The trip was destined to be a long one as I had a large van with large trailer and was thus bound by the tachograph into staying below 60mph and stopping for 45 minutes breaks now and again. A further stop was required to unload the kayaks and then, after eleven hours on the road, we were free (as had been our travel which is always a bonus). We rocked up at the campsite an hour after the drop and following check-in bought some provisions for the evening and following morning (beer, ice, meat) before heading on up to the invaded field where tents were erected, friends greeted and the degeneration began. It was about that time that a cinder flew into my eyelid from the barbecue. It didn’t hurt, luckily, and a clean with a sterile wipe kept the nasties at bay.
Memories have been dulled by time but there was meat, beer, a marquee, some music, and laughter along with drizzle, wind and a drop in temperature. It culminated in me dropping off inside my down-filled ex-army sleeping bag and £20 pop-up Decathlon tent...this weekend’s weather would be a test for my ‘meet tent’ for sure ;D
The next morning arrived and with coffee downed and some rigging done it was time to drive the big van down the little roads. With much swearing this was completed and having paid through the nose to park away from the beach (I wasn’t allowed to put the ugly van near the pretty beach) we unloaded and got our kit together. This needs further expansion however. I’d spent hours tying rigs in the preceding weeks and had brought them all along with the tackle I figured I’d need but I did omit other items. Nothing too important but the lack of wetsuit and drysuit, my normal anchors and reels along with a coolbox and a few other bits relevant to the weekend were things that I could have appreciated. Fortunately I had my wetsuit sorts and the previous night’s inclemency (sideways rain) had eased off. We booked in, attended the briefing and then launched shortly after those who’d got themselves together on the fishing front instead of frying bacon on the beach ;D
It was an Ultra day. ‘Team Viking’ had purloined the two demo Ultras for the purposes of the competition and with them ready to launch I had watched in horror as Lureman decided to beach himself between them just before the photograph was taken. Fortunately mango is this season’s colour and his Trident didn’t ruin the shot too much. I’ll photoshop him out if the kids want to look through the photographs though.
The next snap was of the competition card and then Tim and I launched into a calm sea and were away.
Slowly. Our plan was a combination of drift fishing baits and working lures. We were in fact so slow that Starvinmarvin managed to share the sea with us. Now I know I’m a tart with yellow yak, van and accessories but I have manly black rods – look at this tart! Even his cag and rods match his Scupper Pro! Hairdresser’s rods.
I made my way to the rockfall. This was supposed to be pretty good. I trolled it and cast amongst it but to no avail.
The finder showed nothing in the way of fish either.
A bit further on I spotted an area I fancied. The waves were breaking over a ridge running out from some rocks and forming a perfect haven from current but superb ambush position for predators. The swell was coming in and hitting this wall which was pretty level with the water’s surface and making some nice froth. I had to position myself and get the anchor down...but before I could I spotted something truly incredible happening a hundred yards behind me:
No. It couldn’t be...surely?
It was! A bass that fed like a pout! And a damned nice one too. Caught on a hairdresser’s rod. Still, I took some pics and subsequently watched aghast as he threw dinner away by way of thanks.
All that disturbance scared the bass away from my spot into which we’d now drifted. I tried outside the ridge instead. It didn’t take long:
Tim wandered past; he’d trolled all the way up and had nothing. It was time we hit another spot.
We headed over towards the wreck, scanning it as we passed.
A few yards apart, we dropped anchor and drifted into a position on uptide of the wreckage in an area of rough ground that we hoped wouldn’t be too snaggy
The excitement began to show.
Finally, after what seemed lie half a day, I had my first bite, a good one, and I struck into it. I felt the fish briefly and then I was pulled into a snag. Trying to bully it out cost me my first species. A few minutes later and the same happened to Tim but a bit of slack line saw it thankfully pull itself clear and he was rewarded with his first ever Ballan Wrasse D
With no further bites we up-anchored a while later and headed further out. It was nice here, a nice swell which got up to a good few feet at one point and we anchored up again, watching a couple of yaks playing in the waves at the point.
Little did we know but those yaks weren’t playing a game all of the time ;) The best were the comments from the safety boats:
“There’s always ******* one” followed by “I’ve got a big stick on board”
A reply of “You need a big stick to hit balls as big as that” closed that conversation ;D
Anyway, pissed off with failing to get any fish I decided to stop fishing like a gulf stream goblin and fish my way. Typically Anglian baits of frozen black lug tipped with a ring of unwashed squid went onto a three hook flapper while a typically Anglian wishbone rig replaced the shrimp rig on the other rod. I’d not completed the swap when the first knock came. I grabbed my rod, let the bite develop and caught irony fairly in the chops.
Three countries I’ve fished this year and I’ve caught codling in all of them ;D it was like being back home...
They kept stealing the squid off my baits but three came aboard, one of which was hooked too deeply to survive and thus got slung back out as a tope livebait, to no avail. Ti, meanwhile, was fifty yards away and managed mackerel and dogfish but couldn’t find the codling even with the same rig and bait. It’s often like that with codling.
A bit more of this followed and then I decided to have another try for the bass along the rocky edge. Anchor retrieval took some effort but at least I didn’t lose this one (I snapped the warp from the one by the wreck). The problem was I hooked it around the stern of the Ultra and it was hanging down 15ft while I was drifting. I called up the safety boat and then my VHF died straight after I got the message out.
The safety boat came over to give assistance to someone else past me so I paddled out to let them know it was me that had needed their help. I was actually on my way over to Tim at the time, hoping to use his radio to call them off as I’d managed to free the anchor. Then another came heading out from the beach and I called him in and got him to explain the situation. There was no real problem for me (I’d have cut it free if unable to retrieve it fully normally) but it was an excellent illustration of why support craft (with local knowledge) are needed for these events.
I got nothing on the troll so with Tim heading off after another species or two I went to play close in, darting in and out of the rocks. Overrun heard me cheer as I followed him over a rock that submerged with the waves and turned around smiling – we were on the same wavelength with that one!
I came in and beached. Wandering up I checked in, stole a swig of Floydyboy’s pint and wandered back to the car park. Helen had the kettle boiling and a revitalising coffee saw me fit enough to prance around with the camera when Sprinter and his son came wandering by with his freshly delivered Elite:
I’m saying nothing.
Then Tim arrived back and I took some shots of the dirtied-up Ultras.
Finally we had the presentation. Irony wasn’t on the prize list but lots of other things were and with Floydyboy vogueing in the background the leaderboard posed with first prize, a Shakespeare kayak.
Then things went tits-up. A quick trip to Tesco took forever as every bridge that Ivor the Engine went over was built for sheep to pass under. Finally we found one tall enough for the van to pas sunder – only to find a narrow bridge a few hundred yards further down the road which I had to get Tim to guide me through. Rip the railways out boyos, they only encourage the poor.
There followed an epic of a raffle. Somewhere along the line one of my numbers was called and a Fladen ice Pike rod was obtained for my youngest daughter who’d told me she wanted a rod a few weeks beforehand. My luck was perhaps changing at last?
When I tasted the paella milesfromthesea had whipped up I knew it had. Now my opinion of rice is not that high but this had me clamouring for more. Jeeves the butler had done a cracking job and his efforts were recognised by those who’d had the nod as being nothing short of miraculous. Loaves and fishes were nothing on this man’s efforts.
A small group sat around a barbecue after the raffle; a pioneer returning to the sport, a fair-weather extremist, a stubbled fanatic and two hairdressers. Meat was sacrificed, badly, beer was drunk and spilled, whiskey (it was Oirish to be sure) was sipped and the hours disappeared until sleep beckoned. Once more into the tent, dear friends!
It blew a hoolie that night, the rain came in sideways. Sleeping problems were had. Apparently. Tarponben and I heard nothing and slept soundly ;D what’s more, my 320 pop-up tent kept me dry too! I was amazed. It was bloody grotty when I got up though.
Petrol and a gale had the charcoal going in no time and with sausages and bacon cooked it became a hot smoker with the lid on, oak shavings and coriander on the charcoal and mackerel on the grill.
Breakfast done, we broke camp, loaded the van and having said some farewells Tim and I headed off to pick up the trailer and make our long way back to Norfolk. It was some weekend!
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