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.