I sat there watching the live weather station on the laptop as I drank my typically strong coffee. It was pretty constant at a force 4 and though I was listening to the wind outside and stronger gusts were coming through I still went with the instruments at the yacht club. I wasn’t overly keen though so decided to go back to bed for an hour; daylight would be useful.
As I lay there I mulled over the fact that I had an invite onto a boat, a proper boat, one with engines and stuff. A galley too – or at least somewhere for coffee and bacon sarnies. Damn the work already planned for this weekend, it was the ideal time to run screaming from the notion of kayak fishing like some landlubbing coward with a lot more sense than I.
I lay there wide-awake for half an hour, the caffeine kicking (my head) in. I got up, jumped in the van and drove to Hopton. I was intending to fish Corton again so would launch and use the flood for the mile and a half commute to the mark. This meant two things. Firstly I’d have to run through the rough water with reversed swell that covers the sea defences at one point; confusion here. Secondly there’d be no turning back for quite a while – strong tide and a following sea. Fair enough. It wasn’t light yet but I could at least see.
The launch was easy; it was pleasant close-in. I headed southeast and after a few minutes began to experience the first of the turbulence. Nothing out of the ordinary, I carried on. Nearing the church I switched on the Humminbird and tracked into the mark while watching the seabed; 40ft and getting nearer. 150ft uptide and my anchor goes down, shuttled to the rear.
Hell of a rush as the stretch comes out of the warp and then I’m being swung a bit, bounced a bit and generally made to feel less than ecstatic. There is water coming into the tankwell as I bait up. It’s bloody windy too, I’ve been paddling one-sided a fair bit on the way out here and now I’m getting moved about. It passes within a few minutes though; things settle down, calm down and I cast in my first baits.
They’re bouncing on the bottom and the angle is reducing. Oh. Am I on the drift? I switch the plotter on again; yep. 1.5mph drift with the anchor bouncing; it’s tripped, the weaklink has gone. It’s a fine game this, too weak and it trips, too strong and you can’t break out. I haul it up as the coastguard weather report comes on…force 5 to 7, gale 8 imminent. That makes it 2:1 so I don’t drop it back down. I’m nowhere near the mark now anyway, in fact I’m not far from Tramp’s Alley. I could move inshore here (I’m maybe half a mile out), anchor up and fish in the shelter of the cliffs. I’ll still have to wait for the tide to turn and the wind isn’t going to help me on the way back. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
I think about the alternative.
Why not. I head down the coast for Lowestoft and home; bugger the van, bugger the plan. I make good time with minimal effort and at one point glance at the plotter and see that I’m doing 7mph, speed over ground. That’s not bad…
…I approach the twin cardinals that mark – I think – an outfall. I know it rears up here on the flood so start to grin, bring it on!
It’s a bit lacklustre today though. I call up Lowestoft Harbour to inform them I’m crossing the approaches shortly and to check for traffic – I’m clear. I glance down; I wasn’t paddling while on the radio. Still making 3mph though.
I go round the bend (ahem) and with the harbour to my starboard side I head in past the banks and decided to make an anchoring video quickly. I drop and raise it a few times, sling a line out then get bored. I make a quick beaching and launching video, chat to a surfer (there are none today that are rideable – lovely shape but less than a foot tall!) and then trolley the yak home.
“I don’t have to drive you to Hopton do I? I have so much to do”.
“No, I’ll bike up there.”
Gently paddling with wind and tide pushing me down (but offshore) I cover the distance in an hour and a half roughly. Against a strong wind (at times) and in top gear I make it the 6 miles back in around half that. At the age of 38 ¾ and with a bike I’ve hardly used since the nightly half-milers up the hill and back in the summer I’m seriously impressed. It was fun too. I get off the bike and almost collapse in a heap! I’m not tired but my legs are not right; I grip the van, stop myself falling. I walk like I have rickets. It’s disconcerting, I can tell you, but driving is fine.
So, a big fat blank but a good stretch, both ways. It can’t always go right but that’s no bad way to go wrong.
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