Beneath the waves

The catch

Twelve fish of the Cornish sea, seen side on, the way a fish is truly known.

Pilchard

Never anywhere alone. Moved in millions past Newlyn until they didn't, and now they do again.

Mackerel

Named for the lure, which is the only way anyone ever meets one. Out at dawn, back by nine.

Bass

Waits at the edge of the surf for the tide to do the work. Patient in a way that looks like arrogance.

Pollack

Over every wreck and rock ledge inshore. Hangs in the current and lets it bring things.

Hake

Comes up from deeper than anything else on this page, and is mostly mouth about it.

Conger

Lives in the thing he is named after. Out at dusk, back before anyone can photograph him.

John Dory

Carries a thumbprint on his flank and the story that goes with it. Opens his mouth like a drawer.

Red gurnard

Armoured, red, and walks the sand on finger-rays. Complains audibly when landed.

Megrim

Lands in Newlyn and leaves for Spain the same week. Better travelled than anyone here.

Plaice

Lies flat on sand pretending to be sand, and gives it away with seven orange spots.

Ballan wrasse

Owns a gully and rearranges the stones in it. Green, rust, and firmly of the opinion it is his.

Grey mullet

Up the Fowey on the flood, grazing the harbour wall, down again on the ebb. No hurry ever.

Together

A shoal

Six of them at once. A fish stands on nothing, so depth is all that places them: the near ones larger and lower, the far ones smaller and higher.

A whole scene

The reef, two shafts of light, kelp, coral and a rock, and the Diver with his lantern, going down among them. Above him, a shoal of mackerel.

Every fish in the scene is still a fish: named, and free to move.