The Captain of Masirah

You’ll spot him before sunrise on Masirah’s shore—black trousers, black shirt, a weathered hoodie and beanie, spear in hand, a bucket swinging from his left. Locals call the 63-year-old fisherman “Nokatha”, Arabic for “the captain”, a nickname earned over time at sea.
These days he works the island’s shallows for squid and, when the season turns, he dives for lobster and scallops. “When it’s windy we don’t go out”, he says. “When it’s not windy, we go”.
We sit in the car as he talks, two friends sharing a single phone to show us a pinned map — technology limited but enough. The sea has been his classroom and career: captain on the Masirah ferries, before that, a trainer of officers in the army and always a fisherman when the weather allowed. In February, when the current runs right, he targets kingfish. “The water is clear because there’s no wind”, he explains. “At night, if we put the net against the current, we catch everything”.

His stories braid personal grit with Gulf maritime history. He remembers ferry runs that stretched from Masirah to Dubai for servicing. “It takes two and a half days from here to Dubai”, he says of the route; recalling tracing Sur to Musandam and down the coast. He tells of another captain who strayed near Iranian waters and was seized: three months held with naval ships passing at a wary distance.

The Changing Landscape
Masirah Island is rewriting its story — a narrative woven with threads of history, hope and transformation. Once an isolated jewel in Oman’s crown, it was primarily known for its rugged beauty, ancient trade routes and strategic military outposts. Today, the island is on the cusp of a dynamic change, blending its storied past with a future brimming with promise.
Under the country’s ambitious Oman Vision 2040, Masirah is becoming a beacon of progress. New infrastructure projects are transforming its remote landscape into a hub of eco-tourism and sustainable development. The echoes of RAF planes and traditional shipping routes are giving way to modern ventures — eco-resorts, drone footage of stunning sunsets and eco-conscious initiatives that prioritise its endangered wildlife.

Culturally, Masirah is embracing its roots more than ever — not just preserving, but celebrating. Artisans are reviving age-old crafts, while festivals and markets showcase the island’s vibrant traditions. This cultural renaissance is capturing the imagination of visitors and locals alike, sparking a renewed pride that honours heritage while embracing innovation.
Environmental initiatives are also reshaping Masirah’s identity. Efforts to protect native species like different sea turtles and fragile coral reefs are gaining momentum, positioning the island as a model of ecological harmony. These changes are not only safeguarding its natural beauty but transforming Masirah into a sought-after eco-destination.

Tourism is evolving from distant dreams to tangible realities. Over forty projects are underway, fostering community-led tourism that invites travellers into the rhythm of island life — fishing, festivals and breathtaking landscapes. Social media buzz captures the island’s newfound vibrancy, sharing stories that inspire global curiosity and respect.
A Living Witness to Change and Progress
The older seafaring generation looms large in his memory. He speaks of men who worked with the British long ago, collecting weekly rations that covered everything “from a scratch of paper to food”. He even recalls talk of the era when planes landed on the sea before there were runways, a British camp on the coast and structures that broke the swell for seaplanes to touch down.

Fishing now is disciplined by season and rule. He shrugs off the idea of unwanted catch. “The net won’t bring something we don’t want — we want everything — because the eyes of the net are big”, he says, noting that officials check mesh sizes for nets and cages. He’s watched new restrictions rise, including the beginnings of a ban on certain fishing cages. “They check”, he adds. “They look at the holes”.
Years of diving have left their mark. His favourite months — “two, three, four”, February through April — were once spent snorkelling two or three kilometres out along the reef. Now, he admits, the pressure of the sea has made his ears too fragile to continue.

When asked what matters most, his answer drifts from work to belonging. Before we can press for details, he gestures towards the road. “First I want to show you my village”, he says. “My grandparents’ village”. And so the story folds back to land: when the wind quiets, you’ll find him there, walking the shoreline, the captain of Masirah still keeping watch over sea and sand.