In 1945, William S. Zuill wrote in his book Bermuda Journey that “mullet roe is never plentiful, and St David’s people like it so well themselves that they do not part with it readily. In a good season it is possible for a family to collect a small stock, and when this occurs, it is readily packed away carefully in the cedar chest among the sheets and blankets whence it is doled out sparingly”.

He added that, “apart from other occupations, St David’s men have all been expert fishermen. From this calling come two Bermuda delicacies — mullet roe and shark hash. Mullet roe is a genuine St David’s product and even today there are many Bermudians who do not know what it is”.

It has been 79 years since Mr Zuill published his book and I must confess that I, too, had no idea what mullet roe looked or tasted like.

Recently, I received a call from St David’s Island fisherman Allan Pitcher, one of the last registered mullet fishermen. He had read my article on St David’s and invited us to come to learn about mullet fishing and the techniques used to preserve the roe. This event used to take place three months every year, mainly in autumn when mullets were found in great numbers swarming in circles in the shallow inland waters around Bermuda.

Norbert Simmons, the Fisheries Extension Officer from 1972 to 2014, was the liaison between the Government and the fishermen. Every mullet fisherman is required to produce a landing certificate for the mullets, which must include the number of males and females with and without roe — these statistics are cross-checked with the previous years. When Mr Simmons first assumed the position, there were between 60 and 80 licences issued by the department at the yearly meeting. Newly registered fishermen were advised to first gain experience and be mentored by the more seasoned mullet fisherman. Mr Pitcher noted that only three fishermen registered and paid the required $50 for the permit this year.

We made the journey from Somerset to St David’s on a beautiful, sunny day. The minute we turned off on to the narrow lane leading to Mr Pitcher’s house, we felt we were back in old Bermuda. His wife, Esther, and their dog, Lilly, were there to welcome us to their home near the Chapel of Ease. The cottage was nestled among cedar trees, and other leafy foliage and flowers. The only sound was that of our voices, the birds and loud snores from the dog. To top it all, there was a swing for two people, but we were so captivated as he explained the intricacies of this dying art of mullet fishing and the preparation of the roe that we forgot to sit.

Before his retirement, Mr Pitcher was employed by the Department of Marine and Ports, but his greatest pleasure comes from mullet fishing. For more than 45 years, he has been perfecting his skill using methods handed down by his uncle Gilbert, whose knowledge was passed down from generations of St David’s Island fishermen.

Although he did not have a whole mullet, he informed us that we were going to see his cousin, Gary Lamb, who had one in his freezer. I was surprised when I saw the mullet, as I always imagined them to be small fish. There are two types of smaller mullets: the black tail and red throat sand mullets, sometimes called the summer mullet, which spawn in June but are not eaten.

The ocean mullet is the one you will be reading about today. Ocean mullets are about 12 or more inches long and usually fished at night. Prime fishing areas are Mangrove Bay, near Cathedral Rocks near Scaur Hill, the public wharf at Ely’s Harbour, Pompano, Long Bay in Somerset, Harrington Sound, Ferry Reach, Swing Bridge and Castle Harbour.

Mr Pitcher said his uncles — Gerry, Gilbert and Franshaw — always went to Mangrove Bay. He sets his nets from the shoreline in a straight line with weights to keep them from drifting on the seabed and floats that are marked. Twenty years ago, the fisheries department issued permits for specific areas that they were allowed to fish. Mr Pitcher, whose float number is No 5, prefers areas with a depth of about 10 to 15 feet to set his nets. He has to be alert and awake throughout the night, not only to catch the mullet but to look out for boats that may sail through.

Nets used to catch mullet are called gill nets. These are banned in most places, but in Bermuda they can be used for one month only between October 15 and November 15. Mr Pitcher feels fortunate that he was able to net six roe this year, as the numbers are decreasing — the limit being eight and they must not be sold. He uses gill nets with openings of 4⅞in. The fish is caught when it bumps into the net and its gills become entangled in the opening. Often bonefish and chub are trapped before being set free. Mr Pitcher fishes at night but is finding the increase in seaweed and jellyfish to be an annoying challenge as they become entangled in the nets. Another challenge occurs during a full moon when the fish can see the nets and divert their course.

Bill Anderson, 93, recalled mullet fishermen coming up to the west from St David’s in wooden boats they had designed that were wider than other boats. Often three boats would tie up together and the fishermen and their families would remain on board for several weeks during the mullet season.

In the past, mullets were also found in the Evans Bay Pond and at night you could hear them jumping out of the water. Many times people would climb trees surrounding the pond with pitchforks or spears to catch the fish. He described a tunnel running from the opening of Evans Bay Pond near the Evans Bay wharf. Shads and snappers would swim into the cool waters of the tunnel and end up in the pond.

In the days of dirt roads, the water in the pond was uncontaminated, but once the roads were asphalted, the oil and other run-offs killed the fish.

Esther Pitcher has always accompanied her husband on these monthly adventures and I was surprised when she admitted that she does not swim — she laughed when I confessed that I swim only where I can stand.

For a month, they lived on the boat day and night with their dog to set the nets and catch mullet. The dog, whom her husband describes as “the star of the show”, is quick to alert them when a mullet has been caught. Often the nets are damaged by crabs and large fish travelling at speed. Nights with 20 to 30-knot winds are best for catching mullet, as they are slow swimmers and ride on the swells. On a calm night, they just touch the net and swim away.

Mr Pitcher is an expert at making and repairing his own nets using monofilament threads. The roe is carefully extracted using a knife with a dull tip, as care must be taken not to rupture the sac containing the golden eggs. Once the blood has been removed from the veins, the manual process of salting the roe begins — only experience can tell you how much salt to use. The roe is then put in a press with the gradual addition of weights for about four days. Once removed from the press, it is tied on the end and hung to dry from a window. This process takes 14 days. Mr Pitcher used to dry them in the house, but his wife complained bitterly about the smell! They are now relegated to a window in the garage. After curing over the fortnight, they are taken down, wrapped in waxed paper then foil, and placed in the freezer. I did not know that the eggs were pressed into the roe, as I thought they were eaten separately.

I was anxious to try this delicacy, but my husband showed some resistance as he had heard it tasted like Epsom salts or soap. I’m a product of boarding-school food, so I was more open to trying it. I sampled a small piece and, not to be outdone, my husband gave it a try. I would have to eat more to give a more definitive description, but what I can say is that it is an acquired taste. My husband said it reminded him of caviar. Even the dog joined in the tasting session.

The goblet is another part of the mullet that is eaten. It resembles a chicken gizzard and is the organ that grinds sand when the fish is bottom-feeding. It is removed, cut in pieces, curried and served over rice. Nothing goes to waste.

Allan Pitcher always shares his mullet roe with the older generation of St David’s islanders. Its familiar taste and texture have been passed down and enjoyed from their ancestors, and they look forward to receiving it every year. Often it is served after funerals and at other family gatherings.

Before we departed, Mr Pitcher offered us some frozen fish to take home. Some was for frying; some he suggested was more suitable for boiling. Although I am a cookbook writer, I am not the fish cooker in the house, and so I left the specific instructions to my husband.

From there we were off to visit his cousin, the restaurateur, building contractor and fisherman Gary Lamb. We drove along another quiet hedged lane with well-kept houses and at the very end, there he was, sitting outside on his mobile phone. As soon as we approached, he said to the caller, “I need to get off this phone because I have some ‘foreigners’ come down here visiting from the west.”

I knew then that we were in for a fun morning and he did not disappoint. We did the usual Bermudian thing: “Who’s your people?”

Once it was established that a search on Ancestry revealed I was a descendant of Jacob Minors, we began a tour of his property. Mr Pitcher, whom he affectionately called “Moose”, reminded him that we had fish in the car. This, of course, was falling upon deaf ears. Just to keep him busy, he was sent to fetch a frozen mullet to give us an idea of the size. My husband took pictures of these cousins who showed a camaraderie often missing in relationships with relatives in today’s world. Once again, Mr Pitcher reminded us of fish in the car. This time, Mr Lamb questioned how securely it had been wrapped for a journey to the west. The explanation was given, after which Mr Lamb replied, “That bie worries too much.” I must admit I was beginning to worry myself.

There were fruit trees in abundance and we were encouraged to pick lemons and limes because, after all, we would need them to marinate Moose’s fish. Just when we decided we had better get going, Mr Lamb instructed Moose to get us some fish chowder from his freezer. When he returned with the container, he questioned whether he had checked to be sure it was fish chowder. He then laughingly admitted that once he had given away his red bean soup in error.

As we prepared to depart, Mr Lamb inquired of a man from the west he thought we should have known. When I said we had known him but he was deceased, he quickly responded, “I know, but did you know that when he died, they had to put in a quick call to Heaven asking God to lock the gates?” On that humorous note, our visit ended and we reluctantly drove back to Somerset.

Norbert Simmons has asked me to remember the following mullet fishermen and women whom he had known during his years at the fisheries department: Gilbert, Franshaw and Gerry Lamb; Magnus “Bright” Pitcher; Victor, Granville and Jack O’Connor; Dolly Pitcher; Linda and Leslie Pitcher; and Raymond and Edna Pitcher.

Many thanks to Allan and Esther Pitcher and to Gary Lamb for your kindness, generosity and a sense of humour often lost in this busy world. It was a reminder that we need to find as much humour in life as these cousins from St David’s have discovered.

• Cecille Snaith-Simmons is a retired nurse, historian, writer and author of The Bermuda Cookbook. For more information on St David’s, read St David’s Island Bermuda, Its People, History and Culture by St Clair “Brinky” Tucker