I get down to Hopton, Si is already there. Idiot. Should have stayed in bed, not come out on a morning like this ;D No one else is stupid enough to join us and we launch as dawn is sort of breaking into a breathtaking grey.
I’m already decided, I won’t run 1.5 miles south with the tide to Corton, even though the fish are there. I’m going to head quarter of a mile north against the flow, dogleg straight offshore and drift back onto my mark as the anchor is going down. That’s what we do. I call up the coastguard, they ask more questions than normal, what safety kit we have etc. Must I read something into this?
I come up short by 200ft. Not a problem as I’m on the beds but I sit there and wait for a while before the first rattle, missed. I wait some more and up comes whiting number 1.
Another follows and then I decide I’d feel more confident on the mark. I up-anchor and head over a bit, drop down again and settle bang on it. I fish again. I get a cracking bite, cod? No, even better! My first pouting of the year!
It goes back, as has everything else so far. I fish on
Another pout. I keep this one, plump. Tasty. I kill and gut it on the spot.
Another pin whiting and then it goes quiet as the slack finally arrives, an hour after high water. Slowly, slowly we start to turn. It’s not just us, the boats down yonder are having the same issues judging by the conversations on the radio and are catching about as badly; we are all awaiting the ebb.
Si is being harassed by a seal. I say harassed, I mean it fancies him. It’s a tease though, won’t pose for a photo. I call him up and question him on whether he’d rather sleep with a seal or a polar bear. It’s cold; we agree that a cuddle from a polar bear would be the deciding factor.
I get a bite, I pull up and a sprat, which I’m trying today, has been savaged by a savage sprat-savager. That’s the only sprat savaging I get today. I put another sprat on the hook, cast a bit, something goes wrong and the rig is no longer on the line, the rod and reel are in the water and I’m wondering what the hell just happened. Thank God for leashes. Still, at least it’s pleasant out here.
Time’s getting on. I was lying about it being pleasant by the way. Don’t normally get chop on a westerly this close in. Don’t normally get little wavelets.
We give it another half an hour, the fish suddenly coming on the bite. I get three texts in a minute, including one from Si saying he’s going to head in and as they come in I get bites on both rods and a double shot on the one I chose. Bugger it, I have a visitor on the beach so I stow things, haul anchor and head in against the wind.
A text – can I anchor 50ft out for a photo, make out I’m fishing? Sure. I anchor fine but there’s no flow so I spin with my back to him. I swap rods around and whip leashes off and generally make a hash of everything in an effort to haul myself parallel with the beach by rod and line but it ain’t working. I up-anchor again and head into the beach to meet up with Mario from the Coastguard who’s come down to see us along with Stoker and Renrag who are also waiting with him.
We have a good chat, take Mario through the kit, get photographed, get the piss taken, get some thoughts from his side and an hour later after a quick capsize and re-entry practice we load up and head home. Not the most inspiring of catches but a decent effort, certainly worthwhile.
Dinner was actually really nice! Just a pity I dropped it on the floor.
7 whiting and 2 pouting.
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