Four Hours at the Fish Auction

I got to the harbour at five. The hall was already lit, a long concrete room with the doors open to the dark and a smell of ice and diesel. Nobody talked. Everybody knew what they were doing.

Eight frames from the morning follow, in the order they happened, each with the caption I would give it on a wall. Read them alone, then in a row.

Before the bell

Plate 1. The hall, 5:10. Crates in rows, each with a chalk number, the strip lights humming over them. The floor is wet. The floor is always wet.

Plate 2. Harbourmaster Teller. He checks the board before anyone else arrives. He says the list never changes, and he checks it every morning anyway.

The auction

Plate 3. The first lot. Buyers walk the rows with their hands behind their backs, like men in a gallery. They aren't looking at the fish. They're looking at the eyes, the gills, the sheen of the skin, and they decide in the time it takes to pass.

Plate 4. Hands. One buyer raises two fingers without moving his arm. The auctioneer sees it before I do. I lost four frames to that gesture before I understood it was the whole language of the room.

Plate 5. The clock. The old dial auction clock, descending, a buyer's thumb over a button. I stood behind the thumb and shot past it.

After

Plate 6. Ice. Shovelled over the sold crates in a long white arc, caught in the strip light. This is the one I'd print largest.

Plate 7. Gulls at the door. They wait outside for the doors to be hosed. A few dozen of them, completely patient.

Plate 8. The last crate. Unsold, pushed to the wall, a single fish with its mouth slightly open. Someone has put a coat over the end of it. I don't know why. I didn't ask.

Notes on making it

I used one lens, a small body, and no flash. The hall is bright enough, but harsh, so I exposed for the wet floor and let the faces fall dark. I'd take that trade again.

The sixth plate took forty minutes to arrive. The rest came quickly, as they do when you stay out of the way. The most useful thing I did all morning was stand still next to the stove in the corner, where the men go to warm their hands, and let them get used to me.

By nine the hall was empty and hosed down. By ten the town was asleep. I went back to the guesthouse and slept for three hours with my boots on.