The End of the Run
The Ruined Set
Morris has John run the boat offshore to the northwest. The
unobstructed flow of the ebb, there, away from the towering
coast, will allow a straight
set
and clean drift. It is six in the evening, we have a cup of tea, then
shoot the net. Morris shoots straight to south now and the net flows
smoothly
astern. With two sections left to go, I hand John the terminal buoy so
he is ready
to fling it when the last of the net goes over. But the cord of the buoy
snags on the net running out, pulling the buoy from John’s hands
into the sea and the last section of net streams over with the thirteenth
section-
a twisted
mess. Morris stops the boat, Donal tries to recover the fouled section,
but to no avail. The wind will not allow us to complete the set. The
cork line
of the last section of net has twisted over the lead line of the thirteenth
section of net, and the increasing wind blows more cork line over lead
line each time Donal lifts a fouled section up out of the water. Morris
and Donal
untie the last two sections, 200 meters of net, and bring them aboard
the boat. Later, at dock, the matter will be sorted.
 |
| John, looking at me, as the net runs
over the black hoop and into the water. Morris is steering
the Canon Shields slowly to the southwest. The cliffs
of Horn Head are visible on the port bow about
a mile off. |
John and I are ashamed, but Morris and Donal concentrate on
the job at hand. Morris had seen a fish strike just before
the foul and he orders
John to bring
the boat up to the shortened set. Morris is grim faced and the boys are
still; and all of us are at the rail staring into the murky deep hoping
for fish as
we walk the line. In a few minutes, Morris breaks the tension with some
forgiving words, but the boys are still quiet. Then we land two salmon
in quick succession,
the incident is forgotten, and the earlier joy and natural ease suffuses
the small boat again.
We walk this shortened line the last few hours of the evening.
A huge dark seal cruises the northern end of our line. This
is not the curious
grey
seals that lounge about the harbor, but a dog-headed black seal. Donal
drives the
boat between the net and the seal. We come within seventy-five yards
before the animal looks up and at us with long face and sad eyes then
turns from
us and slides its great dark body under. We pull in another salmon. The
boys see
a strike at the net ahead of us but when we come up to that part of the
net, it is empty- the salmon was either strong or small enough to get
through the
net.
Donal calls, “Here’s one,” and I see in the green gloom six
feet below the water surface, the sleek salmon, still in his element, fighting
the net. He powers forward, the net distorts to his force, but holds. The salmon
twists and his tail catches in mesh and the net holds him tighter. Morris hauls
him up from the green. The fish lunges in his snare, but he is now in Morris’s
lap, then to John and into box.
We have a box. Ten salmon, we get no more today. The rain
is on and there is an increase in the wind from the south.
The cliffs are still visible
but Inis
Bo Finne, Inishdooey, Inishbeg and Tory are gone in the mist. It is
now ten minutes to eight. Morris orders one last walk up
the net.
The rules that govern the salmon at this fishery are strict. Break
the rules- and get caught- and you lose your gear, your license and
must
pay a heavy fine.
During June and July only licensed fisherman are allowed to set nets,
and them only on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. No fishing
Fridays,
Saturdays
or Sundays. Nets are allowed but only between eight in the morning
and eight at night. No night fishing allowed. Fishermen are allowed
no more
than 1500
meters of net. Last week the coast guard came up to the Canon Shields
with her nets out. The coast guard ran the length of the net making
sure Morris
had no more than the legal amount.
At eight this night, we come to the north end of our net. Now the final
haul, the fifth today. Donal and Morris bring the nets in hand over
hand down the
long run.
At the end of the day we had ten fish, good size, one more
than a box full. Donal tells me that is three fifty for
the season for the Canon
Shields-
the highest in the port.They worked four days each week, twelve hours
each day at the nets and an hour steaming out and home. Their
best day was fifty fish,
yesterday they caught
twenty-seven, Monday last just two.
We return in a light rain that flattens the sea, retrace
the shore we had earlier seen. The tide is low now -
we pass over the shoaling
Cloghan
with
only three
feet beneath our keel. Light is slipping from the day as Morris
pilots the Canon Shields home, as the salmon run comes
to its end along
the Northwest coast of Ireland.
Joe Ferry
