IN TINY TRAWLERS

Evening Post, Volume CVIII, Issue 148, 19 December 1929, Page 7

IN TINY TRAWLERS

BRAVING ICY SEAS

ENGLAND'S FISHERMEN

AN UNENVIABLE TASK

Some prospective member of Parliament told a fishing community in Scotland that fishermen were probably the worst paid workers in the British Isles for the arduous and perilous nature of their calling. One is constrained, after a study of their existence, however, short it is, to agree. A trip in one of those ridiculous trawlers that set out ■with carte blanche for anywhere, as long as they return with fish, is as ful! of incident as any legitimate calling in life, writes I>. M. Cotton, in the "Sun News-Pictorial." ' "Eidiculous trawlers" is used, of course, entirely in the comparative sense, for one cannot be a month at sea in them without developing a very wholesome respect, in spite of the qualmish hours they have given, for their sturdiness, for their readiness to stand up to gigantic seas, and for their faithfulness in responding to what their masters ask of them. But the man that "goes down to the sea" in these little craft of a few hundred tons or less is equally worthy of respect. His wages are inconsiderable, and the only ones who make money from trawling activities are the "gaffers," or owners, the skippers, who receive a. high percentage of the proceeds of their haul, and, in a less degree, the mates, who are under the same articles. CAPTAIN'S EASY JOB. The skipper's job, of course, is the one to which every "deekie-learner" —the hand on his first voyage—aspires, for it is a comparatively comfortable life. The responsibility is big, but' with the actual details, except for supervision and the consequent need of a vitriolic tongue, he is little concerned. Navigation, apart from points where known and unknown dangers exist, is left to the mate or the generally reliable old bosun. No such sinecure is the deck hand's. His hours, during those times when the trawling grounds are beneath, are from midnight to midnight. There is no rest day or night, and he must stow away enough sleep on the voyage out, or make it up on the journey home, to suffice. it is a seemingly endless job of tiresome and uncomfortable detail—and, moreover, one attended by constant danger from being washed overboard by high seas or from being caught unaware by a descending bobbin or a snapping cable. BEST FIELDS FARTHEST. Apart from the North Sea, Iceland and the White Sea are the two happy hunting grounds of the myriads of Email craft that set forth from Hull and Grimsby. Hauls around the Iceland coast recently have been bad, ana only the Bolshevik machinations around Archangel have deterred more skippers "from exploiting those north-eastern fields. Several British ships have recently teen held up there by Eussian officials, some confiscated; and in one case a trawler was put in charge of an inexperienced Bolshevik pilot. • Plaice, cod, haddock, cat-fish, halibut, soldiers, witches, and many other minor varieties are grist to the mill, but the value of the catch has little bearing on the quantity, and a skipper hasno idea of what his catch is worth until it is marketed on. the quayside. FISHING- DE LUXE. Although the classes of fish mingle around the coast of Ireland, there is a fairly sharp line of definition where one type preponderates over the other. Halibut, too, are being found in such. quantities on the other side of the Denmark Straits—along the coast of Iceland that one firm—Messrs. Hellyer and Co., of Hull, have fitted out two liners to act as mother-ships to dozens of cockle-shell dories, which they take, with a large crew, letting them overside when a bank is struck. The most recently acquired of these liners is the Vasari, which •was a Lamport * and Holt passenger steamer on the River Plate run. She has been renamed the Arctic Queen, and has just completed her second trip to Greenland. To fiah from a 10,000-ton leviathan is, of course, a luxury. The average trawler on the Iceland beat would fit into her f orepeak almost. A thing the navigator unused to these waters has to be wary of is that near the coast the indications of the compass are far from true. In places, notably Skruden Island and Snaefellsjokull errors are sometimes as great as 20 and 30 deg. This is because of the great masses of iron lying in the bulk of the island. • A law has been passed under which all trawl fishing is prohibited within the territorial waters of Iceland. Iceland now has three gun boats to patrol and enforce these laws, but a great deal of poaching is still carried on. TECHNIQUE OF POACHING. The skipper, perhaps, is having disappointing results ■ five miles out. He scans the far reaches of the snow-clad coast with his binoculars, then makes up his mind, quickly. "Full speed ahead," tinkles, the telegraph, and the little ship quivers ahead. Sliding almost under the shadow of beetling cliffs that embrace a little bay, the trawler comes down to half-speed and slow. Out go the nets and heavy wooden bobbins, the winches groan, and the gallus stands up to the strain pf taut hawsers. Four miles away is our buoy. "We make for it at very reduced speed, reach it, turn back, and then start over again. "TRAWL-OH!" So, up and down we trawl for two or three hours. Then sharp comes the yell, "Trawl-oh!" The crew scatters out from the whale-back bleary with insufficient sleep. The winches rattle. Up come the bobbins, and finally the belly of the trawl heavy—or perhaps, light—with fish. The mate drags at the slip-knot, and out they come—fish, fish, fish, all colours and sizes. Over goes the gear again, or, if it is split, the other side one, while the damage is repaired. The catch is immediately cleaned on deck, a "paddock" division separating the different kinds. Next, down into the fish looker they go in baskets, and are packed in ice. The fisherman's one perquisite from larger catches is liver money. Livers are not thrown away, but are the property of the crew, who sell them to cod liver oil firms. Otherwise their earnings are little more than £2 a week—a "deckie learner" gets only £1. His trip is no sooner over than lie has orders for sea again; trawlers are seldom in port more than two days. Veritably a dog's life. But, beyond command over a glossary that an Australian bullock-driver would listen to with respect, he is a patient soul. If the sea teaches anything, it is tolerance.