Fishing in Coll, 1999

The sun beat down for hour on hour
With merciless subtropic power
And everything in Arinagour
Was dormant in the sun
No cooling breeze disturbed the trees
Or motion stirred the slumbering seas
As slowly, one by one,
Boats did appear from far and near,
And anchored by the middle pier
As crewmen hastily stowed gear
And fishing yarns were spun.

From creek and bay they came that day
Boats lime-green, red and black and grey
By oars and outboards under way
From all around the Isle.
All coming with the same commission
To win the fishing competition
By craft and guile,
To cast a line, with pleasing swish
With bait or fly, outwit the fish,
Go home, enjoy a tasty dish
After a while.

How many years of ebb and flow
Since early Collach learnt to row
And in his coracle would go
On this same stretch of sea?
Two thousand years or many more
Ancestors fished Eatharna's shore
Tasted the glee
And doubtless when they felt a tug
They would be smitten by the bug
And go home looking slightly smug
Like you and me.

Alan Henderson