Lobsters and Fishing

Back in the day, there were 19 boats fishing from Freshwater Bay.

Eight potters (people who set Lobster pots) did not do much fishing with rod and line; they had their boats moored in the Bay.

The rest were rod and line fishermen who went out to catch fish with a rod and line. The potters did it for money; they had to be registered and made a nice sideline. You had to be registered to sell your catch, but like me, you could put out Lobster pots, catch as many as you like (as long as they were in size), and take them home. No one was full-time; they went out early morning or evening, sold their catch, and that was it. Naturally, there were a lot of arguments if someone dropped their pots near someone else's; sometimes it got a bit heated.

Now, every boat had its own seagull, not the outboard, but the bird. The seagulls would wait every morning sat on the safety rails that ran along the promenade to stop idiots from falling off. When they saw the owner of the boat turn up, they would fly over and sit on the bow of the boat. They would sit there all the time you were out, keeping you company. In return, we would throw them a bit of old bait from the pots and a fish head or two. Some had names; my one was called Sid. I did start to worry because if I went out on my own, I found myself talking to Sid. 'What do you reckon, Sid?' as I pulled up a pot. 'Anything in this one, etc.' Not that Sid cared as long as he got the old bait. I always said that the time he started to answer me back was the time I would pack up fishing, but being a smart seagull, he never did, so he kept his supply of scraps. The thing was that after summer fishing finished, the following year, the same seagull would be there waiting for you once your boat was back out, waiting for us. They never switched boats; no one can tell me birds don't have a good memory!

So, to catch lobsters, you needed to put your pots on rocky ground as lobsters live under rocks. At Freshwater Bay, the rocky ground extends about a kilometer from the cliffs, then you are on the flat mud, so you pot close inshore.

Now, the water depth there was about 10 meters, or back then, 30-40 feet, and the average lobster pot was around 25 kilos or 55 pounds, and we had to pull them up by hand, so it kept you fit. Most potters worked alone, seagulls excepted, but if you were going out to catch Mackerel after the pots, you would take a friend with you. The reason was Mackerel were used for bait, and two people would double the catch.

On the front cover of my blog, as I have said, is the Chalk Cliff called Wightways. They are about 70 meters or 200 feet high. A bit of a drop, and back then, a favorite place for people to end it all by driving their cars off with them inside. Strangely enough, I cannot remember anyone jumping off there; they tended to do that at Freshwater Bay, where the cliff was half the height.

Anyhow, on this day, a friend of mine, Rob, was doing his pots under the cliff at Wightways, close in. He was with a lad I knew called Garry. Nothing special, usual day, then Garry looked up and said, 'Fxxxing hell, Rob, look at this.' Flying towards them was an articulated lorry from the top of the cliff, indicators on, and defiantly going downwards. Rob, who was on the outboard (not a seagull), did the sensible thing and went full throttle out of the way. He needn't have bothered as the lorry never made the water but hit the rocks at the base of the cliff, cab first, with an almighty bang. After a few seconds to actually believe what they had seen (this was not an everyday event), Garry said to Rob, 'Should we go in and see if the driver is ok.?' Rob politely declined the offer in words you can well imagine, as if there had been a driver in the cab, a 70-meter drop with an articulated load behind you, hitting rocks, would not be a nice sight. Obviously, back then, no mobiles or radios on small boats, so they motored back to the bay and informed the coastguard. From memory, the owner of said lorry had got out to look at the view, and the lorry had accidentally had a brake failure and rolled over the edge. He tried to claim insurance, but the insurance company got a bit nasty about it, and after closing the road, employed some seriously heavy gear and dragged the lorry back up, whereupon no defect brakes were found.

I liked putting a few pots out, catching a few lobsters, cooking them, and freezing them than inviting friends round for a Lobster feast. A pile of lobsters, a bit of salad, and a few bottles of cold wine... Happy days.

But on the other side of the coin was Cowes week. This is a big Yachting event, where all the Yachtys go. A Yachty is someone who has enough money to buy a Yacht, has little idea about the sea, and will sail it from England to the Island (a mile or so), then walk around Yarmouth or Cowes still wearing their life jackets (so you know they have just got off a yacht) and go into the local pubs speaking in a loud voice and generally annoying everyone.

They are now known as WAFI's (Wind, Assisted, Fxxxing, Idiots). These are not to be confused with proper Yachtsmen or women who know what they are doing but are very few. Now, Cowes week is where they all go, and if you have read the Story of Claws, you will know lobsters (well, you only got half which is a sandwich full) are expensive. So all these idiots go there and have to put on a show to each other in loud voices. Bullshitting the Bullshitters. The favorite way back then was to order in a loud voice 'Four Lobby's here' at their table. No one who knows anything about the sea calls lobsters, Lobby's. Then the full bullshit bit. They order the very expensive, half lobster, but don't eat it, just pick it about, and say they were not hungry, in a loud voice. Thus showing that they had so much money they could afford to leave their meal. It still goes on today!

As usual, being a Caulkhead, I got distracted from what I started on. Potting for lobsters is hopeful. Every time you pull the pot up, you hope to get something; sometimes you do, sometimes you don't. The TV program Deadliest Catch is all about this, but on a far higher level. I remember one day on my own (well, Sis was there), I had done my 12 pots and gone fishing for Mackerel for bait. I got a basket full in no time, and as a few friends wanted some gutted, half of them. It was low tide, and a calm evening. I leaned over the side of the boat to wash my hands, and something bombed under the boat. The next thing a head popped up just where I was leaning over just under the water. A head covered in hair! I nearly shit myself! As the boat drifted away from the aforementioned head, I saw what it was. An old lobster pot had trapped the float underwater (this happens when the road gets tangled), and the 'hair' was seaweed growing on the float. As it was low tide and calm, the water was just deep enough for me to see it. Out in a boat on your own is a lonely place!

Next time I will not be distracted and tell you about Sharks, the world's ever sharpest knife, and teeth.

Nik

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