drewstwos
Well-Known Member
When the phone rang I was more than happy to hear the broad Scots brogue of the friend we had made while on our boat on holiday in Douglas. We were berthed just ahead of a 65ft MFV. They had come down from Buckie to fish different waters,
Taking full advantage of any chance to see over someone elses boat I had been given the guided tour. Huge fish hold, large engine room, tiny accommodation set right aft. This last was entered by going down a vertical ladder set at the back of the wheelhouse. From there through a bulkhead door into the engine room. Ah what a sight, As an engineer I loved engines, any engine. The Gradner 8 LW (I think) stood gleaming in the centre of the boat,,, huge fuel tanks on either side.
“Will I starrrt herrrr” he enquired. Gosh! I thought,,, how do you do that. Nodding sagely, I stood well aside. He walked, yes, walked down the engine dropping each exhaust valve lifter in turn, then came back and with a sardonic smile grasped a large crank handle and with bulging arm muscles began to turn that massive engine over. Some turns later he relaxed, and the engine revolved sweetly and silently, driven by the inertia stored in the huge flywheel. Reaching up he flipped number one lifter up and immediately…..chug……chug…..just slowly running on one cylinder. Up went the second lifter….chug chug….chug chug…a leisurely stroll down the engine and soon all eight were singing from the same song sheet. Each cylinder a separate entity. In fact there were inspection panels for each on either side of the crankcase. Truly amasing machinery.
But back to the phone call. They were back in Douglas, and would I like to come over for a trip out. Would I?....wild horses etc. After agreeing to be over the next day, I set the phone down and relaxed. What a great opportunity…then came realisation. It was February. Oh well….if they can do it so can I. Next morning I was down to the landing stage in Liverpool and onboard the ferry just as soon as the gangway was cleared. As I recall, the trip over was in a very calm state, maybe I was going to be lucky after all. A short walk from the Sea Terminal at Douglas got me to the harbour. Made very welcome, and given a bunk. More like a coffin really. Just 6 ft long, 2 ft wide and 18 inches high. Slide in and don’t bend your knees, or you’ll never turn over. These berths were arranged round the table four on either side, two above and two below.
I was deeply asleep when a very loud bellow dragged me back.
“Och Lads. She awah!” We rushed (Scrambled one after another up the ladder) on deck, and sure enough, the bow lines had parted and we were swinging across the harbour to the immediate peril of other much smaller boats moored close by.
Eventually we dragged her back into position and returned to try and get some more sleep.
After breakfast we set out. During the night it had decided that a good gale was just what I needed. Did it deter them…. No indeed. With a beam sea she rolled and rolled. About an hour later we were where the skipper thought it might be worth a try with the trawl. We turned into wind and at slow revs dropped the net over the side, the otter boards paravaning out, opening the mouth of the trawl, and then the whole thing dipped out of sight below frothing water.
I noticed that the two after crew netmen were standing well clear of the coils of line as they snaked overboard. The skipper nodding toward them said. “Last yearrr young Jammie therrrr was taken overrr in a coil, so mind wherrrre ye put yer feet. We got him back allright, but he was a weee bit upset.” Bit of an understatement I thought.
As I had nothing to do I was put on the wheel, that being the best place for me. The trawl was left down for some time, and as I stood holding her on as straight a heading as I could, I watched green water come over the bow, wash down the deck and go vertically up in front of the wheelhouse window. Rather disconcerting seen from about 18 inches.
At last we stopped and the winch dragged the trawl in. Not much this time, so away to another spot. But this time the net was bulging. When the line was released, the pens on the deck were full to overflowing.
The skipper was well pleased and said. “Right lads,,,, that’s enough, wee’ll awah to Whitehaven to get this lot landed.”
The fish hold was best part full already.
“Put her on a heading of about 045 and that’ll be about right,”
GPS..Auto pilot..radar..nah!!!
So off we went. Remember it is February in a gale in the Irish sea. Short nasty seas.
But the catch had to be got below, so they just sat on the hatch cover and with bare hands sorted the fish, gutted them and tossed the m below where they were boxed in ice,,,yes crushed ice and stacked to the deckhead. All the time spray was coming horizontally across the deck. But did they care. Not a jot or tittle. Just got on with it.
Some hours later in the dark we picked up the lights of Whitehaven. Skipper must have smelled the land as we had the harbour just about on the bow. Blessed relief. I had been on the wheel for hours, but they could not have dragged me off it. My cup of pleasure was full to overflowing. All the fish were landed and we turned in. Next morning it was a sad farewell for me as I had to catch a train back to Liverpool. That trip sticks in my memory as one of the best, even though it was tough. Tough did I say. Compared to those fishermen I was a child, but I learned a lot, and the lessons have stayed with me.
Taking full advantage of any chance to see over someone elses boat I had been given the guided tour. Huge fish hold, large engine room, tiny accommodation set right aft. This last was entered by going down a vertical ladder set at the back of the wheelhouse. From there through a bulkhead door into the engine room. Ah what a sight, As an engineer I loved engines, any engine. The Gradner 8 LW (I think) stood gleaming in the centre of the boat,,, huge fuel tanks on either side.
“Will I starrrt herrrr” he enquired. Gosh! I thought,,, how do you do that. Nodding sagely, I stood well aside. He walked, yes, walked down the engine dropping each exhaust valve lifter in turn, then came back and with a sardonic smile grasped a large crank handle and with bulging arm muscles began to turn that massive engine over. Some turns later he relaxed, and the engine revolved sweetly and silently, driven by the inertia stored in the huge flywheel. Reaching up he flipped number one lifter up and immediately…..chug……chug…..just slowly running on one cylinder. Up went the second lifter….chug chug….chug chug…a leisurely stroll down the engine and soon all eight were singing from the same song sheet. Each cylinder a separate entity. In fact there were inspection panels for each on either side of the crankcase. Truly amasing machinery.
But back to the phone call. They were back in Douglas, and would I like to come over for a trip out. Would I?....wild horses etc. After agreeing to be over the next day, I set the phone down and relaxed. What a great opportunity…then came realisation. It was February. Oh well….if they can do it so can I. Next morning I was down to the landing stage in Liverpool and onboard the ferry just as soon as the gangway was cleared. As I recall, the trip over was in a very calm state, maybe I was going to be lucky after all. A short walk from the Sea Terminal at Douglas got me to the harbour. Made very welcome, and given a bunk. More like a coffin really. Just 6 ft long, 2 ft wide and 18 inches high. Slide in and don’t bend your knees, or you’ll never turn over. These berths were arranged round the table four on either side, two above and two below.
I was deeply asleep when a very loud bellow dragged me back.
“Och Lads. She awah!” We rushed (Scrambled one after another up the ladder) on deck, and sure enough, the bow lines had parted and we were swinging across the harbour to the immediate peril of other much smaller boats moored close by.
Eventually we dragged her back into position and returned to try and get some more sleep.
After breakfast we set out. During the night it had decided that a good gale was just what I needed. Did it deter them…. No indeed. With a beam sea she rolled and rolled. About an hour later we were where the skipper thought it might be worth a try with the trawl. We turned into wind and at slow revs dropped the net over the side, the otter boards paravaning out, opening the mouth of the trawl, and then the whole thing dipped out of sight below frothing water.
I noticed that the two after crew netmen were standing well clear of the coils of line as they snaked overboard. The skipper nodding toward them said. “Last yearrr young Jammie therrrr was taken overrr in a coil, so mind wherrrre ye put yer feet. We got him back allright, but he was a weee bit upset.” Bit of an understatement I thought.
As I had nothing to do I was put on the wheel, that being the best place for me. The trawl was left down for some time, and as I stood holding her on as straight a heading as I could, I watched green water come over the bow, wash down the deck and go vertically up in front of the wheelhouse window. Rather disconcerting seen from about 18 inches.
At last we stopped and the winch dragged the trawl in. Not much this time, so away to another spot. But this time the net was bulging. When the line was released, the pens on the deck were full to overflowing.
The skipper was well pleased and said. “Right lads,,,, that’s enough, wee’ll awah to Whitehaven to get this lot landed.”
The fish hold was best part full already.
“Put her on a heading of about 045 and that’ll be about right,”
GPS..Auto pilot..radar..nah!!!
So off we went. Remember it is February in a gale in the Irish sea. Short nasty seas.
But the catch had to be got below, so they just sat on the hatch cover and with bare hands sorted the fish, gutted them and tossed the m below where they were boxed in ice,,,yes crushed ice and stacked to the deckhead. All the time spray was coming horizontally across the deck. But did they care. Not a jot or tittle. Just got on with it.
Some hours later in the dark we picked up the lights of Whitehaven. Skipper must have smelled the land as we had the harbour just about on the bow. Blessed relief. I had been on the wheel for hours, but they could not have dragged me off it. My cup of pleasure was full to overflowing. All the fish were landed and we turned in. Next morning it was a sad farewell for me as I had to catch a train back to Liverpool. That trip sticks in my memory as one of the best, even though it was tough. Tough did I say. Compared to those fishermen I was a child, but I learned a lot, and the lessons have stayed with me.
