Shortly before midnight, Mr. David O’Neill put his trawler into the harbor of Union Hall, a small port in the southwest of Ireland, and the wake from the ship crashed small waves onto the pier.
Under bright spotlights, the crew used cranes to lift boxes of ice-filled haddock and hake from Aquila’s hold and quickly unload the game.
In less than an hour, the Aquila departs for its final journey. Two days later, the crew stripped the ship of its contents (chains, buoys, ropes, steel cables and hooks) and threw it onto the pier en route to the shipyard for scrap.
“This one comes with me,” said O’Neill as he loosened the Aquila’s wooden steering wheel. “It reminds me of everything I’ve been through on this boat.”
The Aquila is part of a government voluntary decommissioning program introduced after Britain left the European Union (EU) and ceded 25% of European fishing rights in British waters. One of the Irish fishing boats. This severely limited the number of fish that Irish fishing vessels were allowed to catch. Expected annual loss of €43 million ($46 million), making Ireland part of Europe most affected countries.
Fishing is a small industry in Ireland, but in some coastal areas it remains a staple of the economy, albeit in decline over the years. But beyond the economic aspect, fishing has remained an essential livelihood for generations. Locals fear that the Brexit quota and subsequent retirement of boats will be the final death sentence.
“It’s bittersweet,” said O’Neill, 37, who captained the Aquila for five years. “You spend most of your time fighting boats. But boats brought us wages and brought us home every week.”
Elsewhere on Ireland’s southwest coast, at Castletown Bear, two fishermen were mending their nets, effortlessly wading through bright green tangles. On the pier behind them stands a memorial to those who died at sea, with dozens of names dating back to 1793 providing a roll call of the dead, connected by family roots and a common tragedy, and the same The surname was repeated for several generations.
Jason, who became a captain at the age of 19, remembers the days when fishing was lucrative at a warehouse near Seahands Fishing owned by Jason Sheehan, 35, and his father, Evie. But new regulations, reduced quotas and higher gas prices equate to “thousand cut deaths,” he said.
“We have fish, that’s our currency, that’s what we have here,” he said. “So we’re between rocks and hard places.”
“I am very disillusioned,” said the 64-year-old father. “Because Brexit feels like we’ve been sold out.”
The two jointly owned a number of trawlers and decided to retire two.
“It was a question of survival,” Elder Sheehan said.
While the realignment of fishing rights will affect the Irish industry as a whole, the abolition plan also applies to the whitefish fleet, which could see up to 30% of vessels scrapped. Large trawlers that fish offshore for fish such as mackerel and herring will also be affected. Their fishing season has been cut in half.
At Killybegs, County Donegal, seven hours north, already quota trawlers have rested for weeks. Visitors to the town are greeted by a strong smell of fish, a reminder of the processing plants that dot the edge of town and that fishing is the core of the place’s identity.
“If you remove fishing from Killybegs, Killybegs will become a ghost town,” said Patrick Murphy, chief executive of the South and West Ireland Fish Producers Association.
A group of children known as the Wild Atlantic Buskers were playing traditional music at the Fleet Inn in Killybegs on a recent Thursday night. Most of their families have been in the fishing community for generations.
While young people played fiddles, accordions and guitar reels, a mother told a story about a boy whose grandfather was lost at sea, a girl whose father worked as a netman, and who still fish here with their families. pointed out another mother who was
Changes are already coming in processing plants. Martin Meehan, general manager of Premier Fish Products, said production has nearly halved since last year.
Meehan, 49, said, “I have a son, but I have no intention of letting him into the industry.”
The decommissioning plan aims to “restore the balance” between Irish fishing fleet capacity and new quotas, according to the government agency in charge. So far, 42 boat owners have accepted offers to scrap their boats. Payouts vary, but average around $1.6 million for small boats, often split between multiple shareholders or banks.
Carla Rawdon, 64, who has been fishing for 40 years in the northern village of Greencastle, said she got a fair price for her boat. he is retired
“There are no young people here to participate in it,” he said. Coastal communities around Ireland are ‘wiping out’.
Caitlin Ui Aoda, who also fished in the area, sold her boat and used the money to open a restaurant in Dungarvan, southeastern Ireland.
“Whether you’re in the ocean or fishing, you have to adapt. When you’re out and about, you realize how quickly life can change,” said 60-year-old Ui Aoda.
Ui Aoda was born in the village of Gaeltacht, in the Irish-speaking part of the country, into a family that has been a fisherman for over 150 years. She spent her early adulthood fishing with her husband, Michael Hayes, after which she turned to raising five children, during which he continued as her captain.
But the sea killed him and four of his crew. When a storm sank their boat near Union Hall in 2012.
After his death, Mr. Ui Aoda bought a trawler and went out to sea again. She thought she would sell the boat when she retired, but things had been difficult for her for years and she felt that scrapping was her only option. Her boat was scrapped in late April.
“The saddest thing really is to see indigenous fishermen like me disappearing all along the coast. she said while “All these names are disappearing. ”
But she also spoke with hopeful resilience about what might happen next. The restaurant is called ‘Iasc’ which means fish in Irish. As she walked through the unfinished space, she pointed out that pictures of Ui Aoda’s father and boat hung on the walls.
“I did everything I could and now things have changed. This is just new,” she said, reflecting on her many years of fishing. “That’s why I’m bringing my own world here.”
Finbar O’reilly Contributed to the report.
