Harbour Dwellers

Clovellys comfortable harbour is home to a wide variety of boating types, such as the 'Lobsterman', a lonely, solitary kind, spending long distant hours away at sea, only returning home in order to mate and drink at the communal watering hole. And then there's the 'Boat Tripping Men', fussing about the Quay or leaning outside the Red Lion, picking and pulling at their daily grockle prey. The 'Charter men', parade up and down the harbour wall with their full fuel bowsers or sit gazing at their chrome covered engines, cocking a snoot at the rest. If you watch really closely you may even spot an occasional 'Trawlerman', best found either early in the morning as he disappears setting off out to sea or in the evening when he returns once more to dry land, there to join his mate at the bar.

Then there are the 'Pleasure Boaters', a hapless lot, flapping about, unsteady, unsure, and unaware. Watching and waiting, listening and learning, they are the flighty, summer visiting flocks of flotsam that fill the beach. They may have read the book, but they have usually forgotten how to tie the knot.

There are other dwellers inhabiting the harbour; the beef brigade, lazing all day in the sun, burning nicely. The quay jumping, "Look at me", and "Brave first timer", tombstoners. The floral displayed, lounging, picnicking, soul mate searching dollies, and the salt soaked, drifting along amongst the seaweed and jellyfish, in and out of the moored boats, harbour hags.

But crowning them all, we have the spider oared, multi-coursed, seperate heading, semi-serious, regatta bound gigging types, with their reigning supreme Lord oarsman tipping the balance in the bow. All together making up the colourful ensemble that fills the seasonal harbour with boats, noise and plenty of bunting.

Neptune to the rescue

The Campervan Cookbook, written by Martin Dorey is a life style collection of easy living, self sustaining recipes and ideas, designed for loving life and keeping things simple. Martin has surfed off the Clovelly coast, at times in weather I wouldn't even go out of doors! It was because of his love of this coastline he came to Clovelly to film a fragment of his 'soon to be' televised book.

Martin was sent to sea in my 'Little Lily' with local fisherman Chris Braund. Their mission, to catch a mackerel, my mission, to carry forth the camera crew and keep out of shot! It was while upon this heading that our attention was alerted towards the shore where two people had got themselves cut off by the rather inconvenient tide. They would, of course, have been quite safe, the tide was ebbing, within half an hour they could walk back to Clovelly. But panic and a lack of local knowledge don't mix. As we approached them, the frantic pair came running into the sea, where the surging waves knocked them over and increased the fear. I had no choice but to rescue them from themselves and with much undisguised relief, the dripping wet two were taken onboard and released upon the harbour.

Filming resumed, but the mackerel appeared to be camera shy so failed to show. Luckily, I had a net set, hoping to catch some fish for bait, but now to be drafted into service as the means for Martins meal. It meant we were able to return to the Quay and off load our clapper board cargo. It also meant that, with the tide slipping away, it was time for Neptune and I to go off and try and find a lobster.

The joy of lobster fishing doesn't lie only in the catch, for me it's in the thrill of the hunt, the getting to know my adversary, learning the rocks and gullies, finding my way into the lives and habits of the sea creatures that are my livelihood. It's about respect, it's about loving the way of life, it's about those days when nothing else matters. Unfortunately this day was not proving to be the most productive. A winning day for the lobsters I fear. Then came the call from my brother.

Across the bay, fishing off Mouth Mill, another beautiful stretch of North Devon coast, my brother in his little boat had incurred engine problems. He was attempting to get home by sculling his boat. Ever the lifeboatman, I left my fruitless pots and Neptune and I steamed the 5 miles across the wide mouthed bay, where I found him slowly edging his way back up along the shore. Taken in tow it was not long before everyone was safely home at anchor. A little of the afternoon remained, so I decided to try my luck and resume my search for those elusive decapods. A few more pots, a sit in the sunshine, a drift in the bay, soaking up the glassy view, why do we do this? I wonder.............