Fishing in troubled waters

Few of us give much thought to how our fish gets to the supermarket, but the life of a small-scale fisherman is becoming ever more unpredictable and dangerous

- Ben Lerwill

AT 4.30am, in darkness, skipper Darren Passmore fires up the engine on Resolute and sails out of Brixham Harbour in Devon. The vessel is a small trawler, a minnow’s width under 32ft 9in from bow to stern, with a crew of two. An hour later, it’s being pitched on the sea like a toy, thick with the smell of grease and diesel, ankle-deep water sloshing around the deck. Mr Passmore and his crewmate, Dan Ready, release the net for the first of two five-hour trawls. Chains clank, shackles rattle, ropes are swallowed into the deep. Daylight arrives, bringing grey sky and a choppy sea. The waves eventually abate— mercifully—but it will be 5.30pm before we chug back into port, damp and dogged, bearing three red boxes of squid and lemon sole.

Small-scale fishing is not for the faint of constitution. The seafood being hoisted by Resolute’s trawl is premium produce, perhaps bound for arty restaurants where the Sauvignon Blanc is perfectly chilled and piano music tinkles in the background. As a profession, however, fishing on a small boat can be isolating, exhausting, unpredictable and dangerous—both physically and financially. It’s also a way of life that tends to exist in the margins. ‘Unless you live in a coastal port, you don’t really think about how your fish gets to the supermarket,’ points out Tina Barnes of The Seafarers’ Charity, which aims to improve the lives and livelihoods of those who work at sea.