A late night shake

By 3.00 am the weary need for a glass of port had set in, a true sign that Christmas can't be that far off. Assisted amiably by friends and family, I had been standing on the beach steadily shaking my nets of the vast shoal of herring they had just become entangled with, a dark night liason that the herring now regret and one that meant plenty of hours of unpicking enmeshed, scaley, slippery, silvery, darling fish.

The Little Lilly and I had slipped out of the harbour at 7.00 the previous evening, the light was changing as the early dusk spread its hands across the sky, the sea was calm but a stiff breeze was making itself noticed as it pawed across the bay. I cast my nets across the flooding tide in a way that would make them fall in towards the growling shore and entrap the unsuspecting fish as they swam away from the rocks chasing the last of the dying days light.

At 9.00 I dragged my son from the 'Wrecked Lion' and his triumphant game of Pool and with his unsuspecting but willing friends, a gathering of neighbours and family the daunting task of clearing the nets began. it wasn't long before boxes filled with fish, the beach was littered by boxes and the pebbles were decorated with deciduous scales, we dug in for a long watch.

A seals head appeared shortly following the nets entering the water, he sniffed the air and blew his approval that his teatime had arrived, I sniffed and blew my dispair as his arrival could spell disaster to my fishing expedition. I made the decision to hang on for the rapidly changing light and then haul for home, I had little expectation of much reward; little did I know.

Swimming down the Irish sea, calling in at the Isle of Man where they pick up the name, 'Manx herring'. Leaving all that behind to cross the Bristol Channel and enter the Bideford bay, where they remain full and filling with roe and healthy oils for several weeks before spawning and uping sticks to head off back upon their migration. It takes a Southwest stir and a boat load of luck to come across the playing shoals these days, the sepia views of a herring full harbour are firmly confined to the past as the men and skills of those men are buried in the local churchyard. But just once in a while as luck will have it, a boat, its nets and the fish are in the same place at the same time.

Over 4000 fish and half a night later, fish boxed, iced and stored, justly deserved port drained, unending thanks to the weary help and a bed calling. Tonight is done, tomorrow, given a fair wind and sea, it's back upon the water, back upon the herring.

Remember Clovellys Herring Festival on the 15th of November starting at 10 am where the Quay will be full of stalls and of course Herring.