50 • The Sunday Times MagazineR
ory McCormack, known as
Brighton’s last fisherman, is
a local institution. It was once
routine for the city’s fishermen
to station their boats on Brighton
beach; now only McCormack’s
remains. A 67-year-old retiree
who once fished for a living, he
rises before dawn to haul his boat across the shingle
by hand and row himself out to sea, eschewing an
engine or winch. “I got sick to death of mending
hydraulics, wiring and so forth,” he explains. “When
I stopped doing that I deliberately went as far away
as I could from any idea of fishing for money.”
Today McCormack fishes for sea bass, mackerel
and Dover sole, laying his nets about once a
fortnight — which, he says, is still “far more than
I need to feed myself, have a bit left over and pay off
a few favours with my neighbours”. Over the past
winter the photographer Jonathan Browning
became the first guest permitted aboard his boat.
“Rory doesn’t like to pause or stay still for photos,
so it was very much a case of trying to get a still and
sharp image where possible,” Browning says.
His photographs capture the physical demand of
McCormack’s fishing trips, but also their solitary
beauty. “If I didn’t enjoy it, I wouldn’t do it because
it’s very hard work, it’s smelly, it’s uncomfortable,”
McCormack says. “But I can’t see why anyone would
live by the sea and not fish” ■
jonbrowning.co.ukWithout a winch,
McCormack must drag
his fishing boat up the
shingle by handRowing out to recover
his nets — and any fish
— after setting them
the day before