Fishing in the East Neuk

“You don’t see as many fishermen. All the youngins go to university,” Jimmy said while fixing creels on Anstruther Pier. My search for the fishermen of the East Neuk echoed this elusiveness. Over the course of a few days, starting at St Monans and ending in Anstruther, I spoke to nine members of the fishing community to learn about life at sea. 

Steve, G & J Wilson Ltd. fishmonger, St Monans. 29 October, 9:30am.

The smell of fish wafted from warehouses. Deliverymen unloaded crates from trucks. Inside, the fishmonger spoke with a customer. Slippery creatures stared from beds of ice.

“Boats have outgrown harbours,” Steve said. “Twenty years ago, much of this was local.” Now, though, most seafood is imported from Peterhead and Aberdeen, he said. “The squid, haddock, and shellfish are local [though], he added, gesturing to a pink, beady-eyed squid.

Steve directed us to Pittenweem for the fishermen. “Don’t be afraid of the colourful language,” he grinned.

Harbour workers. Pittenweem. 29 October, 10:00am.

Two harbour workers moved among machinery and seagulls, their orange suits popping against the gray.

“They’re all grumpy bastards,” one said wryly. “Look for the guys in beanies.”

Martin, lobster fisherman. Pittenweem. 29 October, 10:30am.

Rain blustered as Martin moved across his boat. The engine rumbled, smoke rising from the exhaust. He was born in Pittenweem and fishes lobster, following in his father’s — also named Martin — footsteps.

“Are you guys writing against us?” he asked, smiling. There’s “not as much incentive” to fish, he explained. “The government is against fishermen.” The construction of wind farms has been taking up fishing grounds. Boat and fuel costs keep rising while pay doesn’t. 

Martin’s advice to newcomers: “Don’t bother.”

“Every day varies,” he said, waiting for the weather to clear. “Work can mean twelve-hour days, five days a week — two, if the weather's bad — but “[I’m] always working.”

Still, Martin savours coffees and sunrises from his boat. Nodding toward the pier, he recalled jumping off of it and swimming as a kid.

Kieran, prawn fisherman. Pittenweem. 29 October, 11:30am.

Sunlight shone over newly moored boats. On one, stood Kieran – a former mechanical engineer, now a prawn fisherman. His days begin at 5am and end around 7pm. He usually works 4-5 days a week. Like Martin, Kieran followed his father into fishing.

“It’s hard work,” Kieran said, complicated by “new regulations.” Fishing is smelly, dangerous, and he described being “constantly on the go.”

He recalled one instance when a wire snapped and hit his head. His advice echoed Martin’s: “Don’t do it.”

Kieran ducked into the boat’s bowels, emerging with a freshly-caught prawn. But “it’s worth it,” he said, initially for the money and now for “peace.” Onboard, Kieran watches the tellie and often sees whales and dolphins. 

“All the boats are close,” he said, laughing with his boat’s owner as I left.

Jimmy, part-time fisherman. Anstruther. 29 October, 12:30pm.

By Chalmers Lighthouse, Jimmy fixed creels. Now retired, he was formerly an electrician like his father. Both of his grandfathers were fishermen. He fishes part-time for lobsters, crabs, and occasionally mackerel. 

Jimmy got a small boat at fifteen, and a bigger one later.

Fishing’s “not for everyone,” he said. When handling creels, “you have to watch what you’re doing.” He added that the ocean’s “dangerous,” with “storms and freezing cold.” He always wears a life jacket, but didn’t when he was younger.

“[I] hardly see much fish now,” he said. “The government wants to get rid of the boats” and wind farms repel fish. In the past, East Neuk fishermen travelled to Aberdeen from Sunday to Thursday. With fewer fish, trips got longer. 

“It’s just a way of life,” Jimmy reflected, gazing across the golden-lit water. “As long as I’m able, I’ll fish.”

Chris Gilbert, prawn fisherman. Pittenweem. 3 November, 6:30pm.

Under a full moon, three fishermen handled green netting by a bow light. The deck was crowded with cords and wires. Chris Gilbert, a former mechanic, explained they were fixing the nets.

“There’s no schedule,” he said. “[It] depends on the weather.” A day can mean “shooting the net,” “picking prawns,” “sleep,” then “picking prawns” again. 

The lifestyle is “hellish,” he said. “[There are] too many boats” and “not enough manpower.”

Fishermen can be up for days, working unpaid on repairs and dockwork. “Young people are too scared and lazy to try,” Chris said, half-joking. But he insisted that the camaraderie is “brilliant.”

Anonymised harbour master. Pittenweem. 3 November, 7:00pm.

The harbour master cleaned the markethouse. Once a fisherman, he’s managed safety, docking, and nets for the past year — “a mix of a parking attendant, janitor, and counselor,” as he described it. “Sometimes there’s push-back” when managing duties, he said, but “most of the time” everyone gets along.

He led us to the freezer room with crates and humming tanks. Barehanded, he pulled out a wiggling lobster. He’s only been pinched once or twice — “crabs pinch more than lobsters,” he clarified. Lobsters stay in tanks for two to three days before being exported, often to southern France or Spain.

He said we were welcome back anytime. “Friday nights are best to meet fishermen at the pub,” he said. 

He directed us to the other harbour master, Jim. “Jim will talk your ear off,” he teased.

Jim, harbour master. Pittenweem. 5 November, 11:30am.

Jim has been harbour master for eleven years. A former engineer and fisherman, he knows how to “fix things” and “tie a rope,” he said. “I made the boats, sailed on the boats, and looked after the boats.” 

Jim fished in the Norwegian sector, Lerwick, Aberdeen, Peterhead, and Fraserburgh. He recalled how fishermen departed for eight days, or ten if there was bad weather and twelve at worst, before seeing civil life. Fishing made “a lot of money.”

“You'll get the bigger [fish] the further you go,” he said. “It’s like life — to get big, you have to work harder.”

Pocket baits lure and trap lobsters and crabs. “Big boats are pulling and shooting 1200 creels a day,” he explained. Lobsters are measured from their eye socket and chucked back into water if deemed undersized. Ice chutes feed boats to keep catches fresh. He said that recently, one fisherman took three tonnes of ice. The small yellow boats are for razor fishing, taking divers into the bay.

“My whole life has been geared to the sea,” Jim said. “If I’m 75 and working, I must be doing something right.”

Poor signals at sea made Jim an avid reader, particularly of detective stories. Off duty, Jim photographs or streams: “I’ve got a VPN, so I can't be stopped.”

Jim believes in having two coffees every morning, a banana a day, and three or four whiskeys at night. He said he also enjoys wine and beer, but cautioned, "Don't mix them up, and don't take them at the wrong time.”

Colin, Fishermen’s Mission. Pittenweem. 5 November, 12:00pm.

Colin works for the Fishermen’s Mission — an organisation supporting active and retired fishermen. He fished from a young age, including in Norway. 

“Fishing has changed a lot,” he said. “The world is after the fishing.” 

Before our departure, Colin turned over his shoulder and called, “Take care! Good luck with your courses, and enjoy the world!”

 Photos by Alden Arnold and Emma Roy Chowdhury