The black and white photo above is in this years calendar printed for "Scottish Fishermen's Organisation LTD.
It is in for the month of June and I have been looking at it every morning when I come to my computer. The boy standing aft is me in my teens on the family boat Olive Tree which at the time was a modern fishing vessel, but each morning this month as I look at it I always notice something that has changed drastically, none more so than the life raft.
The oblong box on the galley roof just aft of the wheelhouse is where the life raft was situated at the time, which meant that if the boat was sinking two men would have to clamber up there to release the raft.
Their first task when they reached the wooden box would be to unhook the four hooks at each corner that held the lid fast, dispatch of the lid, grab hold of a handle situated on each side of the bag the raft was encased in and haul the heavy object out.
The rafts in those days were not made of the light materials modern day vessels carry, but of heavy waterproof canvass type stuff covering a heavy rubber compound and encased inside a canvass bag which made the task of removing the bag difficult in the best of conditions, e.g. when it was taken out in the harbour when its yearly check was due, and its survival contents renewed. (food chocolate tobacco flares etc.)
This was done when we went for our annual overhaul of the engine and a paint to smarten the boat up for the summer fishing, and I had to struggle along with another strong member of the crew to get the raft out of its box, then lowered onto the deck for collection with the help of our lifting derrick. It was then that I thought, what chance would we have if we were in a raging sea sinking, or on fire?
Time would be of the essence, a matter of life and death situation, and our task would be to struggle to get this heavy life raft into the sea which would have been our only chance of survival. Clamber on top of the wheelhouse go through the motions I just described, then we had to tie a cord to a secure point on the sinking boat and throw the raft into the sea where on its contact with the water the cord should have by then been pulled with the throw and automatically opened and inflated the raft.
If by that time we still had some of the boat to stand on, or for that matter still alive, we then had to try to get on to that raft.
Many lives were lost because of the conditions I have described, with some but a few saved, where conditions might have been more favorable.
Thank goodness for the progress on vessels of today where the raft or rafts (some have and need two) are situated in easier accessible positions, made of lighter materials, and all you need to do is release the plastic casing with a quick release clip and throw.(A long cord was already attached to where the raft had been secured on the boat. This of course was needed to haul the raft into a position that would enable us to board it.) The raft inflates in seconds, has a roof and provisions, as did the old ones, (minus the roof, which would have added even more weight) in case rescue was delayed for some reason.
The new ones also sends out a signal that can give your position and in some cases even inform the coastguard which boat is in distress.
That to me was one of the more important changes, not only to the fishing industry, but to all mariners who have had to abandon ship.
More emphases is put on safety every year on all types of craft, but to me when I look in horror at the box above the galley, I am so glad that we never had the misfortune to need its contents as I might never have been able to describe the most important life saving change I witnessed during my time at sea.
One thing to remember is that lives will always be lost at sea no matter how safety conscious we become as we will never tame the sea and there will always be a need for the brave men and women in the rescue services who never let us down in our time of need.
A big thanks always goes out to them.
I never thought I would end up as pin-up boy on a calendar. ha ha.
You can make out the new type raft in the first photo, just forward of the wheelhouse, and there would most likely be one on the side opposite.
Click on the photos to enlarge them and give you a better view.
The jobs on a fishing boat are not all about catching fish, we all have our designated jobs to do, to maintain the efficient running of the boat. We have to know about the engine, and how to do repairs at sea, on all the machinery, keep the bilges dry by pumping them out on a regular basis,(normally a man is designated to look after the engine, which could mean any one from the skipper to the main deckhand, as long as he has enough knowledge of them, which most fishermen do anyway.) Everything is kept clean in the galley (the cooks job) the hold is always scrubbed with disinfectant after landing (the hold mans job) and the deck and surrounding areas are scrubbed after the last of the fish has been stowed, as we set off for the nearest port to land. (the deckhands job)
In this particular case it was the skipper/owner who, rather than trust any of the crew to look after his pride and joy, chose to do it himself. He would start the engine each time we put to sea, stop it when we finished our trip, change the engine oil, and do all the necessary maintenance the engine needed, and checked the bilges on a regular basis, pumping them out when needed.
There is quite an accumulation of water in the bilges at times, especially after we have landed and the hold man has finished scrubbing, but normally the bilge pump is running during this operation so, by the time he is finished the water will all be pumped out.
Among other sources of water entering the bilges, you also had ice melting from the tons of ice carried to keep the fish fresh, so a close eye had to be kept on them at sea to keep the water level down.
One lovely summers day,on the first day of a new trip with only a slight swell running, we had just cleared the decks of fish from our second haul when the skipper shouted in a panic out of the wheelhouse window "MAN THE PUMPS WE ARE SINKING!"
There was two manual pumps worked from the deck of this particular boat (all boats having hand pumps that were worked from the deck) so at once, one man began pumping the small pump aft, while the other two men on deck rigged up the bigger pump, and in no time at all the water was flowing out of the boat.
As we were towing at the time the gear steaming from our stern would only hamper us should the circumstances get worse, so the next order from the skipper was to let the brakes off the winch and run off the gear, which would give us maneuverability at least. The wires we used to tow our gear were tied onto the winch with rope, which made them easier to ditch should an event such as this occur, but we had to stand clear, as the skipper, in such a hurry never slowed the boat down when we came near the end, bursting them away rather than cut them loose, making them spring about the deck in a very dangerous way as they rumbled over the side.
Thousands of pounds worth of gear dumped at sea, but it might save our lives if we couldn't get the flow of water stopped, and we had the position of it charted with our "DECCA" (decca navigator) allowing us to retrieve it should we survive.
The skippers next move was to steam for the nearest fishing boat, which, lucky enough was only a couple of hundred yards away, and tie alongside it while we kept pumping the bilges, but the slight swell on the sea seemed bigger when the two boats came together, which could inflict damage on both boats, so we untied the ropes and dodged beside them, keeping them close, "just in case." Having already experienced some dubious decisions from this skipper, and with everything seemingly under control, I decided to check out the source of our announced sinking.
When the skipper saw me heading for the engine room he said, "its not a panic, the water is gushing up under the engine," and sure enough, once down in the engine room, when I looked at the source of the panic, water was spraying up from the bilges.
On closer examination, I noticed the water level was up to the propeller shaft and it was a coupling on the shaft that was throwing the water up, not a leak in the hull as we were led to believe by the skipper.
When I pointed this out to him, he tried to cover his panic by saying that it was better not taking any chances, as soon as he saw the water squirting up, his thought was for the safety of the crew.
Aye whatever, I thought, all it would have taken was to look more carefully and all this panic, and dumping of the gear could have been prevented.
When I went back up on deck and broke the news to the boys, they were very relieved at first then shook their heads in disbelief at this fool of a skipper who was supposed to be the most responsible man on board, and who had also undertaken the job of keeping the bilges dry, but through his negligence had let them fill up to this level.
Panic over, and the bilges pumped dry we went back to retrieve our gear before we could start fishing again, but during his denied panic the skipper had lost the decca readings of where the gear lay, and we only had a rough idea where it was.
We towed for hours with the creeper over our stern in the area where we thought it was until finally we felt a pull, the rope leading from the winch to the creeper began to strain, a sure sign that something was on the end of it.
At last we had found the thousands of pounds worth of net, trawl doors, sweeps and wires that we had dumped hours ago, but after being in the water so long the tide had tangled them together quite badly, and it was well into the night before we managed to get it all aboard and sorted out ready for shooting again.
Through the stupidity of the skipper we had feared for our lives, lost half a days fishing, and went without sleep all night trying to prepare the gear in time for daylight breaking, nonetheless, as all good crews do, we had everything ready for the morning, and once the gear was shot we all lay down for a well earned rest, grabbing a few hours sleep while we towed away, except the skipper of course whose job it was to stay in the wheelhouse and do the job he is supposed to do.
As I drifted off to sleep the days events ran through my mind, and I thought to myself that it was time to move on, there are skippers and there are skippers, this guy had blundered once to often, and in my mind, had a long way to go before I would class him as a Skipper.
The rest of the trip went by, thankfully uneventful, but I never felt safe with that skipper in command again and moved on soon after to a prosperous boat with a reliable man at the helm.
The sea is no place to be with people you can't depend on, one of the places where your life depends on trusting the people around you, none more so than the skipper, and when faith in him is gone it's time you were to.
The white fish was getting scarce, so with the Girl Margaret, being rigged for trawling as well as seine netting, we decided it was time to change over to the mid water pair trawling for herring, and as the fishing trawler "Alliance" from Campbeltown was a suitable neighbour for us with a similar sized engine, the pair team of Girl Margaret and Alliance was born.
I had never been to the pair trawling, or herring fishing before, so this was a completely new experience for me, but as all trawling methods have the same technique it was going to be easier for me to pick up the job than it was for the Campbeltown crew to learn the seine net, so I did not see any problems there, it was only the fact that we would be working as a pair team that worried me.
The nets used have a much bigger mesh than the bottom trawls, as you can see in at the start of the video above, of mid water trawls being hauled, and the herring catch coming aboard, the video also features clips of some disasters at sea, and "purse seine" fishing boats mentioned in earlier posts, entering port laden with fish.
The other parts of the gear were the same idea other than the tons of chain hanging from the foot rope of the net that aided the wing of the deep net to stretch fully when being towed at speed through the water at the required depth. The other boat had had the same setup and therefore when one net was shot out (shot by the first boat to come across a spot of herring) the other boat came along side and took a wing, then both boats separated to a distance that kept the mouth of the net open, and run enough wires out to meet the required depth of the spot of herring that had been sighted. The net was towed between the two boats,while the skippers watched in their net monitors, at the spot of herring being towed straight into the gaping net about to engulf them.
Job done and the gear was hauled back, but once the net broke the surface the two boats had to come together and pass the wing of the net back on to the boat that shot the net, so all the herring would go down the bag and safely into the cod end. (Not an easy task in rough weather as men had to jump back and forth to assist with hauling the net and boxing the herring.) The boat that shot the net would take the all herring aboard unless there was too much for one boat to handle, therefore more jumping back and forth would take place and the remaining herring landed onto the deck of the other boat, to be boxed in their hold.
The jumping from boat to boat was more to share the workload between the crews, as the profits made from our spoils were shared equally, so it was only fair that the work should be shared.
Our pair of boats were varnished rather than the normal paint jobs you see today, a throwback from the early days of the ring netting boats which were tied up for the lean months, and scraped back to the wood, then had several coats of varnish lovingly brushed onto them by their crews who took great pride in seeing the finished article sailing from port at the beginning of the new season shining like a new pin.
The decks were varnished too which made them quite slippy at the best of times, but when the herring was coming aboard, and their scales, slime and spawn were mixed with the salt water running down the decks, you could barely keep your feet.
The first tow went according to plan, and it was the Alliance who spotted the shoal, so it was their net that went into the water, so when it was time to haul, and the boats came together, I was the first to jump aboard eager to observe my first sighting of herring coming out of the water. The herring fishing is carried out during the night,and when we hauled the net through the power block (as seen in video) the deck lights were shining all around the sea beside the boat and the Girl Margaret was standing off at a safe distance watching the proceedings, and trying to spot the cod end though the glow to see if the shoal was as big as we had surmised from the sonar soundings.
As the net neared the boat you could see the sea sparkle silver with the scales being threshed through the mesh by the bulk of herring running down the bag, and as it entered the radius of the deck lights, the sea around the boat shimmered silvery from the bag solid with fish.(hence the name "silver darlings" when refering to the herring)
The next job was to get them aboard and into the hold, which meant on the Alliance, landing them on deck above the manhole that leads into the lockers where some of the crew would be standing by to spread them evenly throughout the hold, while we on deck would keep filling the cod end and emptying it constantly until all the fish were aboard.
On man at the winch heaving the cod end aboard, and ME standing forward ready to pull the gun, (a metal catch rather than just a knot) that secured the opening of the cod end once it had swung aboard above the manhole, other men standing aft, held up boxes at the side of the boat, taking care that none of the fish splashed back over the low gunnel's of the boat, designed more in the style of the old ring netters.
The first lift swung over the rail, and once it stopped swinging about and settled I bent down and pulled the gun, "SWOOSH" tons of herring spilled onto the deck taking the feet from me, as my boots failed to grip the deck that had become slippier than an ice rink, sending me flying along the deck on a sea of fish, scales, and water running up inside my oilskins, and only a couple of feet of gunnel to stop me being washed over the side. I managed to grab hold of the stay that helped secured the foremast, just as the sea of herring thinned enough to let me feel the deck beneath my body again, giving me some control over my destiny. Gathering myself together I slithered back to my position, soaked to the skin, to hammer the gun shut and throw the cod end back for another fill. Up she came again, and by this time I could hardly keep my feet to get near the gun, so owing to the fact, that I was already covered from head to foot in scales, water and muck of all sorts I took my boots and socks off and carried on for the rest of the procedure in my bare feet, and each time the cod end opened the herring would swoosh around my feet and up around the legs of my jeans, covering everything in thick scales, but at least I stood firm on the deck with every lift, until the net was empty, and the hold full to the hatches with good quality herring.
We had filled one boat, so we headed off to Tarbert at the north end of the Kintyre Peninsula, on the north side of the Kilbrannan sound where we had been fishing, allowing me an hour and a half to get cleaned up before we started to land.
We all had a good laugh at the nights events, happy in the knowledge that for one nights fishing we already had a decent weeks wages secured, and the problem of the slippy varnished deck would be solved by placing a long rubber mat across the deck where men would be standing.
The Girl Margaret had no such problem as the varnish on her decks had been well and truly rubbed clean with all the work at the seine net, and her gunnel's were twice the height of the Alliance's, so when it was our turn to take the herring aboard the following night the job was much easier.
We had the boat laid out in a way that when the herring came aboard they ran through the manhole onto a chute directed at a table where the crew would be standing with boxes at the ready to be filled, and stacked in the hold,(see video)which made it easier to land the herring, also it kept them in a better condition, as there was not the pressure put on them as they lay pack together the way they were in the Alliance's hold.
Although the Alliance was a fairly new boat she had been built in the style of the old ringers, with a fo'c's'le (which is forward) instead of a cabin (which is aft,) giving her a large hold, but with less headroom to carry out the task of direct boxing, the way we could on the Girl Margaret, having to settle for carrying them in bulk to port, and shovel them into boxes during landing, all leading up to a lot of unnecessary work, also there was the problem of the slippy decks, and very low gunnel's. From then on if it was possible we carried the herring, which pleased William from the Alliance, who jumped at the chance to get aboard our boat especially nearing meal times as we had a great cook aboard, and you were always guaranteed a slap up feed after the herring was stowed away and we headed to the market.
One such night the cook shouted down the hold to us when we were under way and readying the boxes to land, (around five in the morning, as we worked during the night, as I said) asking what we would would like for breakfast,( herring, kippers, or bacon and eggs etc.)
Thinking on my usual time of heading to market at the seine net, late afternoons, I jokingly shouted back "a fish supper would be great", William laughing and agreeing with me, but expecting bacon and eggs to be waiting when we reached the galley an hour later.
When we sat down a large plate of fish and chips was placed before us, the white fish having come aboard among the herring, and the cook taking us at our word, had prepared a brilliant dinner for us to consume in the early hours of the morning.
I must say even at that hour it went down a treat, but the next time the cook asked us what we wanted for breakfast we made sure it was breakfast we ordered, as the fish supper lay heavy in our stomachs during landing, giving us both bad indigestion. Punishment maybe for trying to take the mickey out of our wily old cook.
It was in the summer of 1975 when the "Girl Margaret" sailed into Ayr during the hake fishing, and as I looked on when they landed their catch, my ambitions to upgrade our family boat proved to be the right decision, because the amount of hake they landed for their two days was more than we were catching in a week.
As the fish kept coming out of the hold I had a look around her,and her modern fittings with the hydraulic power block at the stern for hauling the net, hydraulic winch (compared to belt driven) rope bins below the coiler on the fore deck, that gave you more room on the deck once the new style heavy synthetic leaded ropes were coiled into them,( Taking the place of the Manila hemp ropes used by the older boats of the fleet, like the Olive tree) the transom stern where two nets could be laid on, one for shooting and the other ready for a quick turn around in case the other was torn, a whaleback to provide a small amount of shelter from the spray in rough days were all there to be seen on the deck, things I had thought about before they were introduced by someone else.
The wheelhouse was designed to hold the new extra equipment that was being fitted to the modern fishing boats to improve their catching ability, and the Girl Margaret had them all, tinted reinforced windows, and the surrounds finished in formica plus a mess deck in the galley, also finished in formica.
A 500hp Bodwin engine was her power pack, twice the power of the Olive Tree, and when she stared up she burst into life with a terrific roar, so much so that you needed ear mufflers when you entered the engine room.
Their biggest problem was that the men From Campbeltown were used to prawn or herring fishing and had never been to the seine net, which curtailed their efficiency to clear the decks of fish during these large hauls, this being more evident when half of the fish they landed that evening were condemned because they had rotted in the hold during one short trip, and the prices they received for the rest were the poorest in the market that sale.
It was a Thursday evening, and the crews were finished until Monday, where they would head out again to tackle the heavy fishing of hake to be had at that time of year, but after observing from a distance, all these events, and talking to the skipper of the Girl Margaret later, it was to be the Girl Margaret that I would be sailing on next.
The crew went to the pub at Ayr harbour for a few half's before sailing back across to Campbelltown to spend the weekend, and it was there that I met up with them. I knew them from way back, Campbeltown being a second home to me, it being a handy port to lie during storms plus the fact that the fish was to be had not far from there, but the better market prices was at Ayr.
The skipper and crew were somewhat downhearted at the poor reception there fish had received, and as this was their first week at the job, and both landings that week getting the worst results they could have ever imagined, they asked me for some advice, not for a minute thinking I would leave the Olive Tree.
During the conversation it turned out that one of the crew was only temporary, and had only been out for the week, so jokingly they asked me if I was interested in the berth. Having been pondering about it I said YES much to their delight and surprise, and immediately left the pub and transferred my boots, oilskins etc from the Olive tree to the Girl Margaret saving me carrying them from Ayr to Campbeltown on the bus journey that lay ahead of me the coming Sunday, having had no need to own a car until now.
My uncle was very disappointed when I told him I was leaving and tried to get me to change my mind, but I was adamant, and told him he had the chance to update our boat and never took it, so now I was looking after my own interests, as I had a wife and son to think about now. After another few drinks with my new crew members I threw their mooring ropes off and waved them away when they left for Campbeltown around midnight, assuring them I would see them on Sunday night in their home town.
I broke the news to my wife when I went home, and told her about the way it would be for a little while, with me not getting home so often, but that money would be sent home every weekend. With the Girl Margaret being based in Campbeltown it would mean if she was not landing in Ayr I would sleep aboard and only come home when it was suitable, if there was a few days between trips, but in the meantime for the next few weeks I would be home the same as before until the end of the hake fishing, with plenty more money than lately.
She wasn't too happy about it either, but she waved me away at the door when I set out on the Sunday afternoon, suitcase in hand to walk the two miles to the train station, where I caught a train to Glasgow, then a bus which would take me all the way to Tarbert, a beautiful fishing village at the top end of the Kintyre peninsula, then another bus would take me the last part of the way to Campbeltown, all in all a seven hour journey by land, that only took four to four and a half hours by sea.
It was a beautiful sunny summers day when I set off, and never having travelled the journey before I looked forward to the views I would get as we drove along the picturesque shores of Loch Lomond, and on down through other scenery of my native land that I had never seen. My feet were aching by the time I reached the bus station in Glasgow, and in between the toes in my right foot a throbbing sensation began, as I sat in the heat of the bus, at the side where the sun was blazing through the windows, which took the full blast of it, all the way down to Inveraray, our first stop for a break after two sweltering hours. I had come down alongside the longest Loch in Scotland and never enjoyed one minute of it, and as the bus was full I had to retake the same seat for the next stage to Tarbert, sweltering in the sun even though I only had a thin shirt on, which made the journey seem twice as long as it really was. (which was more than long enough anyway.) By the time we got to Tarbert the sun was cooling a bit but my toes were throbbing more, and the next and last leg of my journey was no more pleasant than the rest,me travelling through some of the most beautiful scenery in Scotland and never enjoyed one moment of it.
I finally reached Campbeltown around 9 o'clock at night, and as the bus drew up outside the pub my new skipper came out to greet me, making sure that he was going to have a full crew in the morning, and that I had kept my word on joining them.
He took me inside, where the rest of the crew were standing and bought a round of drinks, then headed home happy in the knowledge that all was well for tomorrow. I was taken to where the boat was lying, and shown round by one of the crew before he went home, then turned into my bunk, foot still throbbing, and fell sound asleep tired from my days travelling in the sun.
I awoke with a jump early the next morning with the sound of the big Bodwin engine firing into life, my new adventure was about to begin, and the athletes foot I discovered that was between my toes, about to end.
Top picture (a view of Campbeltown Loch) Middle pictue (part of Campbeltown harbour) Bottom picture ( a part of Loch Lomond in all its beauty)
Harbours are normally known as safe havens for boats and shipping of all kinds, but sometimes things can go wrong in these places too, depending on wind direction, and the way the harbour is built, be it on a river or a walled area in a bay, or inlet of many shapes and sizes. There has to be an entrance, and with that entrance, you have to take into consideration which way winds and tides are going to affect them, some being closed during gales that blow from certain directions, making the so called safe haven a dangerous place to be if there is no protection across the entrance.
Ayr was one of the harbours built on a river with the main dock for the fishing boats, on the actual flow of the river, with one fairly large dock built to one side away from the flow to accommodate the larger cargo vessels, where coal and timber were the main freights. The fish market was built in the sixties down along the berthing facilities where, when a heavy fishing was to be had around the waters of the Firth of Clyde a large fleet of boats would land their catches. Boats from the north east coast of Scotland all the way down to the South Firth (the South Firth being the Firth of Forth) would gather at Ayr for the cod fishing in the spring, when these large fish would come into the warmer, shallower waters to spawn. Likewise in the summer months a good hake fishing was to be had in the waters between the Ailsa Craig and the Mull of Kintyre, which also attracted a large fleet of boats mainly from the North East around the Moray Firth area.
When these large fleets were in port, after landing their catch, you could almost walk from one side of the harbour to the other, all the way down the length of the pier, so you can imagine what it was like when a North Westerly wind blew strong gusts straight up the river, creating a large swell, and sometime a strong spate to contend with, turning a peaceful river into a torrent, that rocked the fleet every way imaginable, damaging some in the process. The North Westerly wind was the worst wind you could wish for in Ayr as it blew right into the harbour with no breakwater across the mouth to prevent the seas from raging in. When the fleet was in danger of doing severe damage some of the boats would run for Troon, (a better harbour which has now taken over as the main fishing port on the Clyde)leaving the rest to battle, standing by with engines running all night,keeping an eye on the mooring ropes in case they broke, which happened often, and with the wind easing at dawn,and the seas calming, the boats left for another heavy days fishing, with very tired crews.
Even in port, rest was never guaranteed, we could have dodged at sea but we would still have to stay on watch, or we could all have gone to Troon, but by the time we all shifted and got moored up it would have been time to leave for the fishing grounds again. This did not happen too often when the harbour was full, but many a night during the winter, when there was just a few local boats, we had to stand watch all night in Ayr harbour, because old habits die hard was the motto of the skippers, and while they were tucked warm and cosy in their beds at home the crews slept aboard,ready to face the day ahead even if they had been up all night.
It wasn't just heavy fishing and gales that kept us from our bunks, we had a short but happy time ashore when we got the chance, and in my younger days the only sleep I sometimes had was the couple of hours it took to get to the fishing ground, (if it was not my watch) making the most of my shore leave in one way or another. (of which I would rather not go into)(if it was my watch I had no sleep, sleep being a luxury anyway.)
One calm night on returning to the boat early enough to grab some sleep, after a few drinks, I turned into my bunk which was in the aft most part of the cabin with three other crewmen sharing the same cabin, (but not the bunk, you'll understand. Six bunks to this cabin)
They were fast asleep as I crept aboard, as not to disturb them, and managed to reach my bunk in the dark, climbed in, pulled the covers over me and began to drift into a deep sleep. Ahhh just the job.......... suddenly BANG! CRASH!.... the boat rocked violently, and before I could gather my wits about me, one of the crew jumped out of his bunk, not fully awake, shouting, WE'RE SINKING.....WE'RE SINKING, as he made a dash for the steps leading to the galley and safety. Alan, the youngest member of the crew somehow, through fear of drowning, and being wakened out of his sleep to this nightmare managed to creep in between the legs of the first man, reaching the galley well ahead of us all, taking the steps two at a time. I, watching from my bunk, and the nearest to the point of impact, rubbed my eyes in disbelief, at the scene I was witnessing, and thought, well if we are sinking I am last ashore, but at this moment I don't see, hear or feel any water gushing in.
By the time I reached the galley the other three were standing on deck, looking at the boat that had just rammed us in the stern, smashing the planks beside our stern post and splitting our mizzenmast in two,as its bow hit it full on, but thankfully, all the damage was above the waterline.
The "UTOPIA" had come in late, and tried to moor up behind us, but when the skipper went to put the boat astern to slow it down, the gears jammed, and we were the only thing left to stop it. Damage surveyed, and excitement over, we all turned in again, my plan of a decent sleep hit on the head again, and when sailing time came a couple of hours later, a quick repair job was done, enough to let us carry on fishing until it could be repaired properly.
The job is hard enough when you get sleep, and when your night is disturbed by gales, you can accept that, or if you stay ashore until sailing time its your own fault, but when you try to be good, and turn in at a decent time, expecting to waken up refreshed, and your slumber is disturbed by a boat ramming you in the stern, you have to wonder, "why God," what did I do to deserve this. Perhaps my question would have been answered if I thought about the things I got up to when I was ashore. I was no angel, I smoked, drank alcohol and had many girlfriends around the ports we used to call in at, I was rough, tough and ready for anything, and ME brought up in a brethren household. Tut Tut no rest for the wicked. Its a true saying. I get plenty rest now, so there's hope for me yet.
In the past months I have been relaying adventures of my life at sea, and have gathered a few, but valuable friends who enjoy sharing with me the recollections of a life some would envy, while others would dread, but a life I set my heart on as soon as I saw, and understood the occupation carried down through generations on my mothers side of the family. Memories of my grandfather bringing home fresh fish, and filleting them at the kitchen sink, then burying the heads and bones at the top of the garden where, early in my life, "Snowy" the cat had been interred after his death, and my grandfather saying, "Snowy would like that as he was always after the fish." When he brought home crabs he would let them crawl about the floor, before he put them into a pot of boiling water, and the women in the house would scream if they moved in their direction. Most of all was my journeys to the harbour where I could feast my eyes on the boats as they rocked gently at their moorings, ropes straining with the weight of them, as they slowly surged one way then another by the slight swell,charged by a moderate breeze blowing up river. The sights and smells around the harbour, and the fresh salt tang of the sea, seemed so familiar to me, as if I had been through it all before, and it was calling me back. All these experiences at a young age must have ingrained the salt in my blood, giving me the inspiration, and yearning to follow in the footsteps of my forefathers. It should have been no surprise to my family, when, at the age of eleven, during the summer break from school, while playing with a friend, I suggested to him that we should take a walk down to the harbour, and I could show him the family fishing boat I always talked about. We did tell our parents that we were off "exploring" as we called it when we intended to wander further from our houses, so they never gave it much thought when we disappeared. On reaching the harbour (a half hour walk from home) the "Olive Tree" was already lying beside the quay with nothing much happening, so we climbed down two or three rungs of the ladders inserted into the harbour wall, and boarded the boat, only to be confronted by Frank (mentioned in earlier posts)who recognised me from my visits with my grandfather. (my grandfather being retired by this time and the boat skippered by my uncle Alex) He looked at us in a suspicious manner and asked what we were doing down here without an adult looking after us. Thinking I would put his mind at ease, I told him everything was OK, as our mothers knew where we were, then he told us they were going out to sea in a short while as the repairs they were in for were almost complete. As it turned out they had a spot of engine trouble which was almost fixed, my uncle was in the engine room along with the rest of the crew and they were going out for ONE short tow to test everything was working OK. GREAT! I thought to myself, this is the chance I had been waiting for, a trip out to the fishing grounds, and observe first hand what my future held in store, so I told Frank we were going out with them. Frank new better though, and told us we should go ashore, just as the engine sprang into life, and the crew appeared from below deck. What has it got to do with him I thought indignantly, its our family boat, and he is just one of the crew, so I took my friend and stood at the far side of the wheelhouse where I thought we would not be seen, and watched the crew throw the mooring ropes off, setting the boat free to take me on my first adventure. As my uncle put the boat astern we edged away from the harbour wall, and the excitement welled up inside me, but it was short lived as Frank spied us and shouted to my uncle that we were still on board. Peering out the wheelhouse window, and shaking his head, my uncle gave the boat a kick ahead to bring us back alongside the pier, where the tide was by now high enough to lift his two stowaways ashore, which he promptly did, telling me that I was too young just now but when I was older !!!! My heart sank, and the rest of the words he tried to console me with did not penetrate my brain as my feet landed on dry land, having only moved a couple of yards away from where I now stood. As the boat edged away again, its bow facing down the river I watched it gently dip into the slight swell as it headed out to sea, and with tears rolling down my face I turned away from my friend, trying to hide the hurt I felt inside, having let him down, but most of all the fact that they had sailed without ME! So strong was my yearning to get to sea, that on the Sunday when we went to my grandparent's for dinner, I sat on my grandfather's knee, sobbing, when I told him, uncle Alex would not let me go out on the boat, an asked if he could arrange it for me. In a sympathetic voice he told me that uncle Alex was the skipper now, and the decision was not his to make, but he assured me that when I was older, uncle Alex would take me out then. It was little consolation to me at that time, but as you all know the story had a happy ending, and knowing what I know now, my uncle Alex was quite right not letting two innocent young boys go to sea with them, for more reasons than safety. The fishing is a dangerous place to be, its rough, tough and things are said and done that little boys should never see or hear.................................. that would all come soon enough, when the boys became men.
It was interesting to hear that all the British submarines are going to be based in Scotland as it brought back quite an amusing memory. The navy practise their maneuvers in the deep waters off the Arran coast and quite often when submarines are involved they use any fishing boats in the area as targets. This is not as strange as it may seem at first as it is only dummy torpedoes that they use and although we were the target, the torpedoes always surfaced a safe distance away from us..............well nearly always. It was only once or twice a year that this would occur and we were given warning of the maneuvers and how long they were going to last for, so as to prepare us for the intrusion of our fishing grounds and the inconvenience it could cause. On calm days the frigates and destroyers would pass close by and their wash would cause us to roll and tumble making some of the few calm days we had as rough as a strong breeze. On this particular day the sea was as calm as you could wish for with the sun shining bright and good catches of fish coming aboard which meant that all the crew were in such a light hearted mood that even the navy could not dampen it. It was about mid afternoon when we were in the process of shooting our gear that my uncle Alex (the skipper) drew our attention to green dye on the water not very far ahead of us, so we stopped working with the fish to go and investigate. As I looked over the starboard shoulder of the boat a bright yellow object was surfacing not too far ahead of us, and as soon as it broke the surface a green dye began to spew out of it, then another appeared making us slow down as they were getting closer. Four torpedoes in all surfaced just ahead of us, all spewing out this green dye which, was to make it easier for the torpedo recovery boat to spot them and retrieve them as quickly as possible before any boats in the vicinity struck them which could cause some damage. We could see the recovery boat already heading towards their goal but we just carried on shooting the gear, making sure we gave the torpedoes a wide berth and signaled laughingly to the crew as it neared us that it had been a bit too close for comfort.
Excitement over, we thought as we picked up our dan and began towing for our next haul until my uncle spotted the periscope of the offending submarine moving through the water on our port side heading south. As it was fairly close my uncle stuck two fingers up in the direction of it more in jest than anger, thinking his gesture would go unnoticed but the submarine surfaced about a mile away from us and headed back in our direction. As it approached we could see clearly the men on the conning tower looking at us through binoculars but they were not needed as it closed in as near as they dared to return the two fingered salute my uncle had given them. We all, on deck were totally amazed that they had taken the time out to play a prank like that, so we waved and cheered as the submarine passed close enough that we could see the laughter of the officers on the conning tower, waving back at us. We were all sailors after all and no harm was done. In fact if anything had gone wrong due to their carelessness or, ours, for that matter they would have been first on hand to assist us. Nearing the end of their exercises some days after, we were fishing quite a distance away from them when we passed a torpedo floating on the surface with the torpedo recovery boat frantically searching for it a few miles away. Instead of informing the recovery vessel of its position, once our gear was back on board we headed over to it and struggled for about an hour to strap it to the side of our boat as it was almost half the size of us but eventually we managed, losing valuable fishing time in the process but we knew it was worth it because the navy paid hundreds of pounds for the recovery of stray torpedoes. We landed it at the nearest port and informed the navy of our catch and where they could collect it. A few weeks later, the spoils from it was split among the crew......tax free, so I suppose you could say it was some consolation for the submarine firing too close for comfort that bright calm day off Arran but it also showed that having the navy on your doorstep is no bad thing...............occasionally! A few years later the navy lost a torpedo with new experimental specialized equipment on it worth a quarter of a million pounds in the deep waters north of Arran.........never to be found again. NOW! If only we had come across that one.
The weather conditions were not the only thing to create the adventurous situations we found ourselves in at sea and if we got too many calm days on the trot we became bored but something else would always crop up to ensure we were not bored for long. There were never two days alike at the fishing, between the weather, other ships or fishing boats near at hand to distract us, a big haul of fish or something more deadly, but exciting none the less.
Debris from the war is scattered all over the oceans (planes, bombs, vessels of various kinds to name but a few) and are a hazard to fishing boats by the fact that they can damage our gear, or if it sticks hard enough (the term we use is "coming fast")we could lose thousands of pounds worth of gear. Worse still, boats like the big side trawlers of the fifties and sixties have been known to capsize with loss of life because of the sudden stop while towing at speed. Once Decca navigators were installed in fishing boats these objects (fasteners) were marked down on a chart and we could avoid them in the future but before we knew where they were we had to come fast on them first which caused a lot of damage and expense in the early years. Before Decca navigators my grandfathers generation used land marks to pin point them but if it was foggy or the land marks, like telegraph poles he used at one of the fishing grounds were taken away they had to rethink and find new ones. (The way land marks worked was, you steamed until the marks lined up with a certain other mark on the land which gave you the position of the fastener. When you came fast you had to chose these marks for future reference, and each skipper had his own marks.) One fine day with good hauls coming aboard, we were fishing in the vicinity of the "EXCELSIOR" a fishing boat, skippered by my uncles brother-in-law, when we noticed that he was spending longer than necessary getting his net aboard but thinking it was just a big haul of fish we carried on working until we got the call over the radio that he had caught a MINE! As our boat was bigger with heavier lifting equipment we steamed over to assist, thinking nothing of it as mines were nothing new to us and when caught were either returned back to the spot they came from "hurriedly", or sometimes by bursting through the net, or the other option was to tow them near shore and dump them, taking the readings of where they were and the Navy would come and blow them up (if still live.) The problem was that we did not know whether they were live or not and once we got alongside the EXCELSIOR we noticed, this one did not have any prongs which was just as well because with the rising swell it was banging dangerously against the side of the boat as it hung inside the net. We took the weight of it on our lifting equipment with the intention of making it easier for the crew of the EXCELSIOR to cut it free or bind it to the side of their boat and tow it nearer shore, but they had other ideas. As soon as we had the weight they released the net on to us and steamed away to a safe distance to watch as WE struggled with this old rusty explosive remnant of the war. Once we managed to strap it to the side of our boat, we headed slowly in towards the shore with the EXCELSIOR following at a safe distance astern of us while my uncle contacted the naval divers to warn them of our predicament. After two LONG hours we were close enough and in shallow enough water to drop the mine to the bottom where we then steamed away as quick as possible in case it exploded on impact with the bottom. We survived without any thanks to the crew of the EXCELSIOR and when we spoke to them ashore they (half jokingly and whole serious)told us that they kept a safe distance so if anything happened to US they would be on hand to report it or pick up the pieces IF ANY, "after all there was no point in us both being blown up." Speaking to the Navy later, they informed us that it WAS live but it was a magnetic mine so it was lucky we were in wooden boats. PHEW! Another day another dollar, another adventure, another lesson learned but one we could have well done without. On saying that fishermen always help each other as most times they are the quickest and nearest option on hand when far out at sea, having to contend with difficult situations, like breakdowns, mines or reporting the consequences when a mine blows up. (AHEM!)Ha Ha.
When relaying some of my sea adventures to you I have mentioned the rough seas, which seems to have captured the imaginations as being a terrifying experience and the worst thing that could happen if you went on a boat trip, but there are worse things than storms that can endanger the lives of seamen. Fog can be treacherous too, especially if the proper navigational equipment and knowledge of seamanship is lacking. It is not so long ago when skippers had only charts and instinct to go by and even into my early days at sea, new aids like radar and Decca navigators were just beginning to be installed on the smaller crafts like the Puffers and fishing boats I write about. You might think that anyone who is in charge of these vessels should have the necessary knowledge, before they are allowed to take command of them but in the case of the Puffer skippers and other unscrupulous characters who took command this was not the case, because once they had acquired some knowledge by having been at the fishing or some other means, they could bluff their way into these positions of responsibility as certificates of competence were only needed above a certain tonnage and sometimes proof was never asked for even although needed in the case of Puffers. Not long after I started work on the "Olive Tree" (my uncles boat) I had my first experience of fog but as I had to start as cook and work my way up it was my uncles concern to steer us through this thick "pea souper" as it was referred to and find our way to the fishing grounds. We had no radar but we did have a Decca navigator that could pinpoint our position, and the fishing boats had them installed not solely for navigation but for marking out the bottom of the sea where wrecks, rough ground and snags of various kinds could rip our nets. It was the forerunner of the satellite systems they have now and the signals were sent from masts,the same way as TV signals were sent out but instead of a screen it was a box with four clocks on it, one master clock where the other three clocks (a red a green and a purple) were set up from and a chart with red, green and purple lines which was referred to and where the readings met was where you were. (I hope I have explained that OK.) That took care of our position but we had the worry of a collision with one of the many Merchant and Royal Navy vessels and ferries that passed us regularly so, the foghorn and ships bell were other valuable pieces of equipment to have on a day such as this. We reached the fishing grounds safely thanks to the skill of my uncle and when we began fishing other annoyances came to light, like trying to find our dhan (marker bouy used when we shot our seine net gear) in the fog, that merged with the calm sea that usually accompanied it. The mile and a half of ropes were tied to this bhoy and we steamed away to shoot our gear and had to peer through the thick fog on our return, looking for it as my uncle tried to predict how far and which way the tide would have carried it. Standing peering through this stuff, with the misty water running down our face blurring our eyes was eerie as every time a seagull appeared, it give the impression that it was as large as a ship, bringing our hearts up into our mouths until eventually someone would spot the dhan and shout, pointing quickly so we could retrieve it before it disappeared into the murk again. As the day went on the fog lingered putting an extra strain on all of us as we had to be even more aware than usual while working and listening for other ships fog horns and try to judge the speed and direction they were approaching. There were different blasts to warn when we were fishing or steaming between hauls, and we had to trust the seamanship of the other crews in the vicinity to distinguish what we were up to and where we were, also to know the foghorns of any lighthouses that might be in the mix of the various horns around, while listening above the sound of noisy engines or winches that was used to haul the gear back. You can imagine the fright we got when this giant black structure loomed out of the fog heading straight for us appearing like one of the massive oil tankers that we could see on clear days and that took three miles to stop! Roars went up from all the crew to prepare for a collision, and with a certain swim at the very least ahead of us we watched and braced for impact, until we noticed it was going very slowly and was not as large as it had first appeared. It was one of the Clyde Puffers,(not much bigger than us) and as it's skipper edged it alongside us as close as he dare I spotted, standing on the deck, an old familiar weather beaten face from the past. YES it WAS Smithy, asking where they were and wanting us to point them in the direction of the Mull of Kintyre, just as if they were passing through some strange town or other. They had no radar or Decca navigator and sadly lacked the knowledge to get them from A to B in these conditions but undeterred, on recognition of me Smithy gave me a big wave and shouted "well I see you made it then" and laughingly I shouted back "AYE and its thanks to you that I know how to scrub pots." They were close enough for us to throw them some fresh fish for their supper and after my uncle pointed them in the right direction they disappeared into the fog again like some ghostly apparition from a horror movie(or comedy would be more like it.) They must have reached their destination though as we never heard of any Puffers going missing around that time but I never seen or heard of Smithy after that, so I just took it for granted that he survived to enjoy a few years of retirement, probably spinning a few yarns to anyone who would listen while he sat on a box at the harbour dreaming and telling of how it used to be. I doubt though if he would ever tell of the embarrassing time when he had to ask directions in thick fog on passage to The Mull of Kintyre. We too made it safely back to port with a good catch in the hold and a good pay packet to pick up for all our troubles that by this time become just a memory but one I could recall without any embarrassment in the future. Soon after that most fishing boats had radar installed making life at sea that bit easier but none less scary in fog.
The picture (above on the left) is a Decca navigator and you can see the clocks mentioned with the master clock at the top and all the other clocks and buttons used in the complicated way that these systems had to be set up before you sailed.
The method see in the video (above right) is purse seining which is vastly different to the method we used as it takes in everything in the miles of net used, compared to the ropes used in our method, allowing certain fish to escape. A much more environmentally friendly way to farm the sea.
Bottom: (at the end of the story) is the method we used although in my early days it was open decks with the nets being hauled by hand and the ropes were manually stowed on the side deck rather than on the reels shown on the film.
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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.
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