Somethings will never change.

More yachts call into sheltered Clovelly, making use of the hospitality and the free shower, welcome friends and first time callers. Familiar berths and unsure adventurers with tangles of lines fresh from the locker. The harbour enjoys the soaring masts and tidy hulls, the clanking stays and the rubbing strakes, harking back to a day when wooden hulled luggers loaded with tarred sailors lay side by side filling the Quay pool with nautical banter and sea soaked stories.

1910; one hundred years ago over 50 houses in Clovelly were the homes of fishermen, sailors or Master Mariners, all dragged up within sight of the sea and the smell of the fish. Some were to be trawlermen, toiling in the sailing beamers, bringing home the plaice and sole, others hugged the coast seeking the crab and lobster, while other men found their calling for the open sea and went in search of other lands, proudly returning to the homes and families they loved as the Captain's of fine ocean going ships. The village dripped with the essence of the sea, every cottage bore the memory of a salt tanged tale.

2010; six houses in Clovelly remain as the homes of those hoping to find a living upon the sea. Ten boats in all work from the harbour looking for an income. Our only trawlerman keeps his vessel in nearby Appledore, four boats hug the shore still searching for lobster. The main catch of the day today being people; daily trippers or dogfish danglers, Lundy divers or bird seekers. No Masters of the deep sea crossings, or ocean bound clippers. No line crossed sailors keeping their watch. All that remains are the returning longshoremen, home from the racing waters of Hartland Point or the long stretching coast of Portledge.

An early morning in the late hours of May; the tide brings in a calm, lazy sea, as a stretching sun waves its arms over Exmoor. Fleeting gently the little red, 'Bombay' slips her moorings and quietly leaves the harbour. She is bound down the coast, picking her way amongst the long named, barnacled rocks. All day she shall haul, gather, clear and hopefully catch her living, passing by, heads the, 'Emmie Elizabeth' her place is below Hartland Point, her lobster pots waiting where the Atlantic knows no mercy, and off in the distance, that's the, 'Aurora', she's originally from far away Cromer, familiar with the crab grounds but now fights the winning tides of the North Devon Coast. Soon we will see the, 'Jessica Hettie' braving the wrecks off the Lundy Isle and the, 'Independent' huddled with anglers looking for tea. Much has changed over the years, many men and families have gone, but the heritage they created remains in the call of the sea and the fond telling of the tale. Somethings will never change.