Conserve or Sustain

I am only a simple fisherman, no great sailor, no outward bound, leave the land behind voyages, just lobster pot hugging along the shore, working from a small, passed its prime boat, and rarely late home for tea. But fishermen come in all sizes and many guises; you have your, "Netter's," gill and drift, your, "Longliners," your "Handliners," "Lobster, Crab and Whelk potters," "Mussel picker's and Oystermen," even"Trawlermen," though they are a breed apart; in all a very varied species, each trying to survive by doing what he thinks is best. For some it is a business, others just a job, but for many it's away of life with it's own kind of rewards.

Apart from the pub time talk of great catches and missed chances, there is a change blowing in on the cold, chill wind and no fisherman shall be untouched by it's arrival, it's time to batten down and prepare for the blow. The question is, conserve or sustain?

Conservation is marvellous, but not for the faint hearted; regardless of what you may hear, fishermen will have to change or die, some may tie up and go ashore forever. Because, conservation implies, "No Take Zones," where areas of coastline are closed off from all fishing activity, including Mr Hopeless, weekend beachcaster with his shiny new gear, thermos and empty bucket. Or possibly, "Marine Protected Zones," where a certain amount of fishing activity is allowed but under tighter administration, all this being designed to reinstate the flourishing garden wilderness, that we believe are shores once were.

Or sustainable fishing?
For a fishery to be sustainable it must be financially viable, which means it's in the fishermans own long term interest to manage the fish stocks in such a way that he can catch today but leave enough for tomorrow. A financially viable fishery is a greater asset to the community as a whole.

Fishing methods can be, "Destructive," such as, "Beam trawling," which acts as a plough on the seabed and can be very damaging. Or, "Selective," such as, "Long lining," where usually only targeted fish are caught. Other fishing methods have their advocates and their opposers; Gill netter's target certain species, though they have been known to foul the occasional small Cetacean. Nobody can deny that things have to change, if we want a fishery in the future we have to do something now, but I fear it is the scent of a wounded industry that has the baying hounds of conservation chasing down the limping fisherman.

The best way for all of us to celebrate our fishing heritage, is not by being over sentimental about its past, but by insuring it has a future.

Snow business

I awoke to find the harbour white and soft edged from a nightfull of snow, eagerly slipped on warm clothes and boots and grabbing my camera ran outside to capture the untouched moment, the Quay white, the beach white, the roof tops and the boats all white; unsure of her footing and unfamiliar with the snow my spaniel, "Rene," plodded on behind me. Clovelly sat waking and stretching like a true Winter wonderland.

Gathering my family together we decided to venture to the top and see the snow capped fields, a formidable task given the treacherous covered paths that lay before us, but adventurers to the end we carried on. Our first battle was with the back road, so often exploited by summertime landrovers carting up the hooting tourists, now a downhill slalom of unsteady steps, I stopped at my garden to gather a couple of plastic sacks, transport for the journey home.

On reaching Higher Clovelly we were met by glistening roads and gleaming fields, smiling people intent on having some fun, a child sat laughing in a plastic box, was being towed along by her brother on his quad bike, the flakefull air was quiet of the noise of traffic, beaming faces peered from behind curtains and the evidence of the desperate traveller lay abandoned at the roadside.
I found my nephews and nieces, snowballed, cherry cheeked and red nosed, we recovered with a cup of tea and complete with brother and sister and an endless supply of children, we began retracing our slipping, sliding and slewing steps back down the road.

Our destination was our childhood, so many years have left home since we last braved harm and humiliation on the fast toboggan slopes of the "Peace Park," with its views across the Bideford Bay it's usually the haunt of aging picnickers and tired sightseers, but today, for one day only, it was transformed into an "Off piste extraordinaire;" Crisp, clean, unmarked, I took my plastic sack, sat down and forgiving all others, hurled myself downhill, uncontrolled, unreserved, unashamed and laughing all the way, it just had to be done! Children followed, my brother followed, racing, crying, falling, rolling, whooping. People gathered, others arrived armed with body boards, a modern addition, and launched head first, forsaking danger for the brief moment of excitement, down, down,down the slope of fun. Children from 3 to 50+ threw off the shackles of propriety, put away the worries of the world and succumbed to the happiness that was a snow filled Clovelly.

The time came to continue further down to the Quay, the last leg of our adventure. Snowballs were thrown, some from great heights making contact with the unsuspecting below, a collective well aimed barrage followed and brought flight to safety and home, signalling an end to our foray to the past, we close the door and find the kettle welcoming, warming our hands and laughing, we know that for some the snow is an inconvenience, but soon it will thaw and today will be just another happy memory.