I’ve decided to have a trip out to Brixham in South Devon. Yes, again. It’s a beautiful town, with fishing and tourism its two main legal sources of income. Smuggling has always been more profitable than fishing here, but, with severe penalties, like death by hanging, it’s had its down sides as well over the years.
In 1334, Brixham’s value was assessed at one pound, twelve shillings and eightpence. Now the price of a single average house is £250,000.
I’m taking photographs of the birds here when I see a diver in the water. No, not a Great Northern Diver. Well, he might be great and he could be northern, but he’s not that sort of diver. He’s got the full gear you need at this time of year, together with an action camera strapped to his forehead.
He’s got a float to indicate his position.
I suppose that’s a safety feature. You don’t want to be run over by a motorboat, after all.
Behind him I can see the bird I want to photograph. That’s a Great Northern Diver behind a pair of flippers.
He comes to the surface with a scallop.
And signals to someone on the beach.
When he comes back onto land we get chatting. Jamie’s got quite a haul and he’s very kind and shows me what he’s caught:
And a lobster.
Brixham’s teeming with life below the waterline.