Two years ago, I first moved to Scotland as an American with a dream and a heart yearning for adventure. I had never been to Scotland, nor did I have any realistic expectations of what I was in store for. Despite my ignorance, and my ears failing to immediately understand Scottish dialects, I began to ingratiate myself into life in Edinburgh. Here, I found, were a multitude of people not so different from my own: kindhearted, and a bit rough around the edges.
I had never lived in a big city, yet I slowly adjusted to city life. I learned how to hop on buses and trains (after many awkward misunderstandings) — don’t laugh, we barely have those in America. However, I grew a bit bored of saturating myself in alcohol on the dusty cobblestone streets of Auld Reekie, and wanted to venture out. I wanted to see the real Scotland — the blue collar, rugged, old fashioned Scotland that I had envisioned before I arrived. With this in mind, I set out for the northeastern coast.
As a student journalist, I had been instructed to go out and find a good story to tell. While my peers opted for sophisticated cultural stories, like covering whimsical musicals and such, I decided to cover something I care about: fishing. I have always enjoyed fishing, and this goes way back. Before I could read or write I had a fishing pole in my hand, and was reeling in fish nearly as big as myself. I decided to seek out a fellow fishing enthusiast: a retired professional fisherman named Ronnie.
I scheduled an interview with Mr. Ronnie Hughes on a cold, windy day in December. I was bundled up for my voyage, setting out into the great mysterious land of Fife. In a short time, I found myself in the small old fishing village of Anstruther. From here, I made my way to the Scottish Fisheries Museum. I was greeted at the café inside by a kind, rosy cheeked woman who quickly produced a cup of hot coffee for me. She took delight in my interest in fishing, as do I. I sat sipping my cup of joy, looking at various photographs on the wall of old fishing vessels dating back over a hundred years. Had I found my home far away from home?
My attention was seized by the entrance of a graceful and kind older gentleman, whose wise eyes I just knew had gazed upon many a fish in their time. A firm handshake confirmed that this, indeed, was the man of the hour himself: Mr. Hughes. He welcomed me, and took it upon himself to allow me a free tour of the entire museum. How could I refuse? I followed and allowed him to be my guide.
The old fisherman was like a library of knowledge unto himself. He had been in the commercial fishing industry for over thirty years from the late sixties until 2002. He took me through the history of Scottish fishing from prehistorical times, up to our current age of large trawlers. The museum had endless displays of model boats, equipment, and photographs to gaze upon as he led me forward through the lengthy exhibits. My fascination turned to awe once I reached the large room at the very end, where an entire ship’s hull sat preserved in the center. The ship was two stories high, and we had to ascend stairs to view its old wooden frame from above.
I had been gifted an extensive knowledge of Scottish fishing from its earliest beginnings, and this was before I had even begun my interview. The wealth of knowledge that is packed into that small town museum is truly incredible, and it exceeded all my expectations. I had found a new wonder of the modern world, I thought.
In an office at the back of the museum, I sat with Mr. Hughes, getting to know him personally, for around thirty minutes before I even began videotaping the interview. He had proven to be an exceedingly kind and generous person to me, giving me an unsolicited free tour and sharing a treasure trove of knowledge. For twenty minutes I asked him questions, digging deeper into his background and his experience with the changing nature of commercial fishing. He spoke about the change in methods, crew size, and the infamous Cod Wars with Iceland.
At the end of it all, I had gotten much more than I bargained for. I had expected to cover a story on fishing, but instead, I got reeled in.
