With the inadequate amount of sausages consumed it was time to hand out bait and head off in convoy for the coast...at least three of us did with the others disappearing down another road and heading straight for Hopton! Ah well, I launched at Dogger alone as Richi and Fatflyfisher began getting ready.
I covered the three and a bit miles down to Hopton through a bit of wind-blown swell in around forty minutes...as Hopton hove into sight so did a good amount of yaks already on the water.
I counted a dozen already anchored with more on the beach preparing to launch and I settled down with a 2/0 wishbone and a 4/0 pennel baited with frozen black lug and a squid head. It didn’t take long before I swung the first whiting aboard.
...and then the second and third
...oh, and a whelk!
The smallest was duly rigged as livebait on a third rod in the hope of a decent cod and I settled down to knocking out a steady string of whiting and my first pouting of the year before the tide went slack and everything stopped.
It takes ages to start running again at Hopton but eventually the fish came on the feed again. With only two small codling caught by others and the tide now starting to rip through I decided to up-anchor and head back to the launch site with FFF after taking a few photos of people.
We paddled back at a reasonable rate and were making up to 7.4mph! Drifting alone we managed 3mph...
We covered the distance in twenty minutes and both landed gracefully...although Simon took a tumble having not undone his paddle leash and getting caught in it ;D Job done!
Then it was down to the Holiday village where the rest of the afternoon passed chatting and drinking (while awaiting the return of PNGwin whose keys had locked themselves in his van and Pugwash whose steering column decided to explode) before we all headed off to the clubhouse for food and drink – it’s handy having everything right there by the chalets! After a couple of soft drinks and feeling tired I eventually parted company and went home, ready for the morning.
Saturday dawned with a strong north easterly and I could hear the waves pounding on the beach. Curly was kipping outside and Pete turned up from Felixstowe soon followed by Fishy from Hunstanton and we got ourselves kitted up, grabbed my Yakboard and Scupper and Curly’s Chatham 16 and headed down to the beach to play. There were a good few surfers out but the wavelength was short and dumpy being wind-blown and low tide. Still, we chose our area and set to work having fun!
A few rides followed for me, always ending with a dump right at the end, and while swapping kayaks over we noticed Curly drifting along outside his yak and trying to get back in. I went to assist and he paddled back into shore with a flooded cockpit. He was soon emptied out and heading seaward again as were Pete and I, fishy doing some grand work filming our exploits ;D Pete had Velcro stuck to his arse and a good high brace and thus avoided being dumped most of the time.
I still struggled to hit the beach in one piece even on the Yakboard while Curly ended up being rolled and catapulted out of the boat minus a shoe ;D All comparisons to childhood hero Joey Deacon were politely ignored!
Then there was a big wave. Curly and I caught it from out back and I rode it in all the way on the Yakboard, short as it is. Curly had it going beautifully off to m right until the water shallowed and his nose dug into the sand...cue one vertical SINK and one disoriented paddler spun out sideways! At least when I dug the nose of the Scupper in and went vertical I fell off in a straight line...although the whack on my shoulder as the boat followed me down reminded me to be more responsible, family man that I am...PN Gwin missed my ‘endo’ sadly but caught Curly’s beautifully!
Treedoc also turned up, clad from head to toe in black neoprene. I wondered where the Milk Tray were but I guess Davy Jones had them. Another toy to play with.
Three hours passed by which time we were all knackered. Back to mine to change and some of us drank coffee before heading back to the Broad. Windy, I took the sail out and paddled down to the dead end trolling a couple of lures unsuccessfully before flicking the sail up and positively flying back in company with Fishy, resplendent with his home made goldfish shower curtain sail ;D I continued to wander around the broad but still failed to catch anything...it was time to get warm with a brew.
But Lo! Curly’s Chatham was unoccupied! I grabbed it and went for a quick paddle. Then I grabbed Ken’s Nordkapp...I liked it and demanded he teach me to roll there and then. He did an excellent job of instructing and with someone a bit more adept it might have borne fruit. I got the hip flick, I got the concept, I got the movement and I got the stroke. The trouble was, upside down in the cold broad none of them came together for me and I had to bail. A few times. It provided amusement to the onlookers and comments varied from Ken’s son Anthony: “You’re very brave” to Starvin’s “Pathetic.” Me? I just thought the inside of my ears were cold and wet and I’d have to wash my hair before bed.
Hot chocolate, cider, chat and crap TV followed until, knackered, I went home to see the girls and put them to bed before getting an early night ready for Sunday’s promised calm sea and light wind.
Hmm. It wasn’t that light and it was none to calm either. Doling out the rest of the worm at the holiday village I led a group off to Dogger for a launch (Richi had already paddled off towards the waves breaking on the sandbank a mile out). Others were already at Hopton or heading there and so we proceeded to get kitted up and wait for Amos to realise what dimension he was in ;) The sea was dumping nicely and it looked a bit choppy out past the groynes so I went out first to test the water. Straight through, I sat out there and got the camera ready. Westie launched and went over after a couple of bigger waves came in. Then Brotherwarren did the same. They repeated this, along with AndyD and so, laughing so hard at the carnage I feared taking a swim I landed amongst the carnage to see what was going wrong and take some film from a better angle.
Finally though they made it through, followed by Tarponben (the human windmill) and Amos who was the most graceful of the lot. Then, with Simon launched I jumped in too soon and without watching the waves and got battered about a bit at the shoreline before struggling through and we headed off to Hopton.
Oh it was a lovely sea! Even giving the rebounds from the sea defences a wide berth it was rough. Short swell, big chop, wind in our faces and a running sea all made for an invigorating paddle and who knows what the guys in the Arvor thought when we went past them in a group, bobbing alarmingly at anchor as they were. Fortunately by the time we arrived at Hopton it had settled down somewhat and we joined those already anchored.
More whiting came in along with a good-sized pout before it went quiet as the tide slackened off. The north-easterly wind was cutting through us and I for one was feeling a bit cold. With the 3 mile paddle each way, warm water and a reasonable air temperature I’d elected to only put one underfleece on but the windchill was where the problem lay. I was pleased of the hood on my drysuit though, especially once my back was to the wind. Well, combining cold with boredom I slipped anchor and went for a paddle about to warm up and say hi to everyone as well as seeing how they were getting on. Alas no codling had turned up today. I re-anchored as the tide started to turn and waited...and waited...the flow was almost imperceptible and although I’d drifted over a patch of rough ground now things were still not happening. Simon had gone off already, Westie and Amos were then packing up to sail home but I figured another half an hour would do the trick. As the latter two flicked their sails up my rod tip started to buck and I pulled up a couple of good whiting – the best of the day – only for one to drop off...things were picking up at last I thought...but I was wrong. The half hour passed with nothing doing so I hauled in my anchor line and set off to Dogger with Brotherwarren. A tricky landing in the shore dump followed but Saturday’s play had me in tune with things and I handled it nicely. Tony was turned side on and got out but then had his yak flipped by the following wave taking out a rod and stealing his catch, only some of which we retrieved. Bugger :(
Andy1i from easternanglers.net was on the shore and introduced himself to me...I said we’d already met and confessed that the 6lb codling I’d shown him when Pugwash and I had sailed down in the force 5 for the sea angler article hadn’t been caught that day but the one preceding it which had been flat calm ;) We had a good chat and got ourselves sorted out while awaiting Tarponben and AndyD to return – we wanted to see them crash!!! The buggers didn’t oblige though so with Tony heading home Tim and I went to mine for a beef sandwich from a freshly roasted joint before heading back to an almost deserted holiday village for a brew, raiding Chalet 53 and disturbing Tarpondebs to get the kettle boiled. We should have stayed at Dogger...Ben and Andy witnessed the last one in, Richi, come a superb cropper ;D Another broken rod claimed by the shore dump! That was his second drenching of the day too but at least he didn’t stink of seal sh!t now after heading north to Scroby Sands.
Richi came back, Todaymueller returned from the Broad, Ben and Debs, Andy, Tim and I were there and Amos pitched up later but with Richi and Tim going and me needing to get home to the girls I left a somewhat depleted Yakforce to hit the whisky, returning in the morning (with an off-school-through-dubious-illness daughter in tow) just to help tidy up the remaining bacon and eggs before emptying the chalets. Another Eastern Meet was over...just another year until the next one, hopefully with the cod about in numbers!
So, to end: thank you once again to all who came and to all who intended to but were struck down with illness (theirs or others) and couldn’t make it in the end or who had to curtail their visit...you were missed but we’ll all catch up again sooner or later. Remember: The meets (are) not over ‘till the fat lady sings (into Amos’ karaoke machine) ;)
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