Local history: Fishing is nothing like it was in the old days

Part 4

By Tom Gillespie

A NORTH Mayo shopkeeper, farmer and fisherman, Michael Connolly, in an article entitled ‘From Needles To Anchors’ in Brian P. Martin’s 1996 More Tales of the Old Countrymen publication, recounted his family’s early history.

One of eight children, Michael Joseph Connolly was born on August 15, 1923, at Stonefield, Carrowteige, on the peninsula neighbouring Rossport.

He recalled going fishing as a young boy:

When we were kids and forever bathing, at least in the summer, you would sometimes hear a shout that someone had stepped on a plaice. Of course, the tendency was to jump off, but after a while some of us learned to press down, and sometimes we caught a good-sized fish. And dabs and flounders were plentiful in the estuaries as late as the 1970s.

But the fishing’s nothing like it was. On a good day I’ve had as many as 20 flatfish in a few hours fishing with lugworm; now (1996), there is hardly one left.

In the old days, too, you could almost go out with a bucket and lift the salmon, there were so many. And the mackerel shoals would nearly blind you with their phosphorescence; the sea would almost take off with them.

The increase in seals and over-fishing's only half the problem.

I always loved beach-combing and used to get lots of strange wood, weed, coconuts and other things which must have come from South America.

But in the last few years there’s not been one bit of this, and my theory is that the Gulf Stream has changed course, resulting in a colder sea and poorer inshore fishing.

This used to be one of the richest fishing grounds in Europe. Four of us in a 26-footer once got 6,000 mackerel in a day with only handlines and jigs. And I can remember 50 English stream (coal) trawlers out there in the bay at the one time.

When they (seals) weren’t protected we used to get a bounty of £1, which later rose to £2, for a seal’s head, though we actually sent in only the nose because of the size. I’ve counted at least 25 salmon taken from my nets by seals in one day.

So I always used to shoot them at every chance I had. I wouldn’t like to do away with them completely, but I do think they should be controlled. There’s all these rich folk here in the winter with their charges chasin’ the foxes for fun, but we are not supposed to shoot the seals, and that’s our living.

We also shot the cormorants, for a bounty of 10 shillings. There used to be every kind of wildlife here, but now there’s only about 25 per cent left. But at least we have the Brent geese, and plenty of others, which take no notice of me.

Michael still gathers local shellfish, but only for home consumption. Among them are mussels, cockles, winkles, clams and several others whose English names he did not know. Among his favourites are limpets, which he puts through the mincer after boiling.

He also harvests seaweed, ‘the long, flat, black, slimy variety,’ which can be reached at low water:

I used to sell it by the 30-ton load. It was in great demand for baths, which people would pay to visit. And in the war it was used when bandages were short. They also noticed that it helped to cure wounds, but the big drug companies wouldn’t want to hear that!

I found the seaweed excellent for my arthritic elbow; it cured it in two weeks, but it did colour my arm a bit. I always rub it on my face for shaving - its better than any soap, as the Japanese know. That’s why I have such good skin. And sometimes I have a bath with it.

When Michael does so, his wife Eva says ‘He had so much seaweed in there you can just see his head poking out like a seal. It makes the bath a bit brown, but he really believes in it.’

Michael has also sampled dulse, seaweed which is generally eaten when dried and sells for about 25p per ounce. Another called ‘slouk’ or ‘slowk’ - slogan in Irish - is eaten after cooking, and was once in great demand for export.

Another local wild product which is still harvested and commonly sold in shops is Carrageen moss. ‘Nowadays people mostly take it for their chests and to make custard, but in the old days we chiefly fed it to young calves to make their coats shine.’

Hampshire-born author Brian P. Martin, in conclusion, wrote of Michael Connelly: But even without the seaweed and such a healthy natural diet, I think Michael Connolly would have a fine glow to his skin because he lives in such an invigorating area.

'The friendliness of the local people was most apparent when I stayed at nearby McGrath’s Inn, which has been in the same family for centuries.

“There, too, the spirit of independence and self-sufficiency remains strong.

'As I sipped my first pint of stout at McGrath’s, the landlord's son came in from the sleety gale cradling a weak, newborn lamb, which needed urgent treatment.

'Later that evening tables and chairs were quickly moved aside and a curtain drawn across one end of the bar when the local ‘keep fit’ class arrived. But then there was just a bit of rivalry as the music accompanying the unseen, energetic fitness pupils competed with the ever-increasing volume of the now almost universal bar television.

'In front of the Guinness and Smithwick’s pumps, a row of proud heads, most of them speaking Irish, angled up and sideways, determined to hear the wise words of their lady president. All seemed content to watch the world from afar.'

Concluded.