Nothing left for us to do.

For us the Winter with it's less kind weather brings with it a quieter time of year. Days idle by full of thoughts and ponderings, leaving the hectic pace of the Summers mad months behind. There is little for us to do now that our boats have settled down to rest and restoration, we pack ourselves away and prepare for longer periods of workshop hibernation.

But just before we tuck up the blanket and plump up the pillow there are some lobster pots that need our attention, we must make them safe and secure, there's also lines, anchors, flags and buoys to coil up neatly and tidy away; which means splicing, refastening, replacing and improving and then maybe it'll be time for that cup of tea.

Those storm battered pots which have survived the endless tempest should be looked through, rebuilt, and reconstructed and reformed, enough we hope to fight another year. Expensive to replace important to renovate.

Let's not forget these nets that tried to catch the fish which fed those too few people and many seals who helped themselves. We'd better repair the holes and tears and broken mesh that look so unsightly, unseemly and detract from their erstwhile fishing abilities. A sheet, a reef, a bend, a hitch and another job done.

Then what about the boat? Before again she can and must float, there's always bits to do and tasks to complete and the often overlooked things we ought to think of doing. Bilges scrubbing, anti-fouling, scraping and scratching, washing and painting; so much painting but we need a dry day or two for that. We'll make her look her absolute best before the usual seasonal toll is taken.

There never seems very much to do as Winter nights grow dark and cold. We fall back into our idle sheds and cellars, garages and shacks where nothing really happens apart from we start all over again.

Seasons End

The Aurora lands her last sea weary lobster pots upon the over protective Quay wall, a season long hauled finally over, ready for the boats long awaited Winter over-haul.

A quiet time and tide belies the hidden strength of a sea that forms storms and battles with the hopes of man. Lobster pots, steel made, heavy rubber clad and ocean bottom bound suffer the knocks of swell and rock and leaping boat. Ropes taut hauled, trapped and chafed, punishment is met daily as they work to hunt the shellfish that will bless the plates of hotels and restaurants from here to Spain.

A tired end of year for these fishermen whose hard worked season has tried the hands and bones and rewarded age with aches, but there will be little rest for these men as now the work begins in dark and cold and draught full sheds, splicing lines and repairing damaged pots while readying boats once more for so soon again the Summer will call.

These fishermen whose unseen day is seen as romantic find little romance in the hours long days that is their chosen plight.
What else could we do? As fishermen we do enough and survive which is what we do the best. The question is, what else would we do? And for that, nothing is the answer.