Image via WikipediaAlthough I was quite happy being a postman the adventure part of it left a lot to be desired.
Being bitten five times by dogs, or struggling about in deep snow to deliver the Queen's mail feeling like the last pony express, with the slogan "the mail must get through at any cost" ringing in my ears as I evaded another dog bite or snowdrift, was nothing in comparison to the thrill of punching into a storm in the dead of night with white crests towering above the mast seconds before they came crashing down around you.
The secure relatively safe life of a postman with terra firma beneath your feet, and a steady wage coming in at the end of the week might seem to some people quite idyllic in comparison to rolling about the ocean and holding on every time a lump of sea thundered into your boat drenching everything in site including you.
Not me I was born and bred to the sea and as I drove and wandered around delivering mail I used to recall the days of true adventure on the high seas and thought of the way the European Union had spoiled it all for future generations of fishermen who will probably never be able to capture the large amounts of fish in one haul as we used to do during the cod fishing at this time of year thanks to quotas that have become too restrictive and unnecessary in most cases.
Yes its March again, the month when the cod would come to the Firth of Clyde in large shoals to spawn in the warmer, shallow waters around the Ailsa Craig.
Cold winter days with biting winds howling from morning to night, seas rushing over the deck as we toiled,gutting cod for hours on end, making the most of the good catches to be had while the going was good, because when the cod left to go back to deeper waters the Clyde seem to empty of all other types of fish and a few lean weeks lay ahead of us.
Changing over to trawling for prawns was one option, but we used to tie the boat up and give her a good overhaul and paint in readiness for the summer fishing which would be the next opportunity to make big bucks.
In between times we made a steady living, except for the few weeks after the cod, so all the punishment was worth it when the bulging pay packets landed on the table in front of us.
All the freezing cold hours, hard graft, cut fingers and horrendous conditions were forgotten about as the aroma of beer hit our nostrils when we walked past the extractor fan on the pub window and the thought of a cold pint of lager being placed in front of us that would wash all the salty taste from our mouths and a whiskey to take the chill from our bones.
That was our excuse anyway if we ever needed one, but the first one certainly went down well and hit the right spot every time.
I had plenty of adventures to look back on during my then dull life as a postie, and nothing could or will be able to compensate for the sea. It seems that you, the readers think the same way by your response to my last post, so if it is sea adventures you want to read about there is plenty more to come.
AH! Thats more like the thing.
After one post about the Royal Mail I have decided to look out my oilskins again and relive more tales of the sea. If only I could have altered course so easily then I would have been very happy and more content but it was not a viable option at that time All you faithful readers will be pleased to know that one post was enough of the Royal Mail for me too, so you too can look out your oilskins for the next post.
There was still a cold winters chill in the breeze that blew off the sea on this March afternoon as I strolled along my usual haunt at Ayr beach, bringing back memories of the cod fishing around the Ailsa Craig at this time of year.
Although there was a breeze blowing the sea was calm, and had been for weeks now, something that did not seem to happen during the cod fishing when I was at sea, as I remember vividly getting tossed about every day with lumps of sea crashing down around us as we gutted cod continuously from daylight to dark, our hands freezing from the icy blast that whipped up the waves.
It was always after a cold winter that the cod were at their thickest, and as this was the coldest winter we have had for years, I was wishing I could get down to the fishing grounds to see for myself if there was any cod left to catch, as a few years ago, the European Union put a stop to fishing for them during the spawning season to try to replenish the stocks that had seemingly depleted over the years.
The cod came into the Firth of Clyde every year at this time to spawn bringing boats from all the fishing ports around the coast of Scotland to cash in on this bonanza. For around three weeks of March the cod were at their thickest, small catches appearing just before the main flood, and then again, after they returned to the deeper water, making the season last for about six weeks in all.
Each night Ayr harbour was full of fishing boats waiting to squeeze into a space at the quay to unload their catches to the eager buyers who, although the cod was plentiful, would try to out bid each other to acquire the green gold that could make or break their year, also for the fishermen whose livelihood depended on the shoals, and getting the best prices possible for their fish.
It is hard to believe that these shoals do not come here anymore, because even though they took a slaughtering, year after year they would return in greater numbers to go through the process all over again, until one year the numbers started to decline.
The winters had been getting warmer, and we had started to catch the cod in the deeper waters where they returned to after spawning, but we always believed that there were plenty more fish in the sea, so we carried on regardless, after all we were there to make money and that was what we were doing.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, we began to catch cod with both male and female reproductive organs inside them, and I often wondered if that was natures way of making sure they survived.
The grounds around the Ailsa Craig where these cod used to shoal, have not been fished for some time now, and given the conditions of this winter I would love to be able to have a couple of experimental hauls just to see if the warmer winters was one of the reasons the cod started to dwindle, or if it was the damage caused by us that depleted the stocks so much so that there came a point of no return.
Having kept all my hunting instincts even though I left the fishing years ago, I still think there are plenty fish in the sea, and that the cod found another place to spawn during the warmer winters, and now that we have had a cold spell just at the right time, my instincts when I walked along Ayr beach yesterday with the chilly breeze hitting my face told me the cod were there.
Whether it was just the smell of the cold sea air bringing back memories of the good old days, or my instinct I'll never know, because I'll never get to prove it one way or the other thanks to the laws of the European Union, which in this case might be good or bad. Who knows?
The yearning for these days, and their memories will never leave me, and no matter how many walks I take on a cold March day, this year or in years to come, I will be down at the fishing grounds around the "Craig" catching large hauls of cod, and there is nothing the European Union can do about that.
This is just a story I made up one night I was babysitting, and after mentioning it to "sashindoubutsu" who also has a great blog http://www.snappingpanda.blogspot.com, she inspired me to write it in here. Just a story to keep you occupied until my next post on Wednesday, and one you can tell your children, or grandchildren on a cold winters night when you tuck them up in bed.
It is dedicated to my loving partner Pat, who I missed for 38 years until she came back into my life, making it possible to write the stories I now place on the Internet for all to read should they so wish.
Donald was so used to the various seabirds that flew around him when he was fishing that he never gave them much thought.
Sometimes some of the large hake Donald fished for in the summer months would escape from the net, and with the air in their bellies they would float on the surface allowing Donald and his crew to retrieve them after the net was hauled aboard.
Each fish counted, as being so large they were worth a lot of money, especially when the buyers from Spain and countries far away came to purchase them.
As soon as the big hake drifted clear of the net, the small fulmars would scurry round it, pecking at the belly to feed on the liver, and as one pierced the stomach, another would grab the liver, and gobble it down, costing Donald and his crew lots of money, because the big hake, having no air to keep it afloat would sink to the bottom before Donald could maneuver the boat close enough to rescue it.
Sometimes they could scare the fulmars away by shouting and waving their arms, but, the poor fulmars, being so hungry ignored the crew and more often than not the large expensive fish would sink from sight.
Being a kind hearted person Donald took the attitude of "live and let live" and would sometimes throw the insides of the fish he was gutting towards a sad looking fulmar swimming alone, all wet and hungry on the stormy sea that was whipped up by the strong summer breeze.
During the day as the fish came aboard it attracted the seagulls who snatched the food out of the fisherman's hands before they had time to release the guts into the water, or jump all over the deck, stealing fish here and there when the crew were otherwise engaged, or dived in flocks, pouncing on the guts that had the chance to hit the water.
The crew hated the seagulls as they were thieves who stole from them, but they had a soft spot for the little fulmars who tackled the large hake ten times the size of themselves, just to get a bit of food,all because the evil seagulls chased them away from the easy gotten food thrown away by the fishermen.
Another seabird was the graceful Gannet who flew around and around circling high above the boat when the net was being hauled, diving straight into the water at the speed of a bullet when they spied the small shiny fish swimming out of the net deep beneath the waves, catching their supper before the greedy seagulls could get them.
The Gannets have sharp eyes that can spot the fish clearly even though they are so high in the sky, and the fish are so deep in the water, but as they get old their eyes get damaged, owing to the speed they hit the water, and by keeping their eyes open as they swim deep down under the waves to catch their food, which eventually leads to blindness.
The Gannets came to nest on The Alisa Craig, an island in the middle of the waters Donald fished, and each day as the net came up the Gannets would dive deep to catch enough food to carry back to their babies tuck warmly in the nests high up on the cliff face, hungry mouths wide open waiting until their parents caught enough fish to return and feed them.
Every day each year during the summer months Donald witnessed this amazing sight, not realizing the damage the older birds were doing to their eyes, until one day he heard a thump on the mast high above the deck, and on turning round saw a Gannet landing in a clump right on top of a box of fish.
"Whats going on here" Donald said aloud as he walked cautiously towards the stunned Gannet, and thought he was hearing things when the Gannet spoke back to him saying, "please help me Donald, my name is Graham, I am old now and my eyesight is so bad that I failed to see the mast of your boat, and crashed into it." "I have two hungry children waiting to be fed, and I am all they have left." "My wife drowned only last week, caught up in a fishing net as she dived too close to the fish in the net, her eyesight failing her to." "This was to be our last year here before we flew south to a warmer climate where we planned to retire and reminisce about our happy memories of our life together up here in Scotland." "Alas it is not meant to be, but if I can only feed the children until they are old enough to look after their self, I can then fly south and spend my last days alone, happy in the knowledge that, at least I saw my little ones fly from the nest,strong enough to look after their self."
Donald, although amazed at the talking Gannet, understood, telling the Gannet that he too was retiring, in just two weeks time, and that he had a nice sixty foot motor cruiser all loaded up ready to take him south to a warmer climate where he could sail around the warmer parts of the ocean and enjoy his retirement, but he would feed the Gannet every day until he stopped working.
True to his word, Donald kept a look out for Graham the graceful dad, and grampa Gannet, making sure he had enough food for, not only his young ones but enough to feed himself too.
The day Donald retired Graham came to the boat one last time, and told Donald that the young had flown the nest, and the only food he would need was enough to give him the strength to fly south, giving him about six weeks to accomplish this.
It was then, Donald reminded Graham that this was his last day at the fishing and as early as next week he was taking off on his new adventures.
Graham, sad that he would never see Donald again, thanked him for all his help and flew back to Alisa Craig, and the empty nest vacated by his last two children, who were by now off hunting their own fish along with their older brothers and sisters, of whom, some had children of their own.
The large family were too busy foraging for food to feed their self and their young that they forgot all about their graceful dad, and grampa Graham.
Too blind and too old to catch much fish on his own Graham became quite weak, living on the few meagre scraps left behind once all the other birds had fed, until the day came when they all had to fly south before winter set in.
It was six weeks since Donald had left, and as the other Gannets began to take off, bellies full of fish and enough strength to last them until they reached their destination in the warm climate of another country, Graham tried one more dive as he spotted through his misty eyes a fish swimming near the surface.
Sploosh! Straight into the water he went for one last meal before his long flight, but all he came up with was one small fish, not enough to give him the energy to fly all the way south, and the only hope he had now was to catch something on the way.
When he surfaced, through tear filled eyes, he watched the flocks disappear into the distance as he placed the little fish between his beak, saving it,knowing it would be needed later on during his long journey.
Owing to that last dive, all the other birds had flown far ahead of him leaving him to struggle on alone, thinking, "if only Donald had retired a few weeks later."
He was a brave Gannet though, and battled on south becoming weaker and weaker as the miles went past, until nearing the equator, with his little fish eaten days ago, and now on his last legs, he spied through tear covered eyes, blinding him even more, something shinning in the water beneath him. A fish he thought,if I can catch this I might just get enough energy to last me the final miles to retirement.
The sun was high in the bright clear sky over the equator, which made his target sparkle and shine so strongly that he thought he could not fail.
Woosh! he dived down at speed just like the old times, but on approaching the shiny object, realized that it wasn't a fish after all but the sun reflecting on the bald patch of a mans head, all too late though as he crashed onto the deck of a boat.
Stunned and dazed, as he slowly opened the hazy eyes that had failed him so often in these latter years, he thought they were now playing cruel tricks on him when the vision before him cleared.
It was Donald, he had landed on Donald's boat of all places, and no, his eyes were not playing tricks on him as he soon realized, because the familiar comforting voice of his old friend rang in his ears as he rallied once more on the deck of Donald's boat.
Donald recognized him right away, and speaking in a soft voice said "I think its time we cracked open a tin of sardines before you get any worse Graham."
Once again Donald had come to his rescue, and as the boat continued south, Graham became stronger with the tinned fish Donald fed him with. As the days passed, and Graham had recovered all his strength, Donald told him that although he was now strong enough he had not to go off on his own again, and that they could travel the rest of the way together, keeping each other company along the way.
One night a fierce storm blew up, with hurricane force winds screaming through the rigging, whipping up gigantic seas, but the skill of Donald kept them afloat as they dodged through the huge waves that crashed around them.
All of a sudden the sky went black as the light was hidden by an enormous wave that towered above them, "save yourself" Fly away" Donald shouted to Graham as the sea burst over the small craft smashing it to pieces, but Graham owing so much to Donald stayed with him until the bitter end.
End it was, Donald's body was found floating among the wreckage of his boat, with a dead Gannet drifting nearby on the by now calm sea two days later.
None of them had fulfilled the dream they had set out to achieve of retiring to a warmer climate, and both of them perished just a few days away from reaching their goal, both of them had kind hearts, but that never saved them from the stormy sea.
All these years battling against the elements, both Graham and Donald, only to perish so close to their dream by the cruel sea that gave Donald and Graham so much pleasure, and had been the source of sustenance throughout their lives.
They do say though, on a clear sunny day near the equator, when the Gannets, old and young, are flying south, a bright reflection can be see from the air, coming from what looks like a motor cruiser, and the smell of sardines floats across the sea as the old Gannets with fading eyesight dive for one last meal.
Maybe, just maybe, although Donald and Graham are dead and buried, their kind hearts are there to carry on watching over the good people of this world.
So if you are ever flying over the equator, or sailing near to it, on a clear sunny day, or floating through a sea of dreams anywhere in the world, watch out for a reflection in the water it might just be them looking out for you......... but only if you are good.
Don't think of this as a sad ending because when a good person dies it means there is another angel in heaven to watch over us.
That's where Donald and Graham are.
Donald is watching over us, while Graham the graceful Gannet is watching over the birds, especially the old Gannets with failing eyesight.
The last part was added for the sake of Tricia.
http://www.thegirlwhowearsmyshoes.com/ Another touching blog.
Author based in Scotland.
After years spent at sea as a commercial fisherman I witnessed spectacular sights in the night sky while waiting for daylight to break.
After I retired I decided to write on the subject.
Image via WikipediaAlthough I was quite happy being a postman the adventure part of it left a lot to be desired.
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