The more permanent settlers in Newfoundland in the late eighteenth century settled in coves, on coastal headlands or offshore islands as they had to row or sail to the fishing grounds. This fishery was carried out close to shore, using small boats and included the production of dried and salted codfish. About a century later, the fisherman's productivity increased with the emergence of the cod trap, and his labour was made less intensive in 1910 by the ensuing make and break engine. This led in turn to larger boats called trap skiffs. During my school days at Old Perlican in the 1940s, two things stand out that occurred in the month of June. The inshore cod fishery was just getting started for the season. I can still see trap skiffs towing a rodney coming around the old breakwater point, both laden down to the gunwales with fish. At times, they disappeared from sight riding the troughs of the turbulent waves; one wondered if they could make it to shore. But, alas, the fearless fishermen soon pulled into the stage head with their oilskins all-a-drippin. June was also capelin season; it often coincided with the lilac season but their resonating aromas couldn't be more diverse. There was hustle and bustle at the beach; horse and box carts, wheelbarrows, buckets and cast nets were cluttered haphazardly, as crowds of people gathered fertilizer for their gardens. I recall wheeling a load of capelin along by the school classroom where the higher-grade students were writing their C.H.E. exams. Once school was out, boys gravitated to the centre of activity (where all outport boys went), to the beach and the stage head. In the early summer when cod chased the capelin into the rocks, the wharves and stage heads were alive with activity. Some crews hauled the cod trap up to four times a day, leaving the dock at three in the morning. The rhythmic put-put chugging of the make and break was ubiquitous throughout the harbour. Some could even associate the sound of the Acadia, Atlantic, or Hubbard with the skiff's owner. There was one fisherman who still clung to the old method of using a small boat with a sail. I can still see him in late afternoon slowly making his way to port with his day's catch. He skillfully mobilized the force of the wind in the sail and the angle of attack to propel his craft to port. A few times I kept the fish box filled; in return I was given a liver note whereby I could collect ten or fifteen cents at the liver factory. Tom cods were thrown over the stage head to be siphoned up by a voracious cluster of gulls? Fish was processed late at night under a single light bulb or lantern. When the last fish was split and the fishermen's clothes and stage head were washed down, someone would go to the stage to assist the salter with his excess congestion. Just enough time for a few hours' sleep, and then tomorrow's rerun. With so much broken rest, it was a relief to catch a few winks on the return from hauling the trap. And Sunday, of course, was a day of rest. The inshore fisherman's life was synonymous with toil, sweat, and drudgery. Hard work is one thing; economic security is another. The entire family shared the burden of helping provide such security. Younger members of the family assisted in gardening, hay-making, berry-picking and chores associated with the curing of salt fish on the flakes. One cannot underestimate the part played by women in the inshore fishing enterprise. Women shouldered half the load of work in rural households; their toil often made the difference between survival and starvation. They would be on the wharf or stage head with breakfast for not only family members but other crew members when they arrived with their early morning catch. In addition, their regular daily routine included cleaning, cooking, preserving, and making clothing for the children. Women were at the forefront in the gardening: cutting the seed potatoes, planting, weeding, fertilizing, and harvesting the crops. They may have had animals to attend, which required the harvesting of hay. I can recall a woman carrying on her back in the heat of a mid- summer sun a specially designed net filled with hay. She nonchalantly tossed the pile through the doorway of the upper story of the barn. Perhaps the most demanding and time-consuming task of the fishery for women was the drying and curing process of the saltfish. Once the salted fish were washed out, the women would then spread them onto wooden fish flakes to dry in the sun until cured. The women tended the fish, taking it in each night, and often, hastily and vigilantly, during the day when the skies looked ominous. Our early outport people were not given too many options; their livelihood, and very existence, was dependent on the salt cod fishery. Their actual survival was contingent on the collective effort of people working together for a common cause. A small sample, perhaps, that we all are an integral part of the web of life, reminding ourselves we do not weave the web but are just a strand in it. Just as fuel drives the engine of the trap skiff, so teamwork is the fuel that allows ordinary people to attain extraordinary results. Above Photo: Barrett's Stagehead Submitted by Charles Beckett, Gambo, NL   Submitted By: NULL