Men were unloading rowboats on a beach full of stones

As I walked along the rocky shoreline, a small rowboat approached from the open water. As it reached the shallows, several men waded into the surf, grabbing hold of the boat and pulling it ashore. It became clear that this beach wasn’t just a resting place for abandoned boats—some were still in active use.

I assumed these men used their small rowboat to ferry themselves out to larger fishing vessels anchored offshore, where they carried out their work. But that raised another question: How did they transport their catch back to land? If they unloaded their haul here, some kind of infrastructure would be necessary to process and distribute the seafood. Yet, I saw no such facilities—no fish stalls, no storage units, nothing that suggested a working harbor. Perhaps their catch wasn’t brought ashore here at all, but instead taken to a larger fish market, like Sassoon Dock, where it could be properly unloaded and sold.

With quiet efficiency, the men lifted their oars and hauled the boat onto the beach, their movements practiced and precise. As I watched them work, I found myself imagining the unseen system that sustained their livelihood—an intricate process unfolding just beyond what was visible from this quiet stretch of shore.

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