A different kind of travelogue. As an avid young traveller I often wondered what would it would be like when I got older, gathered commitments, created children and accrued debt. This is what it's like.
A working Beach. A beach that is worked. Not a beach that is stared at and enjoyed as an aesthetic thing. Not a romantic notion. Working beaches have boats dragged across them. Sea creatures are dug out of them. The tools of the harvesters are spread across them. The flotsam and jetsam cover them. The place is a mess. Children play. People eat. Its not pretty. It is a small industry. One of the few industries that retains a small proportion of free people. On the smaller if not smallest scale a beach is the anti-thesis of the rules. Its not a multinational. It is a person with out land but with a simple boat or just a small amount of “catgut” gathering food.
Of course the forces that dominate industry restrict and relocate and retrench and retrain the men and women that can some how stay outside the law and gather their needs from the sea. Directly or indirectly they are supported by the sea. Directly or indirectly they are torn away from that support.
Its a romantic notion. The process of fishing as a living is being moved from unregulated to regulated.
Much of this is good. Much of this is bad.