Relics of the Scottish fishing industry

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Here as promised is the updated photo of the "Watchful" with "yours truly" standing beside it, two old relics of the Ayrshire fishing industry, still around to tell the tale.
I spoke to the guy who restored it, and he told me that for all the work he had done, there was still plenty rotting wood in her, mostly on her top rail,also in and around the deck area that is hidden from view to the public given the high position of her on the concrete cradle.
She looks good from a distance, proving that a lick of paint can cover a multitude of sins, just like the T-shirt I am wearing.
Hopefully she will stand proud there for many years to come and that the council will see fit to care for her in the delicate years of the life in front of her, a fitting memorial to a once thriving industry, and if they can find some compassion for the old bloke in the photo, perhaps they could take care of him in his old age too.
"Shiver me timbers" OoooArrrr! ha ha.

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Aches, Pains and other ailments.

My journeys home were becoming less frequent, as the best opportunity to get there was hitching a lift on one of the Ayrshire herring boats that would be working in the same area as us, heading home at the weekend,and returning to the same area on the Monday evening.

As the herring fishing spanned almost all of the firth of Clyde, the chance of these lifts were few and far between, but one night, after dodging about looking for the elusive herring, we found ourselves over nearer the Ayrshire coast, and as daylight was almost upon us we thought it was going to be a fruitless venture with not one net having been shot all night,and no herring being spied by our modern equipment.
We were just about to head for Campbeltown when the skipper of the Alliance called us over the radio to come alongside.

We had been separated by a couple of miles in our search for the herring, trying to cover as much ground as possible, and with still nothing to be seen we headed over to find out what he wanted to say that could not be said over the radio.
The skipper of the Alliance was due to retire, and hand the running of the boat over to his three sons who had followed in his footsteps, but he had come up through the ranks in the days before sonars, and fish sounders, and knew how the fishermen of old found spots of herring.

When we drew alongside he shouted to us that he was going to shoot here as there was plenty herring beneath us, and the reason he did not tell us over the radio was to keep other boats in the area from converging in on us, and getting in among them before us.
The fish did not show up on the sonar, (which scanned a vast area,) perhaps because they were too deep or where they were lying, maybe next to rough ground, but they were now showing up on our sounders that only showed what was directly beneath the boats.

It was a beautiful calm moonlight night when the Alliance shot his gear, and once we had towed through the spot twice we lifted our nets to find we had been successful in our quest for the silver darlings.

Another reason why they are called silver darlings is because when at night if the shoals come close to the surface, they disturb the phosphorous in the water, making the water glow white, which was one of the signs the crews looked for in the days before sounders, plus the herring gulls diving in among them, attracted by the same glow, some of the signs the skipper of the Alliance would have been brought up to look for.

There was enough herring to fill the hold of the Alliance, and this time when they came aboard I managed to keep my feet on the rubber matting we had lain down after my last escapade.

Once the hold was full, and the net stacked, daylight had broken, so it was decided, as the fish were on the small side, that the Alliance would head to Ayr with the catch to try and fetch a better price, and the Girl Margaret would head back to Campbeltown, meeting up with us at night again.

They all looked at me and said almost in one voice "Aye and Donald can get a wee spell at home with his wife."
I thought I would have to wait and land the catch before I would be allowed home for a couple of hours, but no, as soon as the ropes were tied to the quay, they told me to head off and make the most of my time in Ayr, which I did.

My wife was very surprised when I arrived home unexpectedly, as there was no mobile phones in these days, but she prepared a meal while I steeped in a hot bath of pine radox crystals, which was very relaxing having been deprived of the luxuries of home for a couple of weeks.

Bath and meal over we retired to bed, not just to sleep because with my son being at school it gave us a little time to ourselves before he came home.

I did get a quick nap before he came home, and just a little time to spend with him before it was time to head away again.

On the way back across to meet up with the girl Margaret, I felt an itch over my body, and thinking it was the heat in the fo'c's'le, I took off the clean woolen polo neck jumper I was wearing, but the itch only got worse.

By the time we met up with the Girl Margaret my body was all red blotches, but I had no time to bother much about it when I jumped aboard because we had spotted a shoal of herring right away.

The gear was shot from the Girl Margaret, and after towing through the shoal three or four times we lifted to find enough herring to fill the Girl Margaret, and half fill the Alliance.
It was a cold night and I had to put on my jumper again, but once we filled the hold of the girl Margaret I jumped aboard the Alliance to give them a hand to spread the catch evenly across their hold, doing my job of opening the cod end first.

We headed back to Cambeltown this time and as I worked up a sweat the itch returned with a vengeance, making me shed clothes, until I was stripped to the waist, which covered my body in herring scales, but at least they cooled it down a bit.

I was still itching after we landed,and after spending the most uncomfortable night I ever had at sea, I decided the best thing to do was to head to the nearest pharmacy to see if they could help me as I was not registered with the local doctor.

After asking me a load of questions, of my allergies, any drugs I might be on (prescribed drugs I'll emphasize in case you get the wrong idea) he was still puzzled until I remembered and mentioned the "pine radox bath" I had the afternoon before.

"That could be it" he said, "have you ever used the pine crystals before?" he asked.
"No that was my first time" I said, so he gave me a cream and a green liquid to cover my body with, to see if that would cool me down a bit. (Well it was cleaner than herring scales)

It turned out that I was, and still am allergic to these pine crystals, and most probably any other pine mixture on the market, so from then on I stayed well clear of anything with the hint of pine in it never wanting to go through that experience again.

The fishing is bad enough when you are feeling fine, but its the worst place to be when something is ailing you as you are so far away from land, comfort and cure.

It was only an itch I had that time, but I did endure toothache once, when I was still on the Olive Tree, which was a thousand times worse, and resulted in cutting the trip short to get the offending tooth, plus the abscess removed along with it, with a dentist standing by, arranged ship to shore, through the Seamans Mission.

All so dramatic, but most welcome when you have had to endure the severe throbbing in your mouth for hours on end with no respite, and the thumping of the boat into the seas adding to the agony as it thumped in rhythm with the throbbing of my tooth.

If only I had been a landlubber I would have had this out by now, was my only thoughts as we punched our way through heavy seas, until finally land was spied, the harbour reached, and the dentists chair a welcome sight, even the needle held no fear as all I wanted was the pain to go away.

It was all over in no time, the dentist showing me the tooth with the abscess attached, telling me he pulled both out together which was unusual as they liked to get rid of the poison first, rather than attempting the dual extraction, but it had gone well, and I strolled into the nearest pub on the way back to down a whiskey. (purely as an antiseptic of course. Ahem!)
I swilled it around the gaping hole left behind, another two for luck, and it was back to the boat and away to sea again, the pain of the toothache gone, but another hard trip ahead of me.

There is more to consider than the dangers of a storm, or the other dangers the fishing holds for those who dare go down to the sea in ships, but it is comforting to know that there is the backing ashore, between the lifeboat crews, and coastguards, to the Seamens Mission pastors who are on hand to assist us when ever they are needed.
Needed they are, all to often, as the sea is one of the most dangerous places to be, be it calm or stormy weather, and no amount of praise is high enough for those in all the rescue services who risk their lives for us.

The pleasure steamer Duchess of Hamilton.

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The one and only school trip I went on was when I was 14 years of age and approaching my last year at school before having to go out and face this big wide world my teachers kept going on about.
The trip was to take us to Largs by train then onto Campbeltown on one of the many steamers that graced the Firth of Clyde. It was the pleasure steamer "Duchess of Hamilton" that was to take me for my first sail on the waters that were to become so familiar to me during my carreer as a fisherman and as we sailed down the River Clyde into the more open waters of the firth I stood on the deck and lapped up every inch of the beautiful scenery that lined each shore. It was eleven 0'clock in the morning and the still rising sun complimented the various shades of green on the hills of the Cumbrae islands on our port side and the Isle of Bute stood out in sharp focus on the starboard side with their reflections clearly visible on the calm glassy sea. The musky smell of warm engine oil and diesel hit you when you ventured below decks to investigate the canteen (the bar being shut for the school trip much to the annoyance of some teachers) and it grew stronger as you neared the toilets situated next to the engine room creating an even nastier smell. As the weather was calm and warm I went back up on deck to watch our progress as we sailed on down the Kilbrannan Sound that lies between Arran and the Kintyre peninsula with the wash of the propeller churning up the sea behind with every thrust taking us nearer and nearer to our destination. It seemed no time at all until we reached Campbelton Loch and as we entered this famous inlet it's splendourous beauty, stunning on either side of us was magnifyed by the mirror image on the water broken only by the outward ripples of the boats bow wave cutting into the sea as we rounded the buoy at trench point where the town of Campbeltown began to open out to us at the top of this magnificent loch.
The steamer slowed on it's approach and manuvered around gently edging nearer the pier until it's starboard side was close enough for the mooring ropes to be tied, securing us to harbour wall allowing the gangways to cross the gap that separated us from the land. The boat listed when we all made for the starboard side in our haste to get ashore as quick as we could to spend the money we had saved for this very occasion.
We all went our different ways once we managed to set foot on shore with most going round the souvenir shops to find a gift for our parents and send a postcard that would arrive home days after our return leaving little time to really take in the beauty of this small corner of Scotland.
Others however had managed to get alcohol from somewhere and were consuming it with great gusto, enjoying the freedom they had found before we departed, to return home by way of Pladda light on the other side of Arran. The sun had gone behind the gathering clouds when the time came to say goodbye to Campbeltown and with everyone accounted for the crew pulled in the ropes that had held us to the pier and once again we took in the scenery that had by now changed with cloud and the increasing winds but making it no less lovely to absorb.
Once rounded Davaar Island that lay at the mouth of the loch were headed into open sea and out of the shelter that the loch had provided us with. We headed for the east side of Arran where we would have been able to see the Ayrshire coast if it had not been for the squall that had created cloud cover and was beginning to whip up the water around us making the boat roll and sway gently as we nudged our way through the rising seas. Once we rounded Pladda and set course for the mouth of the River Clyde the easterly wind and seas were hitting us on the starboard side making the boat roll more severely and it was then that the pupils who thought they were smart drinking alcohol ashore realised that it hadn't been such a good idea after all.
When they started feeling sick they went to the rail of the boat to be vomit over the side but with the strong wind blowing they decided it would be better if they were going to be sick, the toilets were the place to be so they headed there with me in tow laughing sadisticly.
Of course as I mentioned earlier the toilets were next to the warm oily fumes at the engine room
and as soon as the mixture of these fumes combined with the smelly toilets hit them they never reached the pan and were sick all over the floor which made things even worse when the stale beer mingled with the other fumes resulted in the culprits boaking and spewing the rest of the way to Largs. We all disembarked and headed for the train but as you can imagine on the journey home some of the children were more enthusiastic about their trip than others and as the guilty ones sat with faces whiter than ghosts the teachers who had suspected their drinking but could not prove it sat with smug looks on their faces as if to say "serves you right" which it did and gave them a day they would never forget in a hurry, but for the wrong reasons. I on the otherhand had a smug look on my face as I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of my trip with the scenery and the added entertainment on the voyage home.
Little did I know when I sailed down Campbeltown Loch that day that in the very near future it was to become a familier place and a safe haven to run for in the severe storms that I would experience during my wild exciting life as a fisherman.

The top picture is Campbeltown at the head of the loch.
Right hand map is Arran with the seas mentioned surrounding it.
Left picture is a steamer similar to the Duchess of Hamilton.

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