The End of the Run
Shooting the Net
As we approach Horn Head we come upon another skiff with its
net out. We run along the length of their net. Morris does
not want to block their
it, so he
motors further offshore. A couple miles north we see the Harley’s
boat. This is another Inis Bo Finne family related to Morris. He steers
then a
northeast course so as not to block their set. In another twenty minutes
we are far east
of any visible fisherman. Horn Head is just visible through moist air six
or seven miles southwest, and the great opening of Sheephaven Bay is south
of
us.
Donal, just sixteen but an experienced mate, prepares to shoot
the net. Morris at the helm slows boat and comes around heading
south at slow speed,
and gives
Donal the command. He throws the terminal red buoy into the sea, and the
net, tied to it, begins to stream overboard. Donal arranges the leaded
line to flow
smoothly over the forward gunwale, John smoothes the flow of the cork line
over the gunwale further astern. They have arranged a length of black PVC
pipe in a humped semicircle over which the mesh extends and falls into
the sea without
tangle or twist. Morris pilots the boat toward a point ashore and the net
flows away from us in a straight line. Morris says that it is easier to
get a good
set going downwind, but it is important that the net be shot out straight
without slack. His compass is not reliable, so he heads upwind but with
a visible mark
on the land ahead to guide him on course.
The net runs smoothly out of the boat, the two boys stand watch
so no snags or twists will interfere with the set - behind
the boat the corks fall
out in a straight line, vanishing in the low mist. The mound of net disappears
and John prepares to hurl the ending buoy as the final section of net clears
the gunwale. Done. A clean set, in clear water, no other boats near. The
boys
horse around, pay attention to me now that the first set of the day is
complete. A cup of hot tea now, and anticipation, as we wait to walk the
line.
Walking the Line
Morris gives Donal the helm of the boat. Slowly, just six
or eight feet from the net, which he keeps parallel to the
boat
and on his starboard
side, he
cruises along. John station’s himself leaning over the deck peering
down the net. Morris is amidships hands gripping the gunwale, eyes fixed
on the
deep. We ‘walk the net’; cruising quietly along the 1500 meters
and there are no fish. Donal brings the boat about, and now keeps the net
on our port hand and once more down the line we go. “Braddan!” Donal
spots it first. He reverses the engine to stop the boat; John grabs the
long boat hook and grabs the cork line with it. Morris hauls on the net.
Fish
over the gunwale, Donal makes sure the boat propeller does not foul the
net. Morris
gently gets the thrashing fish free of the net, hands it to John and he
places it softly in the box at stern.A sense of relief- the first fish
of the day
is in the box, we will not come home empty-handed. Today there are fish
in the sea. More fish will be needed before there is profit, but this
first braddan (Irish for 'salmon') condones the effort.
 |
Morris gently
removes salmon from the mesh of the gill net.
|
We finish walking the line, and Morris declares
it time to rest, time to eat. Donal and John- with men’s jobs and
seriousness while working, return to boyhood during break with
horseplay and back-slapping. Morris tells me, "Joe,
this fish tells me that we are near the end of the run for this year." He
points out that the lower mandible, the fish’s jawbone, has an
upturn to it he calls ‘crumog’ in Irish. The closer they
approach the spawning season, the more pronounced this crumog grows.
Were it not in our
box, this salmon would be soon to its spawning river, tonight maybe tomorrow
night, to complete the necessity of its being. “One must be careful
taking it from the net,” Morris notes to me and the boys. It is
easy to damage the gill covers of the fish when disentangling it. If
the gill covers are hurt,
the buyer declares “a broken fish” and gives a lesser price
for it. Salmon are scarce now, and each good fish is worth around twenty
five
punt (about $30 USD). An eight pound salmon in prime condition is worth
three punt
per pound at the dock. By the time they are at the supermarket the wild
North Atlantic Salmon fetch six or seven punt per pound.
Haul Net
After another walking down the line and another fish caught.
Then Morris decides to haul nets. The net has been getting slack
in some sections, and the 3pm turn of the tide is approaching.
Off Horn Head the flood moves at two knots to the east, the ebb
at two knots toward the west.
John now takes the helm and brings the boat up to the terminal
float. Donal brings the float around and starts the hydraulic
rope hauler. He feeds the lead line
to the hauler, John puts the boat in neutral and the hauler brings up the lead
line which Donal coils, while Morris brings the cork line into the boat in
tandem with the hauler. They flake the long net into the midsection
of the boat, carefully,
so that the next shooting will run smoothly. A third fish comes in with the
net, Morris frees him, gives him to me and into the box he
goes. “A few more,
Joe, we'll have the box.”
 |
| John, left, and Donal, right, watch
their Dad. If the fish are damaged in any way, the
broker declares "a broken fish", and the price the
fisherman gets for it is halved. |
Hauling the net is heavy work even with the assistance of the
warp hauler. Five times this day Morris and Donal hauled
the nets. Hand over hand
the net comes in for a full metric mile. Five miles, hand over hand,
before
the day
is through. Donal told me that last week the hauler went broken. “That's
a heavy job hauling up the lead line fifteen sections.” In twenty minutes
the net is aboard. Morris takes us in closer to Horn Head. He knows that the
salmon travel west around Ireland, around these parts. The fishermen then shoot
their nets, north to south, to intersect the westerly migration. “Only
rarely, the odd one will be caught the other side of the net,” (i.e.
swimming from east into the net). But he knows the fish will hold the
coast also, and so we will bend into Sheephaven Bay and then out to clear
Horn
Head, with hopes the fish will be swimming from north of west. It is
past the turning
of the tide. The ebb will drain Sheephaven Bay, and flow westerly around
Horn Head.
Morris shoots the net northeast to southwest. The current will
carry our net west, and the direction of our set will be
across the path of
the fish
that
slewed into Sheephaven Bay on the flood, and now swim out toward us on
the ebb.
The day is overcast, but clear enough for us to see to the
northeast Fanad Head and in the distance Malin Head at the
peak of the Inishowen
Peninsula,
the most northerly point of Ireland. We wait for the salmon, we are below
the cliffs. Sea birds are thick in the air; two fulmars sit just off
our stern
hoping for a free lunch. Groups of gannets whiter than bright clouds
soar, then plunge hundreds of feet head first into the green water. Puffins
land
awkwardly on the sea - a feet first screeching halt, and razorbills fly
low straight and fast.
We walk the line once more. When this set is through we have
six salmon in the box. The net has drifted into a lobster
pot warp and this has
ruined the
drift of our net as both sections drag around the anchored pot warp.
Donal, Morris and John maneuver the boat to clear the net and then begin
the haul.
On the next shooting, Morris is not satisfied with the twist and bulge
of the net in the eddying ebb near the rocks and coves of the headland.
They haul
again.
