Posted by on Jan 31, 2011 in Commercial Fishing, Stories | 5 comments

In the winter, when the sea herring arrive, a boat’s rail is always cold. If you put your bare hands on it while staring at a distant headland, the rail may grab a piece of skin and rip it off. The view is never worth the pain of attachment. I pick at a herring scale, remove it from my face. The tiny scales are like sequins, like party glitter. They...

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