When I was a kid growing up in Sutherland, I spent a lot of time crab fishing. A wee wild gang of us roaming the rocky, seaweed-covered shorelines with the bare minimum equipment. We’d kick limpets off the rocks for bait. Tied with string, we’d dangle them down into the water. We’d cast off big rocks on the shore of Loch Broom- that was the best spot. Our friends showed us a secret path through the rhododendrons. It led to a frayed old rope against a cliff which we clung to and lowered ourselves down onto the shore.
This was a whole sacred world of ours, just hiding there below the busy main road to Ullapool, where the fish lorries hurtled past, too busy to notice us kids disappearing into the bracken with big plans.
There was a whole entire world down there, below the verge of that road, hidden from view.
When I try to write, I take myself back to the quiet of our rocky perches on Loch Broom. The slap of the tide against rock where I peer down, trying to see past the surface ripples.
To me, writing takes the kind of patience that came easily to us then, sitting on the rocks, waiting for the crabs to bite. There was no boredom. No frustration that we’d have to wait for hours. This kind of patience I learned then was from a fascination of every tiny moment on those rocks. We didn’t feel like we were waiting for life to wash its treasure onto the shore for us. We understood that it was all there in front of us already. In every tiny barnacle or hermit crab peeking out at us from its shell. There was no effort in looking for life’s mystery as kids because we could plainly see we’d already found it.
We weren’t scared to look, to seek below the surface, the murky depths were fascinating to us. I’d lie stretched out with my stomach on those big black rocks, like a seal basking. Wellies scraping off the barnacles and waving the bait to taunt the crabs for fun.
Maybe writing is a bit like crab fishing? I’m trying to remember how it felt to be a kid looking down from the rocks into the sea, with no fear of what was down there. No clock watching, no wasted time either. Just making the most of every small moment because we were immersed in its beauty. Patiently for that moment when the waves give way to a glassy mirror and I follow the rusty kelp stalks down from my world to theirs.