“Hehe. Morning Si.”
“It’s blowing a gale. I haven’t even looked at the sea yet”
“Ah it’ll be fine. Be lovely down there. Come on, let’s wander down”
I suspect he thinks I’m crazy. He brings his torch, on account of it not being light for a couple of hours yet. It’s true, it is a bit breezy. Force 5 when I left home ten minutes ago with a text from Si telling me to get off the laptop and get to the beach. Can’t even look at porn at 5am in peace. I already know, I’ve checked the RNSYC live weather station; I also know it’s due west so we’ll be relatively sheltered but the Dutch will be pissed off.
So we wander down. I rather suspect he wants to kill me. He could have been in bed at least another 3 hours, in the warm, cuddled up to Mrs Stinky (I am SO going to pay for that!) Of course I’m vindicated. A gentle lapping against the shore. The wind is above us, we’re at the bottom of the cliffs and it’s offshore. We go and get set up.
I launch, easily. Si has left his paddle so I’ve lent him Eloise’s. At 196cm it’s a bit short and with a cranked shaft and low angle blades he’s going to be handicapped in the Caper. There just isn’t time to go back though, we have to catch the last of the ebb to get the 1.12 miles north to get to the mark off the church. So, I sit and wait for him, fiddling with my fishfinder. I watch as he launches, paddling furiously as the full difference of this paddle strikes him and the only wave for ages rolls in. I laugh my tits off, take the piss and we head for the mark.
I can’t see the damned church. It’s dark, it’s not lit up, we’re maybe too close in. I look at the chart, kind of plot us in relation to where it should be and keep going until I decide it’s where we want to be. I drop down, Si does the same, we’re 50 yards apart.
By the time we’ve both settled I can’t see Si. I’m hoping he isn’t going on a tour again. He will see my light if he looks around but with his back to me I haven’t a clue if he’s drifting or not. I bait up.
Ten minutes pass and then bang. BANG BANG BANG! I grab the rod, no need to feel for the bite, no need to strike, it hoops over and bounces; this is a decent fish! I wind down onto the fish, start hauling it up against the tide, it’s shaking, fighting, gone. GONE? WHAT THE…oh you twatt Mark! Why didn’t you strike? Don’t just wind down, it’s not a bloody whiting!
Bastard has nicked my squid and is spooked. I will never know what it is but with the water just about slack I know that it was no 4lb’er. It’s been quite a while since I’ve had a decent cod on but I’m thinking it may have been getting on for a double at least. I am somewhat miffed, peeved even.
I settle back down and wait. I hate slack. I huddle up cozily inside my Ushanka; the 2.5 rabbits have a new lease of life in my hands…or rather on my head.
Finally it starts to get slightly lighter and I start to make out Si. He’s not too far away. We’ve had a natter on the phone anyway – it may be quiet here but apparently it’s sh!t over there.
I sit for a while. A week without a cigarette…I would have been on at least number four by now normally, if the wind would have let me light any of them. The tide is starting to run now, the wind is building too. I get a bite!
I feel for it, wind down, strike, fish on! I soon haul a 3lb’er up against the flow and into the boat; made up. This will join the cold smoked one of the other day in a superb fish pie in a day or two…as required, as provided.
Cheers Triton, Poseidon, Neptune…
I rebait, sit awhile longer. I get a text from Si, he’s going in and as it happens it’s about that time for me too – I have to be back home by ten. My wife is going out and I’m sanding a floor. I start to haul anchor. I hook up on something. This is no time to be broadside with the warp running underneath the hull. I sort things out and start hauling in the warp, it’s a struggle, the tide is running now and the wind has built. I get it up (!) and the pair of us head for shore, doglegging in then south; it’s a strong paddle against this wind but it eases up as we get close in.
Not far now, closer, there’s people on the beach, fishing. Si goes in, I go in, I land on the back of a wave with air beneath the bow. I slide up the shingle and I’m on dry land. Up the ramp we go and then I’m off home. That was pretty hardcore. That was my hundredth launch of 2011. A Centurion once more, fourth year in a row.
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