Up in the morning at 0330. Steam out to the cod traps at about 0430.
A nice mild, humid pea soup fog kind of day and will probably last for weeks
on end. But the Fishermen didn’t mind because they were raised in the fog with a love for the sea. Being on the water in their 26 ft Boats in what was called the Inshore fishery. Decked out in green oilskin suits and caps and long rubbers.

They would haul about 25 cod nets. Stop for a mug up. Strong black tea, homemade molasses bread with a lemon cream biscuit. Not much chatter. Just hard work and cursing the pups they used to call them like warts on their hands.

Dogfish and sculpins were a bit of a nuisance tangled in the nets. Then it was steam out to the open water and jig for a few hours. A big catch would be anywhere from 4500 pounds to 5000. That is a lot of weight for a small boat. Loaded down to the gunnels. Boats mostly all had similar engines with distinct sounds. The old Grand Petter Diesel or the Acadian all looked the same but sounded different. Coming in to land their daily catch. Most of the wives and sweethearts would be waiting on shore for them. The wives could not see the boats in the fog. They could tell them apart from the sounds of the engines and they were tuned into the sound of their husband’s boat. Something that is, I tell ya, my oldest sister Cee married her husband Dave from St. Shott’s in 1969 and sadly Dave is since passed on. Dave was kind enough to take me out fishing a couple of times and I lost more jiggers than I caught fish. So I used to sit in the arse of the boat and watch Dave and his brother Tommy work.

Tommy was the first person I heard use the term fair to middlin’ as to how he felt. Dave and Tommy were always in the top five boats of having the most daily catch. Trucks would wait on the wharf for the fish to be loaded. A stage was a big building where the men salted their cod. Stores were small shacks where extra gear was stored for the job.

Up along the road were 45 gallon drums filled with cod liver to make cod liver oil. It was not a wholesome smell. Father said it smelled like the money they would get when it went to market. The fishermen used to let us young boys cut out cod tongues. We would save them and sell them to my Uncle Vince who had a grocery store. Just in time to have some spare change for the garden party. My friend Brian Lewis taught me how to cut out the tongues. I was thinking a tongue meant you would need to go inside the mouth. Not so. Of course the fish is already freshly dead. You use a sharp knife and cut underneath like your own chin in a U shape. Think we only made 25 cents a dozen. We were ripped off. We needed a free trade representative or a negotiator. Someone to stand up for us. Names like Finlays, Molloys, Myricks, Davis. Most of them passed away now since that was over fifty years ago. Still locked in my memory. The reason I kept losing jiggers was I could not feel when the jigger hit the bottom and it would get caught in the rocks. It was a skill and fishermen did not like it when you were throwing away the jiggers. Cutting into the profits. Dave was always good to us and kept us supplied with plenty of fresh cod. When my dad had dementia, he could not remember Dave’s name. He remembered him as the man who used to bring him the fresh fish. Thank You St. Shott’s for some of my boyhood memories.