I observe the foreman. In situations like this, he shows his worth. He leads. He holds the rudder tight under his left arm, soaked in sea. They are one, he and the boat. This eternal fight between nature and humanity. Knowledge, tenacity, stubbornness. He pulls his hood back, it lies as a soaked cap on his black hair. This is the fisherman, our keeper of fishing ground secrets. He, who learned to know sea and current, who was taught by father and grandfather where to lower his fishing line. He grew up with the breeze, wind, storm and hurricane. He “saw” the seabed, eddies, skerries and every sunken rock. He knew every spit, promontory, cape and reef. Every spot where halibut, cod and haddock where to be found were embedded in his mind, he sensed the moment when to fish, as the land sunk in the setting sun.