No Better Place To Be

John was born in Porthoustock on the Lizard peninsula, and has spent his entire life there. Despite this, he was not guaranteed the life of a fisherman – in fact, he was the first in his family to go to sea.
“My father came to Porthoustock to work at the quarry,” he explains. “He worked in an office his entire life, but would rather have been working outside. I was able to make that choice, and he backed me all the way.”

Fishing was a way of life in the village. The youngsters would go down to the beach and watch the fishermen landing their catch. “From the time I could walk, I was helping them pull the boats in, gut fish, sell mackerel door-to-door, two for a shilling to earn a bit of pocket money.”

These were the days before health and safety kicked in. “Kids aren’t allowed to get so hands-on these days, and they’re not allowed on a fishing boat until they are 16. It’s a shame – the younger you are, the quicker you pick it up, and it’s good for kids to interact with adults other than their parents, to have different conversations from other points of view.”

Young John did well at school, and was all set to study nautical engineering at university, but didn’t quite get the grades first time round. “I did better in my resits, but by then the entry window had gone and I was looking at the following year,” he recalls. “I got myself a boat and started fishing to make the most of the time.” Thus was the die cast for the next 47 years, university passed over for a trade on the briny.

He came in on the tail end of the mackerel boom, and made “a decent living” catching bass and lobsters. He married Cadgwith lass Mandy at 24, bought a house, a boat and some gear. Having initially worked off the beach in an 18ft boat for seven years, he upsized to a 30ft which he worked out of Helford.

Crewmen came and went. “I worked with three throughout my career – it’s a small space and you have to get on well.” When the last one moved on, John was 62, and considering winding down. “I didn’t want to train anyone else, so I sold the boat and got a smaller one so I could work on my own. Now I come and go as I please – no one is relying on me to go out so they can earn a wage.

“If I look out of the window and it isn’t very nice, I’m glad I don’t have to go out; but on a good day, there’s no finer place to be, and I’m earning a few quid to boot. Last year I qualified for my old age pension, so I do it because I enjoy it. I see people I know in Newlyn and Cadgwith, and it keeps me in touch with the industry.”

John’s fishing day starts early, rising at 5.30am and out at Helford by 6.30am. (If you think that’s punishing, consider that he was previously getting up at 4.20am to meet a crewman at 5am). The punt is loaded up with diesel and bait, which is cut up as the boat makes its way out to the fishing grounds. These stretch from Falmouth Bay to Coverack, the Manacles and Black Head. Once in situ, John works his way through as many pots as possible: “At the moment, I have 100 out there and can do that in a day.” He’s back in Helford by 4pm and home by 5pm.

Fishing on his own works at a slower pace. For a start, he targets lobsters. “Crabs are a lot of work, as they have to go to a processor and you have to land them every day to put them on the lorry. Lobsters are more valuable, meaning I can catch fewer and they are easier to load in the boat; and because they go to a live market, they aren’t collected every day, and are less frequent in winter, so sometimes I can ring them, leave them in a pot and come back for them later. I might even run them through to Cadgwith or Newlyn myself.”

Conditions change with the seasons: in winter, seafood moves more sluggishly in colder water and lobsters last longer in the pots, while things speed up a bit in the spring and summer months.
John isn’t always alone, though. “Sometimes Mandy comes with me – she was brought up by the sea and has that connection. Now we have more time on our hands, it’s not just a money-making machine anymore. There’s nothing better: the sun on your back, dolphins, tuna, the occasional minke whale for company.”

And once a month, John is accompanied by staff from the Inshore Fisheries and Conservation Authorities (IFCA). Their job: to make sure fishermen are doing it right while checking the catch rate and the state of the stock all around the Cornish coast.

Restrictions on fishing have changed to protect dwindling species and their habitats. The minimum landing size for lobsters has increased, giving them time to spawn three times before being caught. Catching berried hens – female lobsters carrying eggs – is illegal. These will be put back in the water with a notch in their tail; this will take several months to grow out, by which time they can be caught legitimately.

As far as John is concerned, this is all for the good. “Any true fisherman you talk to doesn’t want to mess up the ground or damage the stock. Ultimately, this is our living, and we want to leave something behind for the next generation. Sustainability is key. Fishing has always been there – we fish side by side with nature. We fish responsibly.

“There was a time when anyone could jump in a boat and have a go, but that’s expensive now. You need a licence, and safety inspections every five years. The cowboys have gone by the wayside, and the core that are left know what they are doing and they care. They enjoy doing it and want to see it through to the end.”

Half a century on from that initial career change, John has no regrets. “Life could have been very different – I would likely have moved away. But my roots are here, my friends are here. I’ve made a good living, had three kids – two sons, and a daughter who married a Mevagissey fisherman. There’s a real community on the Lizard; fishing, gig rowing, football. There’s no better place for me to be.”