, consulting and the media and creative industries are coming increasingly into view. What about the skilled trades? What can the profession of a fisherman tell us about the meaning and value of human work?

Standing beside the ancient-looking 'Netzenknecht' — a traditional net-winding device — is Nils Hofer (64) from Meggen. Only the fitted LED light betrays the modern era. It casts its beam through the darkness onto the fisherman in his red jacket, orange sleeves and grey-and-white apron. 'Everything comes to an end eventually. The way things look at the moment… I haven't given up hope yet.' He would be open to someone from outside the family taking over. The job is no walk in the park. You have to be weatherproof and ready for long days. Nils Hofer is someone who chooses his words carefully, pausing briefly before he continues. 'You can earn money more easily — you have to want this.'

He frees the next fish from the net, taps it twice against the edge of the boat and tosses the whitefish into the crate. That is how fishermen before him will have done it for centuries. Today, too, several of Nils Hofer's relatives work in commercial fishing. Records show the Hofer family — working mostly as fishermen and ferrymen — have been in Meggen since the mid-16th century.

'As a boy you want to be a racing driver, a pilot… I even wanted to be a pirate once — but definitely not a fisherman!' In 1997, Nils Hofer took over the fishing business from his father Alois. 'We never really talked about it. But at some point it was clear to me: this is what I'm doing, full stop.' It became a consideration during his secondary school years and he simply grew into it. Nils Hofer is the father of three children. Today he runs the business with his two employees, Marjan Gegaj and Standa Kahoun.

The gentle movement of the water laps alternately against the sides of the boat with a soft gurgle. Nils Hofer relishes the atmosphere and the solitude of early morning on the lake. He needs a little time before he's properly awake. Most days he listens to Rock Antenne, a German digital radio station. Gulls screech from their perches on the buoys, lying in wait.

When he started out 45 years ago, around 25 professional fishermen were going out on the lake every day. 'Today, at best, there are nine.' The intensity has eased accordingly. The current number of fishermen is just about right. There are simply fewer fish in Lake Lucerne these days, and the shoals are more spread out. In search of food, they are on the move far more than before. Instead of fishing with a 1.8-metre net, he now uses one that is 6 metres deep and 80 metres long.

What else has changed over the years? 'You don't go out in every kind of weather any more.' During a Föhn storm in April 1983, he and his apprentice came head-on against the surge: 'After the third wave, it was over.' It had clearly been his mistake. The boat should have been positioned at a 45-degree angle to the waves. Fortunately, the Föhn drove them towards the shore, where a friend of his parents happened to live. But during those long metres swimming in the lake, his mind had run wild. By the afternoon, he was back at work.

A sense of tradition and faith is also reflected in a mural near the boathouse. The painting beside the garage depicts Jesus calming the storm on the Sea of Galilee. In 1978, his father built the boat shed — large enough to house four fishing vessels. In the afternoons, Nils Hofer repairs and maintains the nets on the upper floor. Eleven nets have been damaged this season. Collisions with traditional flat-bottomed boats and the bitter cold have taken their toll. The material used for nets has evolved — from cotton to nylon to even finer synthetics — but the actual technique of fishing has barely changed in a few hundred years. Of course, fishermen no longer have to row. The boats are fitted with 70-horsepower outboard motors.

But might fishing come into contact with artificial intelligence any time soon? 'I honestly can't imagine it.' Technologies for locating shoals — such as live sonar — might have some potential, but it's not really a topic on this lake. He expects the profession to gain in status: 'But if there's nobody left doing the work, that will obviously become a problem too.' Consumers in Lucerne and local restaurants want to buy and serve locally caught fish. The demand is there. On one hand, it's something people want — on the other, nobody wants to do it. He can imagine that will change. 'People who lose their jobs still need to do something. I'm not saying bankers will have to come — but it's not impossible.'