A Nordic saga

The irony does not escape my oldest friend, and he is quick to point out that we spent a large part of our formative years in Grimsby doing all in our power to avoid a future working life on the trawlers. It seemed an almost inevitable fate in the 1960s, when fish stocks were apparently inexhaustible – but we studied and worked, just enough, to facilitate our escapes. So just why I’m so keen to return to sea on a Shetland pelagic trawler for my 2020VISION assignment, all these years later, is a bit of a mystery to many around me.

Part of the explanation is down to BBC Autumnwatch, and anybody who has seen Gordon Buchanan’s amazing video footage of the orca pods that sometimes associate with the Shetland mackerel fishery will understand the appeal. Such an encounter would be a very welcome by-product, but the real reason for us choosing to highlight this story is the fact that it represents a model of a sustainable fishery, one of the very few in the UK that has received accreditation from the Marine Stewardship Council. It is, by all accounts, a very clean fishery with a negligible by-catch – so nothing needs to be chucked back. Furthermore, the fishing method is a mid-water trawl, so doesn’t damage the sea bed; the nets do not cause incidental harm to seabirds or dolphins; all of the fish caught goes for human consumption; and, most importantly, mackerel stocks have been well-managed through the quota system so the population is healthy. This is what I travelled to Shetland to witness and document.

Thus I arrived in Lerwick, armed with my Basic Sea Survival Certificate and a ridiculously clean and shiny Fladen flotation suit (which was sure to provoke some mickey-taking), and it didn’t take me long to find the Charisma as she was unloading her marine harvest at the Shetland Catch fish processing factory. This modern plant can process and freeze 1000 tonnes of fish per day, but it was still to be several hours before we sailed, so I set about taking photographs of the factory interior and fish processing operations. Within 24 hours all of this fish would be frozen, packed and loaded on to a reefer bound for the Ukraine.

We put to sea the next morning, and soon find large shoals of mackerel just a few miles east of the Shetland coast. I learn quickly about the onboard technology that allows the crew to discriminate between fish species by sonar; mackerel don’t have a swim bladder, so they reflect sound of different frequency to herring, thereby creating a different “signature.” And there is even side-scanning sonar that shows the fish entering the net. Not a lot is left to chance here. Then, when the net is full, it is hauled in alongside the ship and all of the fish pumped aboard in to the refrigerated seawater hold. No gutting or filleting required.

It’s the hauling of the net and the inevitable spillage of a few fish that draws in the gannets and other seabirds, and the flock becomes larger and more concentrated as the net approaches the ship. My excitement mounts as I realise that some of the splashes are not caused by plunge-diving gannets at all, but small groups of orca breaking the surface. For about an hour they stand off a kilometre or so away, maybe up to 30 of them, and they do follow the net in, briefly, until they realise this is a small catch of fish and not worthy of their close attention. I snatch a couple of frames through the confetti of gulls, gannets and fulmars, before they are gone.

Next day we continue fishing, now barely a mile off Sumburgh Head, and make a couple of catches of about 300 tonnes. The first catch in the mid afternoon goes unnoticed and unattended by the orca. Later on they do grace us with their presence – the only trouble is, it’s now 9.30pm and pitch black! I can hear orca blowing all around us, and even smell their rancid breath. Occasionally, an improbably large dorsal fin pops up within a few metres of the ship’s hull, just close enough to be dimly illuminated by the overspill of the onboard floodlighting. But my somewhat desperate efforts with the rear curtain flash don’t result in any useful photos. I can scarcely recall a more frustrating episode in my photographic career, and it’s compounded by the realisation that Charisma has already caught her quota for the year, so there will be no further opportunities this season. It’s all over so soon.

The story doesn’t quite end here, however, as the following morning I wake to find us in the middle of the Brent oil field. Apparently today’s market price for mackerel is better in Norway, so that’s where we’re heading. There’s a brisk force 6 or 7 wind blowing, and I stagger about on deck trying to photograph fulmars in flight before I realise there’s a fault with my 70-200mm lens. Eventually I trace this to a bent iris diaphragm lever, which I manage to gently persuade back into alignment (but don’t try this at home, folks!).

Later that night we dock at a small island near Ålesund in Norway. The next day being Sunday there isn’t much activity with the unloading of fish. Instead we enjoy a Sunday roast for lunch followed by a fire drill and an “abandon ship” practice. I get to play the part of a casualty. Presently a white-tailed eagle is spotted across the fjord, while some of the crew repair nets and splice ropes, reminding me that many of the traditional skills are still required despite all this new-fangled technology. Sunday turns into Monday and at some point it’s realised the ship’s refrigeration plant isn’t working properly. Engineers are called, spare parts ordered from Sweden, and to cut a long story short it takes us until late on Thursday evening to get everything fixed. By the time we arrive back in Shetland and I am able to book a return ferry to Aberdeen, I will have spent thirteen days away from home on what was meant to be a two-day assignment. Things never seem to go smoothly at sea. But I think I may need to go back . . .

I would like to thank skipper Davie and all the crew of Charisma for allowing me to sail with them and making me feel welcome. The Whalsay dialect isn’t easily understood by a southerner, but I believe I was complimented for not being seasick, for eating the reestit mutton, and for generally not getting in the way!