The faces of the fishermen who stare out of the photographs tell a thousand stories without saying a word.
Their weather-beaten skin, bright eyes and greying hair have crossed more water, sailed into more wind and sat under more sun than almost anyone else on earth, all on tiny wooden boats named after their wives and daughters.
But could these so-called ‘Wolves of the Sea’ be the last for the small Greek island of Paros?
Their way of life – and the way of life of their fathers, grandfathers and generations of men before them – is under threat, from big business, the EU, and their children’s desire to search out something beyond the shores of their Mediterranean idyll.
These wolves are now an endangered species, and the fishermen know it.
‘I learned from my grandfather and my father,’ said Thanassi Tantanis. ‘This knowledge will be lost, as there is no one to follow the tradition.
‘When we’re gone, it’s over. I feel empty when I go ashore, then I have the feeling of being worthless.
‘My children want me to stop. I told them, if you love me, you have to let me go. My whole life is in the sea.’
Indeed, even photographer Chirstian Stemper knew he was capturing a dying way of life when he aimed his lens at the fisherman who had captivated him ever since he first holidayed in Paros 20 years before.
‘The old ways will disappear,’ he said. ‘Even if new people are coming in, they have a different view of fishing. They don’t do it the traditional way.’
The first pictures Stemper were not of the men, however, but their boats.
He took photos of the vessels – but as he took them he began to realise that the vessels only told half the story and he soon turned his attention to picturing the men who loved the boats.
It wasn’t easy though: the fishermen do not trust tourists and Stemper, from Vienna in Austria, was, to them, a tourist.
‘It was really difficult,’ Stemper told MailOnline. ‘Every harbour has its own family. I had family, and I had to meet the boss first.’
But once he had the bosses okay, each of the men lined up for their picture without any fuss.
But Stemper still felt he hadn’t properly captured these men who live for the sea.
He returned once more, this time to interview his subjects. Some, like Yannis Perantinos, 77, refused to be drawn out of their shells.
Thanasis Tantanis, meanwhile, invited Stemper onto his boat.
‘If I go on land, I’m useless,’ the 75-year-old explained.
Those who spoke, spoke of their love for the sea – their home since they were children, when they would go out with their fathers and grandfathers – and their love of their boats, where they spend hours or even days bobbing on the water.
‘At the age of 18 I became a sailor and travelled the world as a radio operator, recalled Petros Delentas. ‘Not because of romantic reasons, but at that time there was nothing to do here.
‘My boat has saved me. It was my anchor that brought me back to Paros and with which I was able to build my life. So that I could escape from a life as a sailor. This boat is my love.’
Associated Newspapers Ltd