I got up not long after 6 feeling somewhat less than enthused as the cold side of my 2 week old flu had suddenly appeared the previous afternoon. Frankly, getting in gear was a slog this morning with all the weeks of crap weather and no fish contributing to the general air of really not being bothered. Still, coffee and medication taken I chose the luckiest looking hat of the day, got drysuited and jumped in the van for the drive up to Hopton.
Minutes before I arrived Steve called – had I any jump leads? Sadly not and so all he could do was wander down and see us off, his battery dead. I pulled in behind Fishy, Eastangler, Treedoc and Tangleweed – all faces not seen for too long so it was a nice start and I felt a bit more enthused than I had been. I was still slow getting sorted and down to the beach though ;D
The launch was smooth. The waves were small but of course I still took two into the cockpit as is always the way. Treedoc and Fishy had already gone out and so I paddled to where I expected them to be. Next, I saw a large dark object ahead of me, a bot presumably. No sound and not moving, perhaps it was anchored? Then, just past it were some posts standing upright out of the water. Now I knew damn well that I could not have paddled to the wreck of the White Swan in that time so was nonplussed…until I realised that it was a groyne and I’d managed a U shape course! I turned into the swell and headed straight back out, dropping anchor where I thought fit and settled down to fish.
I didn’t hold out a lot of hope for cod so fished one 4/0 pennel and a size 1 wishbone, both baited with frozen black tipped with squid. Nothing at all was happening. Then Dave and Paul arrived, having been called in after I heard them talking as they transited my stern by about 100 yards. Soon after they dropped down I had my first bite and hauled in a baby whiting.
I could see Dave in the distance, but in truth he wasn’t that far away. Paul was drifting along and then paddled back up past again.
Things were very slow and I wasn’t getting any bites at all. It was flat though with just the gentlest of swell. Brotherwarren called out as he arrived in the vicinity and then came and dropped down nearby; now we were four. He asked me if this was the place. I replied that I hadn’t a clue and didn’t have the faintest idea where we were ;D To be honest I knew nothing more than that I was afloat rather than on the sand and by the sound of the waves the shoreline was off to my left out of sight.
Suddenly, through the fog loomed a Viking:
Fishy, resplendent in his New Zealand sourced Viking Beardhead, had pitched up with Treedoc, the two of them having had no luck wherever else they were.
All of a sudden my rod tip thumped down once, twice and once in my hand a third time. I wound down and knew I had a codling on. The tide was still running and it came up, mouth open. Again on the wishbone rig and I was nervous – the size 1 Vikings are NOT cod hooks and I was convinced I was going to lose it. It was nodding its head and staying down too, giving a good account of itself and finally I got it up, dropped a foot over the side, brought it over it and scooped it into the yak. As I administered the last rites it spat the hook…close!
I carried on for another hour until slack water and then paddled around to say goodbye to the others before heading in. I was further north than I’d thought by one groyne but found my way in without bother due to long-term familiarity with this stretch of coastline. Landing was easy and I trolleyed the yak up the slope, loaded the Scupper onto the van, got changed and drove off to meet a mate for a spot of target shooting with a cod in the boot. It may not have been ideal conditions but Veni, Vidi, Vici.
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