I got away slightly earlier than expected and drover over to Hopton, arriving just after 7. Amos and Steve were both almost ready to go when one of them mentioned the sea...I went and looked and there was just no way we could launch there. The sea was halfway up the wooden slipway at the bottom of the ramp and the waves were rolling in quite hard. Having tried similar in daylight and been capsized twice (smashing up kit and yak in the process) a year before I called it off and decided we should head for Lowestoft to fish Pakefield, knowing that we’d be able to get on the water.
So, back we drove and ended up around the corner from my house where Westie was awaiting our arrival (I’d diverted him by phone). Persuading ourselves that we had to launch we got ourselves ready in the car park under the watchful gaze of the CCTV camera, which I am sure was shaking from side to side....and with good reason. It was cold.
Down on the beach it looked perfectly doable and I got my trolley stowed in the front hatch. Pulling the Prowler 15 into the water I got ready and jumped on. I couldn’t have timed things better as the biggest set to roll in while we’d been on the beach was now heading straight for me – Steve was poised to roll on the floor with laughter at my getting wiped out when I shot straight over or through the first, second and third ones. I was awake and felt very much alive thank you! A brilliant launch to begin the year. Everyone else used more sense however and all got in the water with less drama than I. And so we headed south for the CEFAS building from where we would drop anchor about 500 yards out.
The tide, a big spring, was pretty slow actually! I was expecting to fly down with the current (even at the late stage we got on the water) and have trouble holding anchor but it turned out quite the opposite. Baits went in the water and we sat there with fireworks going off over the town now and again and sea mist drifting past us regularly, six yaks all within shouting distance.
Rattle! A bite! And I got the first fish...a battle of epic proportions ensued as I struggled to pump the 5 inch whiting up from two or three fathoms...real rod bending action...
One species down...
Amos followed with a dab but that was it. It was, however, a beautiful night with a gentle rolling swell and a bright, full moon.
Well, we just carried on getting cold and after missing a couple of bites (there were really few and far between) I decided I’d had enough excitement for one evening and meandered about until the others were ready to go.
With everyone up-anchored we headed north again with the ebb and got to the launch point. There was a bit of a rolling swell to contend with so we all took our time eyeing it up tentatively. I was mooching about a hundred yards out whistling Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony (Ode and der Freude), as one does (but not normally at sea as it whistles up the wind you know) when I saw my gap and shot in perfectly. We all got in fine and stamped around to get the circulation back before trolleying back to the car park. Already the seawater n the yaks was icing up. I got a shock when I wandered what was happening underfoot and for the first time in my life came across frozen sand!
Loaded up, all bar Eastangler (who had done his first night yakking session) came back to mine for a cuppa before retiring, ready for the next morning...
2010 is Go!
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