In October 1954 the Sunday Independent ran an article describing the day journalist Patrick Conroy spent fishing in the North Sound with the Aran Islands trawler, M.F.V Ros Breasail. Built in 1952, this was the first of the ‘Ros’ class of trawler to arrive on the islands and was owned and skippered by a legend in Irish fishing, the late Pat Joe O’Donnell of Cill Éinne
At 4 am on an October morning in 1954, the journalist joined 29 year old Pat Joe and his five crewmen as they slipped out of Galway harbour. They were headed for the fishing grounds and here is the report Patrick Conroy filed after what sounds like an uncomfortable twelve hours on Galway Bay.
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| Galway Docks where Pat Joe O’Donnell and his crew were joined by a newspaper reporter for a fishing expedition in October 1954. As can be seen from this photo, there were then two separate docks in Galway which would be joined together in the 1960s. (Photo from The Old Drone: Norman Ashe collection curated by Patrick Kiersey) |
A TRIP TO THE FISHING GROUNDS OFF THE ARAN ISLANDS by Patrick Conroy. Published October 31st 1954
TUSSLE WITH RELENTLESS SEA.
On board the tiny fishing trawler Ros Breasail, we nosed through the heavy swell of wind and rain which enveloped Galway Bay.
It was 4a.m on an October morning, three hours before dawn and we were on our way to the North Sound, north-west of the Aran Islands, thirty miles away.
The bleak darkness of a blustering Autumn morning chilled the body and all thoughts of a soul-stirring trip through famed Galway Bay gradually faded as we inched past the pier, out through the harbour entrance and the marker lights winking reply at us in the gloom.
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| The late Pat Joe O’Donnell (1924-1982) of Cill Éinne, skipper of the Ros Breasail. Pat Joe showed an enthusiastic reporter just how difficult a fishing expedition can be in rough seas. |
HEADING OUT TO SEA.
No word was spoken until we had rounded the first buoy and were heading out to sea, then the skipper nodded to crew member Peter Donohue and laconically ordered “Take the wheel”. A moment later he had disappeared below. Nothing could be seen through the tiny wheelhouse windows. The rain lashed itself to a frenzy outside and the wind whipped gobs of water from the glass only for it to be replaced immediately afterwards.
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| The M.F.V Ros Breasail (D319) in Cuan Chill Éinne. Photo Bailiücán Béaloidis Árann |
The wheelhouse was big enough to hold two, which gave a feeling of security as the boat pitched and shuddered on its way. Occasionally, we opened one of the small windows to look out, but a shower of spray from the bow as a wave struck the boat head-on caused us hastily to fasten up again.
Peter Donohue is a square-cut man, reflecting in his face and powerful shoulders, the robust life he led.
“I am an Aranman” he said, simply “ all of my people are from there. I was born there. I spent my life in a currach fishing before I joined up with Pat Joe” (Pat Joe O’Donnell is the skipper and owner of the boat)
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| Peter Donohue’s family are still involved in fishing and his son Bertie fishes out of Cill Rónáin. Bertie’s wife Niamh and family operate a very popular food wagon at the foot of Dún Aengus, selling their own freshly caught fish. |
Then, like all solitary men of the sea, Peter slipped into silence, occupying himself with the wheel and the compass, which gave a dim reflection from the small oil lamp burning beside it.
ON THROUGH THE STORM
On through the darkness and the storm with no sound from the other crew members down below. One peek at the “below decks” department revealed an enclosure of about three yards by three, which, at first glance gave the impression of being empty, but closer inspection showed that there was a double row of bunks on either side of that small space, which for comparison, looked like rows of small boxes on their sides, on top of one another. Certainly the bunks were no higher than the width of the fish boxes on board. There, the crew were snatching a rest.
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| A Pathe News image from those days giving an idea of sleeping arrangements aboard a fishing trawler in the 1950s. Tough men doing a tough job. |
Towards dawn, the storm abated and the long lonely line of the Connemara coast could be dimly discerned through the thinning darkness. But the boat continued to pitch and roll and I had to brace myself against the sides of the wheelhouse to keep from being thrown about.
As the first grey streaks of light commenced to filter through, there was the odour of frying bacon and the sound of crew members astir. Long yellow oilskin coats and white rubber gloves were being donned. In five minutes the boat had become a hive of activity.
SKIPPER TAKES OVER.
The skipper took over and Peter Donohue hurried to join the others who were by this time working at their various tasks preparing the gear. They moved about the pitching deck with the ease of flies walking across a ceiling.
There was big John Faherty (who had lost his own fishing boat two years ago during a storm off Aran), Myles Joyce and McDara Joyce; already mentioned Peter Donoghue and 18 year old Kieran Gill, the youngest fisherman aboard.
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| The teenage fisherman aboard the Ros Breasail was the late Ciarán Gill of Cill Rónáin. In September 1966 Ciarán took control of his new boat the M.F.V Ard Scia. He trained many young fishermen and he worked the Ard Scia for many years with his two late brothers, Matt and Sylvester. In the course of researching this article we were reminded of the huge debt of gratitude Irish and Aran fishermen owe to the late Brendan O’Kelly (1928-2017) of Bord Iascaigh Mhara. Brendan was very vocal in pointing out that Ireland was conceding too much on the fishing front during entry negotiations into the E.E.C. Time would prove him right. Against the odds, Brendan fought a heroic battle to protect and encourage the Irish fishing industry and is remembered for his kindness and support to island fishermen. May he rest easy. |
All natives of the Aran Islands, these men together with the skipper, showed by their appearance the hardy stock from which they had sprung; they shifted heavy gear around as Lightly as one would shift an empty box.
Watching them at work on that tiny trawler, one got the impression of the drilled precision of a man o’ war detail clearing the decks for action.
Suddenly came an order from the skipper, “Prepare to shoot”. It was fully light and we were on the fishing grounds after three hours journey. The wind continued to whip the waves but the rain had stopped.
Myles Joyce seized a 15 foot bamboo cane which had an iron weight at one end and red and black flags at the other. In the centre was a massive cork substance to keep it afloat in the sea. One end of the net ope was fastened to it. Myles Joyce threw it spear like into the water. Known as a dahn buoy, it remained half submerged but upright, the flags fluttering from its top.
Suddenly the thousands of yards long rope in the boat jumped into action. As the boat raced away, the Dahn Buoy dragged coil after coil of rope over the side of the boat, taking the net with it. Soon the Dahn Buoy was out of sight as the boat described a wide circle and it was some time before we saw it again.
MILES OF ROPE
Eventually, the Dahn loomed upon the starboard side and the skipper slowed down as he manoeuvred the boat close to it. MacDaa Joyce threw out a grappling iron and recovered that end of the rope, while Myles Joyce pulled the Dahn Buoy aboard.
Nearly two and a half miles of rope had been played out during “the run” and it was now the job of th crew to start hauling it back slowly with the aid of a winch.
Thus the wide spread net closes gradually on the fish and as the rope is winched aboard the fish are gradually hemmed in and drawn towards the boat. This operation alone took an hour and a quarter.
While the winch was in action, the boat remained stationary, except for the heave and fall caused by the swell. As they wait for the catch, the crew busy themselves; boxes are got in readiness, knives for cleaning the fish are placed at hand. The winch winding in the ropes is checked. Suddenly there is a shout from Big John Faherty “ STOP THE WINCH….ROPE BROKE”
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| John Faherty is seen here in his New York cab drivers uniform in the 1930s. John was fishing with Pat Joe as his own trawler St Kieran, had been wrecked during a fierce storm at Cill Rónáin pier in December 1951. You can read about that incident in this piece we did recently. |
At once there is a flurry of activity on board. One of the ropes towing the net has parted. Now the long dreary business of hauling in the entire gear, a few inches a second. (With two and a half miles of rope and net, this is no easy task. Fouling of rope or net on the sea bottom can mean the loss of £270 worth of gear)
The rope will have to be spliced and the whole of the two and a half mile operation, started again.
DRAWING IN THE NET
The second run was completed. The remainder of the two and a half miles of rope was on board. The winch was stopped and the job of drawing in the all-important net with its precious catch, was commenced. Working by hand, this task took three men.
At last the catch was hauled on board and emptied. It consisted mainly of whiting with a plentiful sprinkling of all sorts of queer looking fish, from tiny cat fish and dog fish to squid. The skipper silently looked at the miserably small catch and turned away to the wheelhouse.
Off we raced again. The Dahn Buoy was shot and we were away on another sweep. While two men manoeuvred the ropes as they spun yard by yard over the side, the others were busy cleaning, sorting and boxing the fish. Dinner at last, which had been prepared and cooked by each member of crew lending a hand between tasks.
Th moon was partly gleaming through a night mist as we slowly glided into Galway Harbour. We had been twelve hours at sea and the sum total of the catch was eight boxes of fish.
Before we tied up I asked the skipper Pat Joe, what he thought of the catch. “Well” he said “ we have netted 120 boxes of fish in a day—but not often— today’s catch— well it’s all in the game—we’ll start for the farther fishing grounds beyond the Aran Islands at two tomorrow morning. “
He glanced at me with the memory of a thousand bitter lonely tides reflecting in his eyes, this one-time currach fisherman, rugged son of Aran…”Ah Well” he said, “ it’s all in the game —better luck next time.
Hats off to the indomitable spirit of men like these, and especially to the gallant men of the “Ros Breasail”
And so ended Patrick Conroy’s article from 1954.
Ml Muldoon August 2025
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