Finally out of Lowestoft. Finally picking up speed again – even if the feeling for the rolling sea has to be found again after this forced break…
Finally off to Whitby, the place I’ve been touted during so many conversations. – Far out, long before I arrive, I suddenly and very surprisingly see dorsal fins appearing diagonally in front of me, slipping off, surfacing, and I immediately feel reminded of my whale-watching experiences near Seattle. I immediately do what I learned back then: Reduce the engine, anticipate the direction of movement, then rev up and drive ahead in a wide arc to wait with the engine switched off and to let the whales/dolphins come towards me.
But they don’t come, or far away from me and probably somewhere else… But then suddenly funny heads emerge from the water, gawping at me! So I drive very slowly towards them until they duck away. Seals? They certainly look like it with their gaze. [Addendum: They are supposed to have been grey seals, as the analysis of the films shows]. Anyway, it was an unexpected, extremely enjoyable encounter of a special kind out here!
The next encounter was rather confusing: On the way to Whitby I see more and more buoys and/or flags dancing in the water and waving at me as if – markings for fishing nets? As seen so often in Finland? But where do these nets begin, where do they end?! How do I have to sail around them so as not to get stuck with the propellers? I have no choice, I have to slow down again and again. But neither the arrangement of these signs nor how to fish is clear to me. Until I see a sailboat in front of me that doesn’t care about these markings and just goes straight through the flags with its long keel. Oops!
Slaloming, I then reach Whitby, and am immediately taken by the appearance of this coastal town and the many good-humoured people/families strolling along the shore, and also by the very original arrangement of the centuries-old houses along the estuary. The harbour master is also in a good mood, Corona doesn’t exist like it does, and as soon as I dock I have my first contact with the fisheries inspectorate. Their boats go out every day to check the fishermen at sea to see if they are keeping to the catch quotas (which they say they not rarely do, and simply price in the fines due). But these fish protection policemen explain the fishing methods to me; I finally learn that they don’t fish with wide-stretched nets, but either with long lines (and countless hooks on them), or that the marks seen are from crabbers who lower their net baskets into the depths (to the bottom) to bring them back up again days later, usually bulging with the eagerly awaited crabs.
During the subsequent stroll through town, I not only see but literally smell that Whitby must be a stronghold of fish and chips ‘gastronomy’…, and that Whitby is a hotspot for day trippers from the hinterland, where (like being an alpine farmer here) being a fisherman is celebrated. – There are fish ‘n’ chips stalls, and there are upmarket fish and chips restaurants, visually at least. But what is served or consumed is always the same: dripping deep-fried cod and soggy chips. I also try it; the restaurant I tried from looked really dazzling from the outside!…