I saw the tail of a shark flail within the codend.

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While writing about basking sharks last time, another incident concerning them sprang to mind, so I thought I would share it with you, and try to install some humour to the post this time in contrast to the sad story previous.

We were on the last haul of our two day trip, with a good catch in the hold, and everything, including the weather had been perfect all the way through, so our spirits were high when the net came up for the last time, as we knew we were heading home with a good pay coming, and the opportunity to grab a couple of hours in our cosy beds at home before we had to set off again.

When we towed the net up ready to haul it aboard the cod end burst to the surface again, although there didn't seem to be as much fish in it as the previous hauls.
Not giving it much thought we continued heaving the wings of the net until we reached the bag leading to the cod end, and on seeing a large black area further down my heart sank as I thought we had torn the net, which would have meant me having to spend most of the time mending it on our way ashore.
As we carried on the suspected hole in the net seemed to be moving down instead of coming out of the water, until we saw the tail of a large shark flail madly as it tried one last desperate attempt to escape.
At first I was relieved that the net was OK, and then I realised that this shark must be over fifteen feet long, and was going to cause us plenty trouble before we could release it from the net.
When the cod end came alongside the tail of the creature reached far above the safe lifting rings we used to judge, and lift our catch aboard, so we had the problem of whether to attach a rope around the cod end and let it slip down far enough to bring up the end, allowing us to reach the cod line, which we then could open, and let the shark AND all our fish away, or heave everything aboard from both ends using our two derricks, saving our valuable catch but having the problem of what to do with the shark.
My uncle decided on the latter, and after a tremendous struggle we finally managed to heave everything aboard, releasing our catch on the deck, and the shark, which covered most of our side deck.
It was practically lifeless, so we worked around it getting the catch cleared up, tidied, and scrubbed the boat in preparation for landing, then set about the problem of the shark.
At one time shark fishing was a profitable industry, so my uncle decided we would land it to see how much it was worth now, and as was usual, when something untoward happened in a fishing port, a large crown had gathered on the pier.
My uncle had called ashore to alert the buyers and salesman of our uncommon addition to the evening sales, and of course the word spread like wildfire, creating this crowd, who, normally got in the way of any task we were carrying out, but this time they were going to come in handy for once.
We tied up alongside the pier on our starboard side, with the shark lying along the deck on the port side, in full view of all the spectators, and as we landed our fish it was quite amusing to hear the remarks of some, as they tried to guess the size and weight of it and others, discussing the ferocity of these creatures, (basking sharks being harmless with no teeth) but little did some of them know that they would have a better chance to guess it's weight and ferocity when we came to land it.
By this time the local newspaper "THE AYRSHIRE POST" had arrived on the scene with a photographer in tow who immediately began to snap away, getting some good pictures of our basking shark. while the reporter attempted to interview us while we weighed our catch, and ran back and forth into the market, breathless, carrying seven stone boxes at a time, in preparation for for the sales.
We turned the boat around, putting the port side to the pier to make the discharging of this monster easier, and with a rope around it's tail, engaged the winch and began to heave it up towards the harbour wall, but our landing derrick wasn't high enough to clear the wall so the shark had to be lowered again until we figured out another way to deal with it.
One rope round it's head where it would grip, then lead it down to it's tail and tie it round there, then attach the hook to the middle of the rope, would solve the problem and with the crew pulling it ashore it would land on the pier no bother...........we thought.
Success, it lifted and cleared the wall no problem, but we didn't bargain for the shear weight of it as we tried to pull it towards us. We managed to pull it about two feet before it swung back, nearly pulling me and the other two crew into the water, so as it swung, suspended at the top of the derrick we utilized some of the the men from the crowd, adding another then another until there was enough helping hands (about ten) to finally land this beast.
The struggle over, and the salesman ready, the potential buyers rallied round to view this object that was on offer, but much to our disgust no one even bothered to put a bid in, and just wandered round it nonchalantly to get a closer look, then strolled off again. It was then that we knew our next task would be to dispose of it on our way back out in the morning.
We did get our picture on the front page of the local newspaper that weekend with our tale of woe to go along with it, but the reporter never got to know about the last twist of the tale, ( no pun intended)
We had an old Polish man aboard (Frank) who had been with us for years and had even sailed with my grandfather, settling in Scotland after the war, but he wasn't the brightest button in the box, and when it came time to tow the shark back to sea to dump safely where it would not be caught again, he supplied the last amusing part of the story.
The rope was still around the shark, so it was just a case of tying the end of it to the boat, pulling it gently off the pier until it was safely in the water, and setting off.
I jumped ashore and let our mooring ropes go, then threw the rope attached to the shark aboard, where it was caught by Frank, then I jumped back aboard and began to coil the forward mooring rope when I heard Frank shout to my uncle "OK Alex, away ahead." Its a good job my uncle looked out of the wheelhouse window before he did so, because Frank was standing with the other end of the rope wrapped around his hands, instead of tying it to the boat.
Not realising that he was about to be pulled overboard with the weight of the shark holding fast to the pier and the forward surge of the boat, he thought it was just a case of holding the rope in his hands and letting go when we reached the place it was to be dumped.
Ah! If only the newspaper new the full story, I thought as we headed safely out to sea with the shark securely tied to the boat and Frank safely down below out of the way.
We would know the next time we caught a shark to let it go, as it would have been better to release it along with the other fish saving us a lot of hassle, even though it's carcass might have caused a problem for some other poor fishermen.
The only consolation for our trouble was making front page news in the local paper, which brought us neither fame nor fortune, but would have made a bigger splash if Frank had got his way. (pun intended)

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The stench was a hundred time worse than any shark.

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I have written about some of the strange things we caught in our nets while fishing, and I have pondered over whether I should write this episode or not as it might be too gruesome, or disrespectful, but as it happened, I will go ahead.

Basking sharks were a common sight in the Firth of Clyde up until the eighties, when they strangely disappeared almost completely, and although heavily fished for in the early part of the century they had recovered enough to make their presence felt again by the time I started the sea in the mid sixties. ( the cause for their disappearance in the eighties is being investigated still, but more have been spotted recently, giving hope of their return)
It was a common sight on a calm day to spot the fins of these harmless sharks as they played on the surface, and if we spotted some when we were steaming ashore to land our catch we would alter course and manoeuvre as near to them as we could to get a close look at this magnificent spectacle as they glided with ease through the water, with their large bodies moving one way then another, and then, all of a sudden, with a few strong flicks of their tail they would swim close by as if to examine our boat before taking off into the blue yonder, with their fins slicing through the water, the only sign that they were there.
They have to die too, and once in a while we would catch the carcass of one of these creatures that had been lying on the sea bed rotting, for dear knows how long, but long enough to release one of the most revolting smells you could ever want to encounter.
As we hauled our net, with the wind coming from the direction we had to face,we knew before we could see it, that it was in the net, and as we hauled it closer the stronger the smell became, and even though we tried to cover our noses there was no way to keep it out of our nostrils.
It was as quick as we could get it in and over the side again, taking the decca readings of where we dropped it, so as not to catch it again, while informing the other boats where it lay, preventing them having to go through the same ordeal as us
The time taken to accomplish this task could take some time depending on the size of it, and as we had to get ropes around it to do this, meant closer contact with it for some poor soul, normally the cook, as he was the youngest and most gullible, who would boak and vomit while carrying out the job, as the rest of us waited down wind until we could hoist it overboard.
The smell would linger on the net for days as pieces of flesh stuck between the meshes, would not shift, regardless of how long it had been towed through the water.

You can imagine our horror one day when an even worse smell hit our nostrils while hauling, and thinking it was a shark again, we pulled our oilskins over our noses to try and kill the stink a bit until, looking down the bag for the source of the smell I saw what looked like a badly decomposed body.
This put a different slant on things, one that we had never experienced before, and one we never wanted to experience again.
The stench was a hundred times worse than any shark, and the fact that it was one of our own, made all of us go into a stunned silence, creating a mixture of strange thoughts to run through our minds.
With the body in the cod end we hoisted it aboard, and pulled the cod line open, where it landed on deck among about ten boxes of fish.
A bare skull with a set of false teeth in the mouth stared up at us, and we could see that the only flesh left, after the fish and crabs had fed on it, was from the neck to the hips, (the torso) which was badly bloated and decomposed, while releasing the most foul stench I have ever come across.
It crossed my mind at the time of how badly a human body could smell in comparison to the dead sharks we had caught in the past, and wondered why, quickly coming to the conclusion that once we are dead it stands to reason that we are going to end up similar to this regardless of the way we die, then got on with the job on hand.
He had a tie around his neck and at the end of the bone on one of his legs was one foot inside a sock, and when my uncle picked up the other sock that was detached from the rest of the skeleton, his other foot was inside it.
We decided to take the body ashore, and let the police deal with the matter as his death could have been caused by anything, so after moving if forward of the wheelhouse and wrapping it in the only flag we had, (a white ensign) we proceeded to clear the deck of the fish caught along with it.
The stink was rife as pieces of flesh were sticking to the net in the same way they did with the sharks, but every aspect of this case was so much more intense and thought provoking, as this was a human beings body this time, "one of our own."
The net was laid on and tidied up, and to try and rid us of the smell we had to pick pieces of flesh off the net and throw them overboard, a task that still does not bear thinking about, but worse was to come when we came to gut the fish, as every one we opened had rotting flesh inside their stomachs.
We had called ashore on the radio to have the police standing by when we arrived, and a small crowd had gathered, wondering why the police were there, but they quickly dispersed once the vile smell of the decomposed body carried onto the pier.
A plain blue van stood on the pier, and on our approach two police officers removed a steel stretcher from the back of it, and waited patiently until we were tied up before they boarded to remove the body.
When the smell hit them and they saw how decomposed it was, one of them remarked ( between boaks) that these kind should be put back, but proceeded to lift the delicate remains onto the stretcher, and eventually placed it into the back of the van.
What an end to a life I thought as I watch them drive away.
Once we landed our catch, we adjourned to the pub to down a few whiskys, trying to get the lingering stench out of our nostrils, where we met up with one of the crowd that had gathered on the pier when we came in, and he explained to us the reason for his quick exit. " The smell hit me like a ton of bricks, and it was so vile that my false teeth started to rattle" he said. "You can imagine how we all felt," I replied, before knocking back another dram.
The policeman's remark had annoyed me though, and even more so when we received a very nice letter from the dead mans widow several weeks later, explaining of how he had a terminal illness and had went out for a walk one evening and never returned, leaving her in a state of limbo until we recovered his body.
She could now settle in the knowledge that he had a christian burial, and could visit a grave where he now lay at rest, plus the fact that any insurance claims could be settled also.
A check was enclosed along with her thanks, which we later found was the standard practise in these circumstances. I am sure she would have done it anyway, and it was nice to know that we had done the right thing in bringing the body ashore, rather than put it back as suggested by the policeman.
They had managed to trace him through the false teeth that had been smiling up at us when he landed on the deck, and I am quite sure that he would not have given it much thought when he decided to take his own life, and certainly never considered the stress it would cause to the people he left behind, or to the people who had to deal with the aftermath of his deed.

When I read of people nowadays wanting to end their lives legally, I am all in favour of it as it could prevent the ordeals of others having to go through what we went through that day, and would have prevented his widow having to spend the nine months he was missing, grieving and wondering what had happened to him.
So if anybody out there is considering suicide, think of the havoc you will leave behind, before you do so, as it is the ones who are left behind that are left to bear the brunt of your actions, and if the politicians happen to read this, then consider this story when judging whether euthanasia should be legalised or not, as there is more to it than meets the eye.

The fish we caught along with the body should have been dumped, as we later found out , but as they were small hake, and valuable, I doubt if we would have done so anyway, and I am sure no one came to any harm, although I would not have eaten them.
That particular catch was exported to Spain, and would have been consumed by some unsuspecting Spaniard, but it is another aspect to consider for anyone suicidal or of political influence on euthanasia.

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