Island wedding.

During the few weeks of the hake fishing I managed to spend the weekends at home, returning to join the Girl Margaret by sailing from Ayr on the Alkaid on a Sunday night, and jumping aboard the Girl Margaret at sea when we met up on the Monday morning at the fishing grounds.
It was an easy enough task in calm weather but in rough seas you had to be extra careful to time your jump on the up surge of the boat, and pick your spot to land on the deck, because if you mistimed it, and jumped on the down surge, you would be more than likely to land in the water. It was tricky anyway you looked at it really, but I was lucky enough to judge my moments correctly, and always managed to find a firm deck beneath me every time.

By the end of August, the hake was beginning to move back to deeper waters, and the catches were getting smaller, while the weather was getting rougher.

The last week of the hake fishing we landed our midweek catch in Ayr, but as the wind was blowing strong from the west come Thursday night, the skipper decided it was wiser to land in Campbeltown, and not risk the rough seas we would have to entail if we headed across to Ayr.
The fish would be sent by road to Peterhead market as the market in Campbeltown was poor owing to the lack of buyers, and of course it meant me spending my first weekend, away from home for a long time.
I could have travelled home by road, but the very thought of the journey there and back filled me with dread, plus the fact that playing the family man was beginning to wear a bit thin, I am sorry to say, and the little break in Campbeltown seemed to come at the right time.
I had a good weekend ashore, and rather than being stuck on the boat as I expected, I was shown great hospitality in the home of one of the crew, where I could bath and have all the comforts of home before hitting the town on the Saturday night.

Money was sent home to keep my house and family, and a quick phone call seen everything else was fine, telling my wife I would be home the following weekend, but as it turned out this was not to be.

With the hake fishing almost finished, the skipper decided to leave early on the Monday morning and head round the Mull of Kintyre, to the sound of Gigha, where he had heard a good fishing of whiting was to be had.

Now this was one move I had been dreading, as this crew working among large fish was bad enough but trying to clear up boxes of small fish was going to be a tremendous struggle with the speed they gutted at,and if the reports were true we were in for big hauls.

The first haul that came aboard was a full lift, about twenty boxes, but it was a mixture of various small fish that had to be hand picked into boxes then gutted.(the undersized fish thrown back, along with the pout fish, a fish that fetched no money)

They were that slow getting the work done that most of them had still to be gutted by the time the next lot came aboard, which was about the same kind of bulk, and the crews I was used to would have had them all gutted and packed in ice and ready for the next lot to come aboard.

Seeing that this way of working was only going to cost us money I suggested to the skipper that we round the smaller fish (land them ungutted which meant less money but at least we had the chance of getting the deck clear) and just gut the larger ones.
He agreed, so the work went a bit faster, but instead of just small whitings coming down in the baskets rounded there was all sorts of fish among them including the pout which should have been thrown away.
Double work as I had to pass them back up to be sorted properly or we would never had got them sold.
By the end of the day we had fish on both sides of the boat lying in boxes with mud from the seine net ropes splashing onto them waiting to be gutted and although they were away from the heat of the engine they were beginning to get soft.
It was well after midnight by the time we got everything cleared, iced and boxed, and we were sailing in two hours again, to start all over.
I gave the crew a good lecture before we turned in for the little sleep we would catch, telling them if this continued it would be a waste of time catching any fish.

When you are used to good crews it is very hard to take, seeing the job being abused in this way, and the catch taken so light-heartedly, the fishing was no place for lack of commitment.

The next day the fishing was poor, and for once in my life I was glad, maybe I could knock them into shape when I had less work of my own to concentrate on, so I went through every stage with each and every one of them, showing them how it should be done, until finally they got the message, still not as good as the crews I was used to but a vast improvement.

We were all clear when we tied up at the same pier on Gigha as we had done the night before, but this time it was much earlier,and as I said the work was all done, so I was looking forward to a good nights sleep to ease my aches and pains.

The navigation, and deck lights were no sooner switched off when the noise of a car engine came roaring down the road that ran along the top of the small wooden jetty we were lying at, and stopped at an abrupt halt not far from the boat.

The crew of the Girl Margaret were well known by all of the small community on the island as they had lain there many a time during there prawn and herring days, and had given fish to most of the islanders at one time or other.

Today was a special day though, as we soon found out, when the young man who was driving the car jumped out and shouted, "come on ashore boys you are all invited to the wedding."

Before I knew it we were all hustled ashore, and although had managed a wash we were still in our sea boots, and working clothes (plus three days growth on my chin) and being driven back along the road the car had come from.

On the way a bottle of whisky was produced from under the drivers seat, by the driver while speeding along this narrow road, and passed around to get us in the party mood, as the wedding ceremony was passed, but the celebrations were about to begin.
No policemen were stationed on the island, and when they did pay a visit they had to come by ferry, which meant, before they reached the island everyone knew of there imminent arrival, giving the islanders plenty time to get their unlicensed cars off the road and conceal anything else they cared to hide from the law.

This gave our driver the freedom to drive on the roads in this drunken state without fear of being caught, and whisk us away to the reception we were all invited to.

Our first stop was the pub, which was the front room of someones house that had at one time been turned into a bar with all the bottles of spirits, and barrels, or bottled of beer you could wish for.
Everyone from the island was there it seemed, knocking back their choice of drink, and most of the women were shoving half bottles of spirits into their handbags, to drink later on at the village hall where the party was really getting going, band and all, but no bar.

We went with the crowd who were all dressed up in their wedding outfits, while we were in our fishing gear, sea boots and all to dance and drink the night away.
If we were seen to be standing without a drink, one was shoved in our hand, presumably coming from the handbag of one of the women, and if we were standing still too long we were hauled onto the floor by one of the same women to dance a jig up and down the floor, our rubber boots sticking on the polished wooden floor as we tottered our way through the dance laughing and joking in a real party mood, but it mattered not what we wore among them, in the terrific atmosphere created by these friendly islanders.

A good time was had by all as they say, and as daylight was breaking we were driven back to the boat by the same young man who fetched us the night before. He was much drunker, but so were we, and how we got back without going off the road I will never know, but make it we did, safely onto the boat and straight out to sea, where the gear was shot two hours after leaving the wedding reception.

This was another time I was glad that not much fish was to be had as it gave us time to sober up and recover from our night of celebrations with the islanders of Gigha, a friendlier folk you could ever wish to meet, but, as another saying goes "there is a time and a place for everything," and that certainly was the place, but the time? NO!

We only had a couple of hauls and headed back round the Mull to land our catch onto a lorry in Campbeltown, with our night of celebrations kept quiet from the wives of the crew, after all we were on a fishing trip, a fishing trip and an island community I will never forget as long as I live.

Aye the job, and being away from home had its good points after all. Not many but a few.

The top picture is the Island of Gigha off the west coast of Scotland, bought by the islanders not so long ago with the help of lottery money added to the millions raised by themselves.

next picture is the jetty we lay at that night, mainly used by the ferry when it visits,

No rest for the wicked.

Image via Wikipedia

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.

Lives at sea should not be put at risk by stupidity.

Image via Wikipedia

The Olive Tree was looking like new, just off the slip, with her fresh coat of paint, as if she was trying to impress me, and wanting me to stay this time.
Its crazy, but boats sometimes seem to have their own personality, and like certain females attract a mans affections by the way they look, their attributes (in a boats case the equipment aboard)or in the Olive Tree to me, the years we had been together, and the adventures we had been through.
New adventures lay ahead for me and the Olive Tree, but would the bond between us prevent me from straying to one of the many new or younger models of fishing boats that were beginning to take her place?

The first day back at sea after my two weeks as a safetyman driver, and what could have been classed as a holiday in comparison to what lay ahead, only brought a sense of excitement, rather than trepidation, although the excitement that lay ahead was brought about not by our doing, but by the inexperience of someone else.

Being our first day back we decided not to stray very far, so we steamed over to the "HOLY ISLE" area of "ARRAN" where there is deep water with the chance of good fishing on a day such as this.
It was sunny with a slight breeze blowing from the south west which had been constant all weekend, but the forecast told us it was to strengthen to force 9 as the day went on, so we thought if we could get a day in here, we could go to Ayr and land our catch and let tomorrow take care of itself.

Sure enough the fishing was good, and after two hauls my uncle pointed out a small boat in the distance that had been bobbing about close to the ferry lane that runs between Ardrossan (on the mainland,) and Brodick (on Arran.)
The next time we shot our gear, it took us closer, and we could see a man waving at us, but thinking nothing of it we just waved back, as small vessels of this kind sometimes ventured this far out to try a spot of sea angling.

As we were towing, the ferry passed close by it, and we could see the man waving more frantically, so once the gear was aboard, we decided to go for a look, as the wind was beginning to freshen, as forecast.

When we approached the small craft we could see the look of desperation on the mans face, and we heard him shout, "Thank God." I've been here all night,that ferry nearly ran me down, and never even seen me."
We edged as close as we could without doing any damage so we could attach a tow rope, and as soon as it was fixed the man almost begged to come aboard our boat.
The sea was starting to rise, and the little boat was bobbing about quite ferociously, but as soon as he got the chance the man grabbed our rail and somehow struggled aboard.

It turned out that he had bought the boat in Ardrossan, and had left on the Sunday to sail round to the east coast, by way of the "Mull of Kintyre" up through the Inner Hebrides (small islands off the west coast of Scotland)to the Caledonian Canal, out through the Moray Firth into the North Sea, and down to Montrose, which is half way down the east coast of Scotland.
The main problem with that was, other than the fact that the boat was only about fourteen feet, and he had no food, other than a thermos flask, and a few packets of crisps, he only had a road map, (YES A ROAD MAP) to guide him all that way through treacherous tidal currents at the Mull, and in-between the islands all the way up to the canal, not accounting for the wind that was freshening to gale force as we towed his little boat behind us, or any other hidden obstacles or drawbacks on the way, such as the engine failure he was now faced with only a couple of hours from his departure point.

He still never saw the error of his ways after we pointed all these things out to him, and when we informed him we were taking him to Ayr, (just under two hours steaming) he had the cheek to ask if we would take him back to Ardrossan, which would have been very inconvenient for us, but never bothering about us he was quite annoyed when our course never altered and we headed for Ayr.
Instead of thanking us he moaned of the inconvenience to him, until I lost my rag, and shouted. "Do you realize that we have just saved your life" "If we had not come along you would be sinking now, with not even a life jacket to save you" "Its just as well your engine broke down or you would be getting swamped at the Mull by now" pointing to the waves breaking with white water by this time..

After my outburst it seem to bring some reality back into his life, and he began to talk about hiring a lorry to transport his boat to Montrose, and as I looked over our stern his little boat was beginning to take on a lot of water, between the speed we were towing it, drawing its stern down into the waves and the rising seas.
I sort of giggled as I thought to myself, if I don't point out to my uncle what is going on he won't have a boat to worry about.

We got him safely back to Ayr and the next the next day the boat was lifted out of the water, until it was picked up for transportation the following week, probably at less cost than it would have sailing it round (especially when you take his life into consideration) and the fact that it would only take hours by land compared to over a week by sea in that little boat.
I shudder to think what happened to him once he got it seaworthy again, as the North Sea is one of the last places an inexperienced person should be carrying out, self taught, seamanship.

This was one lucky man, escaping certain death if his engine had not broken down, and for the grace of God who must have guided us there that day, so when he shouted "thank God" when we picked him up, he just might have been thanking the right person, as he never got round to thanking us.

Even experienced seamen get caught out sometimes, but they give themselves a fighting chance by having all the correct equipment aboard, Radio, check with forecasts, and coastguards, and an added protection the fishermen have is each other,as they are always in contact, working near each other, and are usually first on the scene should anyone need assistance.

The fishing boats are all over the sea, and have saved many a life by being near to the scene of what would have been a tragedy had they not been there.
If the fleet is cut down to the numbers the European Union would like, more lives could be lost at sea than there are now, something that the landlubbers in that Union never think about, having never done anything more exciting that get stuck in a traffic jam on the way to their warm cosy office.

Anyone going to sea should, at all times take the utmost care, learn as much as they can about the area they are sailing in, take proper charts to determine depths and rocks, as the sea is one of the most dangerous places to be in any weather, and although we have a great lifeboat service in this country, we should not have to call them out through sheer stupidity, and put other lives at risk needlessly.

This boat was not the first boat I towed in, (the stupidest, YES,) and not the last, but how many other adventures, would I share with the Olive Tree, as the new generation of boat began to enter the harbours and hearts of fishermen?

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