Published in 1950, this book is an interesting snapshot of the Island and its customs as it was in the immediate post-war period, and not without humour. Most guide books of the time give the tourist information, or give the impressions of an outsider to the Island, but this is in "inside view", which is rarer.
Jersey Our Island - Travelling Blind Part 2
by Sidney Bisson
There are still fishermen at La Rocque, which was once a real fishing village, though most of the fish sold in Jersey is now imported. For the amateur fisherman it is a paradise, provided he does not set out with the preconceived idea that fishing is a matter of dangling a hook in the water with the aid of a rod and line.
`Low water fishing,' which is the practice here, is
something different, and far more exciting.
Provided you have the right implements you are not bound to stick
to the same variety of fish every time you go. For the more placid there are
creeks and pools where at the right time of the year (late summer is best) a
shrimping net pushed gently under the floating seaweed will bring at each push
a handful of the fattest prawns you ever saw. When that palls you can vary the procedure
by stalking individual prawns, usually the largest,which have escaped your
gentle probings by darting between
your legs.
There's just one snag. A prawn looks much bigger in the
water than when you have got hold out safely by its whiskers. So you may have a
few disappointments before you have learnt how much to allow for magnification.
Winkling appeals particularly to children. You can see your prey
and it can't run away. All you have to do is to pick it up and pop it in a bag.
It is no sport for a grown-up, unless you happen to be particularly fond of
winkles, in which case I suppose collecting them, however easily, will give you
a certain amount of pleasure. The same applies to limpeting, except that you
need a tool like a chisel to prise them from the rocks.
Fishing for crabs is a trifle more advanced, although that
too needs nothing more than a bag or basket to put them in. But you learn with
experience that a stone of a certain shape or lying in a certain way is more
likely to harbour a crab than the thousands of other stones around you. Once
you have got the hang of it, it grows on you, like backing horses. After all,
every time you turn over a stone you are backing yourself to ford a crab under
it.
Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. And if you should be unfortunate
and back a whole string of losers, your stake has only amounted to a few
foot-pounds of energy. The more sophisticated crabber carries an iron hook with
which to probe under stones that are too heavy to be lifted. Others hunt in
pairs, one prising up the bigger stones, the other feeling with his hand
underneath. I do not recommend this to beginners. A six-inch crab has the wherewithal
to make its presence rather too painfully felt. A crab in the bag is worth two
on the forgers.
It is an unwritten law of crab hunting that you should
carefully replace every stone you turn, so that the crabs coming in on the next
tide will have somewhere to lay their heads. Believing that every incoming tide
would roll all the stones about to fresh positions, I used to think it didn't
matter very much; but my theory has been disproved, so it is better to stick to
the rules.
In the back of every crab catcher's mind lurks the dream
that some day he will turn over a very big stone and find A LOBSTER! It is a
dream that rarely comes true for the lobster is a wise animal (contrary to
popular belief lobsters are animals, not fish) and eschews stones that are
likely to be turned over by crab hunters. He prefers deep dark crevices in the
rocks, where he knows that only a fool will dare to insert his hand. Of course
the easiest way of catching lobsters is to set lobster-pots and come back the
next day to collect your catch. But that is no more a sport than catching
rabbits in a snare or mice in a mouse-trap.
Your real sportsman tracks the lobster to his lair and drags
him forth with an armoury of iron hooks of different shapes and sizes. It is a
sport that calls for a tremendous amount of patience and perseverance, for it
is easier to locate a lobster than to coax him out of his crevice alive. To
most low water fishermen, especially those who like hunting alone, this is the
highlight of adventure. More bloodthirsty fishermen avoid the rocky part of the
beach and follow the tide down well over a mile until it discloses broad stretches
of silvery sand.
Here meek middle-aged men, who have never lifted a forger
against anyone in anger, get a kick out of paddling up to their knees with
uplifted spear, earnestly watching the sand for the tell-tale wriggle that
betokens life below. Then of a sudden the spear comes down, and if the aim has
been good, up again with a flapping plaice transfixed.
Here too come the sand-eelers, though no longer in their hundreds
as of old, when the sand-eeling party was an annual event in the life of every
farmer. All the family came, with relatives, neighbours, and friends, driving
down to La Rocque in their dog-carts or the old box-shaped Jersey vans. The old
people brought their knitting and sat on the rocks near the slipway, telling
each other stories of the phenomenal catches they had once been young enough to
make. For sand-eeling is no dotard's sport.
Only the strong in wind and limb can face the mile and a
half scramble over rock and shingle without slipping on the seaweed or falling
into one of the gullies that the receding tide has left. And there is no
sitting and resting on the way back. If you don't hurry you will find that the
tide has stolen a march on you and the gully that you splashed across
cheerfully on your way down is now filled with water up to your waist and is
getting deeper every minute.
So only the stalwarts go down to the water's edge, armed
with rakes or sickle-like hooks according to their school of thought. Those who
favour rakes have the advantage of remaining upright, but the pressure of the
handle on your shoulder is likely to make it sore for a few days unless you are
blessed with the toughest of skins. If you would rather have backache you use a
hook.
In either case the procedure is simple. The sand-eels always
congregate more or less in the same spots. The hooksman makes a few trial
slashes with his hook. If there is no sign of fish he moves on until he comes
to a productive patch. Then he settles down to a routine of scratching in the
sand with the hook and transferring the slippery silvery sand-eels to his
basket with his free hand.
Those who use rakes usually work knee deep in the sea and
carry long narrow boxes instead of baskets. First the box is adjusted so that
it hangs at waist level in front of the body. Then you drive the sharp-pointed
prongs of the rake into the sand, rest the handle on your shoulder, press on it
firmly with both hands, and solemnly walk backwards a- dozen paces. By this time,
if you are lucky, several unfortunate sand-eels will have got impaled on the prongs
of your rake, which you now pull out of the water and hold over the long box.
Unless they are mortally wounded, the sand-eels will wriggle themselves into it
without much assistance from you.
To the uninitiated, all this sounds rather like hard
unskilled labour. And for what result? To catch a hundred or so little fishes averaging
eight or nine inches in length and as fat as your middle finger? Delicious as
they are, fried in Jersey butter (before rationing days !), I don't think the
thought of africot of sand-eels is the mainspring that drives people down to
the sea to catch them. Nor is it entirely the picnic spirit, for it might have
become traditional to make up festive parties for prawning, or crabbing, or
limpeting. But it didn't. For centuries it has been the custom forJerseymen to
make up parties to go sand-eeling, either by day or by night. For of course the
full moon coincides with the
lowest tides.
It used to be so much a part of public life that laws were
passed about it. In 1589, for example, it was decreed that `in order to safeguard
the morals of women and girls they are forbidden to take part in sand-eeling at
night except when accompanied by their husbands, fathers, or masters.'
Nocturnal sand-eeling expeditions were apparently too often an excuse for drunken orgies, quantities of liquor being taken to drink on the way. But the daylight parties were real family affairs, with a picnic feast of cider, cold pork, and baked apple dumplings when the catch had been safely brought back to land. It is a pity that they are dying out.
Nocturnal sand-eeling expeditions were apparently too often an excuse for drunken orgies, quantities of liquor being taken to drink on the way. But the daylight parties were real family affairs, with a picnic feast of cider, cold pork, and baked apple dumplings when the catch had been safely brought back to land. It is a pity that they are dying out.
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