I was brought up within a stone’s throw of the sea.

I used to delight in doing just that from our small garden, occasionally to the consternation of our immediate neighbour whose roof I sometimes threw the stones over! There were many in the community who relied directly or indirectly on the sea to provide employment. Whether they were family or friends it gave an acute awareness of the sea’s impact on all local life.

Like all island exiles it is easy to romanticise as the flashbacks of long northern summer days fill your mind. Visions of blue skies and bluer seas and a pleasant breeze come flooding back. Memories of hours spent out in an open boat, sailing or fishing can dim those of dramatic winter storms and dark days that create a deep respect for the power of the ocean.

The sea provokes a gamut of emotions and attitudes and I can remember very clearly some occasions that created these.

My love of the sea comes from innumerable events but mainly from days spent around the islands with my father and my brothers and sisters sailing our small traditional Shetland boat. If we were not sailing, especially at local regattas, the other regular pastime was fishing as this provided food for both summer and winter.

Summer was definitely better as you ate what you caught fresh, very fresh. The variety of available fish was extensive. It included haddock, cod, ling, saithe, mackerel, not to mention shellfish and wild salmon. Fishing was mainly handline, either inside the sheltered ‘voes’ or out in open water at prized localities. The location of these places was jealously guarded within families and found by using visual bearings from prominent local features. One variety of shellfish we caught was the ‘spoot’ or razor-shell that could only be caught at very low tides in sandy areas. This required great stealth but properly cooked they were delicious. In view of the need for low tides any low, or significant spring tide, was usually referred to locally as a ‘spoot ebb’. Spoots are, I believe, known in the Cromarty Firth area and in Orkney.

Winter evokes a different memory, that of salt fish. The summer catch was salted before being air dried and then hung inside. Whilst being a welcome addition to most family’s larder it was not, in truth, the most exciting of fare.

Real fear was an emotion felt rarely, I am glad to say. However, being caught out alone one moonlit night in a small flat-bottomed rowing boat as the wind rapidly backed and freshened and the failure of the Shetland equivalent of a rowlock, resulted in a very nervous time. As the waves grew in size and with an inhospitable cliff now a lea shore I was fortunate to effect a temporary repair. This gave me the opportunity to get back to safety with a quartering sea to keep my adrenalin flowing. I did not grudge the long walk home but I blessed the moonlight which gave me the chance to make it and to contemplate what might have been.

Amazement came from witnessing phenomena such as the ‘mareel’, the local word for the phosphorescent glow produced by tiny organisms in the sea. This was particularly evident as darkness fell. Seeing myriads of sparkling water drops fall from fishing lines or oars and the boat’s wake in the sea alive with an eerie luminescence is permanently etched in my memory.

Misunderstanding was an experience from my very young days. Porpoises were very regularly seen breaking the surface with a sharp and explosive intake of air before slipping back below the surface in one smooth action. As they appeared to present a semi-circular profile I believed for years that they were actually completely round in shape!

One principle emotion has to be respect. No one who experiences the sea’s moods and power can ever treat it lightly. To witness huge waves coming in unchecked from the open Atlantic and pounding the shore in hurricane force winds; to see large wrecks reduced to a few sheets and beams of steel before slipping out of sight below the waves; or to marvel at massive boulders being tossed around in the surf as if they were pebbles, is an awesome experience.

The sea has generated many more memories than these. It supports a huge diversity of life with amazing bird, fish and mammals around and in it, all of which bring so many memories. It provided a highway which allowed me to travel away from the islands to work and, like so many others, took me back to my family time and time again.

I feel privileged to have enjoyed its many aspects, and to have grown up with unlimited views of the open Atlantic and North Sea for years is a bonus.

Northerly Shores – by Graham Sutherland, 5 years at Peddieston, Cromarty.