Meet the fishing collective reclaiming the sea for Black Brits

This story appears in Huck 82: The Music Issue. Order your copy now.

Along the shingle stretches of the UK’s eastern Kent coast, where dog walkers cross paths with seasoned anglers, a new kind of fishing community is gathering. They come with rods and firewood, flasks and fold-up chairs. Some know how to tie a rig, others are holding a rod for the first time. This isn’t about the biggest catch. It’s about who showed up and who felt welcome – who felt like they belonged.

We Are Black Fish is a grassroots coastal collective run by Corynne Elliott (also known as Mercury Prize winning musician Speech Debelle) and Alexis Lee, two queer women of colour and artists with a shared mission to make fishing, foraging and coastal skills accessible to the people most often excluded from them. That means Black people, inner city families, migrant communities, queer folks – anyone who’s ever walked past a harbour wall and thought: ​“This isn’t for me.”

“Fishing in the UK brings to mind a white, male, older generation,” Alexis says. ​“It felt out of reach to me, even though I really wanted to fish. At Black Fish, we’re reconnecting with nature in ways that feel safe, nourishing and culturally grounded.” Alexis is an author, model, psychotherapist and speaker. Her debut book, Feeling Myself, explores healing, sexuality and self-discovery. 

• Read next: Kojey Radical will never look down

The need for reconnection is clear. For many Black and Asian people in the UK, the sea feels distant – physically, emotionally, historically. According to the Black Swimming Association, 96% of Black adults and 95% of Asian adults in England do not swim regularly. Fear, disconnection and generational trauma all play a part.

“We can’t talk about that without talking about slavery and colonisation,” Alexis says. ​“A lot of us were displaced, moved from water-based ancestral homelands into built up cities far from the coast. That leaves scars. A lot of us just didn’t grow up with the sea.” She’s explored that disconnection, both personally and professionally. ​“We’ve not only lost touch – many of us carry fear, a lack of experience, or something that lives in our DNA. I’m part of a group that meets weekly to discuss decolonising therapy, and Black Fish is part of that too. It’s about repairing our relationship with water.”

At a typical Black Fish hook up, you’ll find a mix of people: families, kids, elders, city dwellers, first timers and seasoned nature lovers. Sessions are free or donation based and open to everyone, but the space centres Black and Brown experiences.

• Read next: Photos documenting a lost 1970s fishing community in Hull

There’s always food. When fish are caught, they’re often cleaned and prepared on site, with guidance for those who want to learn how. Corynne seasons them with care, drawing on familiar flavours. They’re cooked over the fire and shared among the group.

There’s often coaching too: how to tie knots, cast a line, handle hooks. Nobody’s expected to know everything. No one’s laughed at for asking. ​“We’re hooked on the catch up, not just the catch” is one of the project’s unofficial mantras. The vibe is low key but intentional. Fires are lit, hands are warmed, stories are shared. Sometimes people leave with fish; more often, they leave with something deeper – a sense of grounding. Belonging. Something ancestral stirring.

Corynne (Speech Debelle) Elliott is a rapper and musical artist best known for her Mercury Prize winning debut album Speech Therapy. She now has four albums under her belt and lives by the sea, where fishing, cooking and writing are central to her rhythm. ​“Each time we fish, we speak about how much we – and others – need this,” she says. ​“At first I was confused about how I was meant to teach anyone when I’m still learning myself. Alexis told me I didn’t have to. Community is about learning together.”

That spirit of shared growth runs deep.

• Read next: Graham Sayle opens up

Alexis’s love of fishing goes back to childhood. ​“My dad took me fishing when I was in a buggy. I remember catching an eel once, putting it in a Coke bottle because I didn’t have anything else. I was so excited – he wasn’t as impressed. But fishing always stuck with me.”

As an adult, she wanted to reconnect but felt awkward going alone. ​“I didn’t know what I was doing, and I didn’t look like a ​‘fisherperson’. Corynne gave me the confidence to just give it a go. You might hook a seagull by mistake. You might feel silly. But if it speaks to you – do it. You might become obsessed. It’s satisfying, and it’s bloody tasty too.”

The project now offers private coaching: one-to-one sessions for anyone wanting to build confidence at their own pace. As always, gear and bait are included. The point isn’t just to teach technique. It’s to shift who feels at home on the coast. ​“We’re not trying to create experts,” Alexis says. ​“We’re building relationships – with the water, with the land, with each other.”

• Read next: The UK’s oldest weightlifting gym is under threat. Can it weather gentrification?

Black Fish also puts mental health at the heart of its work. It’s not therapy, but it’s not not therapy either. The salt air, the wind, the slow rhythm of bait and cast – these things shift something internal. 

According to the UK government’s ethnicity facts and figures service, only 26.2% of Black people in England had visited the natural environment – including the countryside or coast – in the previous week, compared to 44.2% of white people. That disparity is part of what Black Fish hopes to address. At a moment when conversations around land, access and ancestral knowledge are gaining visibility, We Are Black Fish stands out as a project that’s both practical and political. It’s not flashy. There’s no big funding body, no performative sustainability slogans. Just rods, buckets, fire, and care.

“We live in a country that often makes Black people feel unwelcome – especially in rural or wild spaces,” Alexis says. ​“But the land isn’t just for white people. The sea isn’t just for white men with expensive rods. It’s for all of us.”

As cities become louder and more disconnected, We Are Black Fish offers a counter rhythm. Slowness. Skill. Rest. A place to remember what our bodies already know. A space where Blackness and nature aren’t treated as opposites.

There’s power in that. Quiet, grounded, tidal power. And the tide is turning.

Naomi Clarke is a freelance writer. Follow her on Instagram.

Buy your copy of Huck 82 here.

Enjoyed this article? Follow Huck on Instagram and sign up to our newsletter for more from the cutting edge of sport, music and counterculture.

Support stories like this by becoming a member of Club Huck.