Between 2006 and 2011, I photographed a traditional fishing method practised in the bays around İzmir on the Aegean coast. Unlike fishing that depends on pursuing fish in open water, this method requires the fishermen to observe the movement of shoals from the shore and act at precisely the right moment. It combines a fixed net, ropes, a small boat and, above all, an experienced eye.
The fishermen position a bag-shaped net in the sea, securing two of its points while the other ends are controlled by ropes from the beach. From a raised lookout, they watch the water for fish approaching the net. When a shoal moves into the right position, the men on shore pull the ropes to close the trap. At times, stones are thrown into the water around the net to guide the fish towards it. A boat then approaches so the catch can be collected. The method is particularly suited to fish moving in shoals, such as mullet.
What fascinated me was the importance of seeing. The surface of the sea can conceal almost everything beneath it, yet the fishermen learn to recognise small changes in light, movement and colour. They must communicate across the distance between the lookout, the shore and the boat. Their work is not simply a matter of strength; it depends on timing, cooperation and knowledge of the behaviour of fish in familiar waters.
The fishermen also told me about an older way of looking beneath the surface. A small bottle of olive oil was suspended above the water so that oil could drip slowly onto the sea. The thin film it created calmed small surface ripples and made it easier to see into the water. Polarised glasses now serve a similar purpose. I found this detail particularly revealing: a simple solution, developed through observation and experience, had become part of the practical knowledge of coastal fishing.
In these photographs I wanted to record the whole process rather than only the fish brought ashore: the men watching from their positions, the ropes tightening, the boat approaching and the shared concentration that connects each movement. These scenes belong to a way of working shaped by the coastline and passed on through practice. They remind me that traditional livelihoods often depend on forms of knowledge that are easy to overlook until we see them in action.