Balls to the Wall…28/03/2012

I’ve had it all on a plate here, game fishing, commercial line fishing, jetski fishing, kickboat fishing, shore fishing, rockpool fishing and having scrounged the use of a fishing ski and tested it briefly up the river it was time to hit the sea; above all else I wanted to get kayak fishing on the sea at least once on this trip. I’d brought my PFD, VHF and paddle with me and borrowed a TLD25 and a short, heavy rod and was all set and ready to rock if only the weather would play ball. This morning it looked like it had; the sea looked smooth enough from the lounge window and I couldn’t hear the waves pounding so I decided to get ready and go; I wasn’t needed for the commercial boat as the current was running at 3.5 knots where we needed to be and the catches, especially after the heavy rain and thunderstorm last night, would not make it viable. Today, then, was my day.

We loaded the Psychedelic Stealth into the back of the bakkie and I sat with it. Duncan was driving and my aunt and mum were in the front with him. It might perhaps be the last time they saw me after all…So down we drove to the ramp, the Sonny Evans Small Craft Harbour and Duncan reversed me down the ramp. It looked doable but I would have felt more comfortable in my Scupper, a boat I knew inside out and that I knew would have the speed and seakeeping I required. Duncan was put in charge of Camera 1, having a good eye and a steady hand, mum knelt down to pray for my soul and Denise briefed me on which line to take through the surf.

‘Paddle out near the swimming pool where it’s more sheltered and look for the waves the other side then, when it’s right, go and go left to avoid the surf and the rocks, don’t cut close, go wide.’



I took my headcam off and fitted it over the bow; a mistake as it turned out, made sure everything was stowed inside or leashed and launched. Or didn’t, I turned the camera mount the other way and launched again, paddling through the smaller waves as I headed alongside the swimming pool.



Herein lay the problem though, I couldn’t see over the damned thing. Plan B then. I couldn’t see so would have to rely on the last of the set breaking to give me my time to dash. However, this stealth, being an old, short, wide and heavy one compared to the current models might not get me through in time and I’d be likely to get caught side on and end up on the other rocks. I figured I’d need to cut closer and dash through the white water to the right of the breaking wave. And keep my arse cheeks nipped in.

The set came through and I went…



…One wave, two, the headcam flies from the bow…tough shit, hope the leash holds, I can’t stop now…



…three, four five, six and on and on and on and bigger and shit, did I just get airborne? The nose is high above the next bit of water, crashes down with my feet tucked under the foot straps and my arse follows an hour later…



…more waves, more crashing up and over and crashing down until finally, after a quarter of a mile, I’m through the breakers and sitting in big swell.



Hmm. No confidence. Somebody must have been worrying about me!



Right then, breather, shit, lighter is not lighting, spare is wet too. Full pack of cigarettes has been kept dry in its sealed pack but this one isn’t going to light. Okay, hatch open, rod out and I drop a Halco redhead behind me and start my troll south towards Uvongo, St Michaels and ultimately Margate. I’m hoping for Couta (Queen Mackerel) and perhaps even a late Dorado. I set a steady pace, assisted by the current and head offshore and back looking for the colour line between the brown/green and blue water, where the game fish patrol.



I do this for a while and find the colour line but there is nothing happening. No birds, no baitfish, nothing on the surface and nothing on the lure so I change over to a Super Shad Rap, a gold one. I pull this for a while and in no time I’m halfway down, coming up to St Michaels. There’s nothing for it, I’ll have to catch some fish and put a drift bait out. Lures off, tinsels on and I start bouncing them off the bottom. A few minutes pass and then a bananafish grabs hold.



Fearsome set of gnashers on that!



I rig some single strand wire and a 10/0 hook through the bottom jaw and freeline it out behind me. Nothing happens so I tie on a sinker and drop it down. Same result. Okay…I wind in, dispatch it and cut off the rear quarter. The front quarter becomes a flapper bait and I send it down to the bottom.

I feel little nibbles, see the rod tip twitch. 80lb class twitching at mini fish. Then, after just a few minutes, I get a hook-up and we’re off!



I’m sleigh riding at a good 5-6 knots. So it’s not a gamefish then, it’s a steady, hard pull. It’s what I knew it would be and wanted to hook at some point today anyway. It’s really not that hard here you see, the place is absolutely full up with sharks and big ones too. This is a big one and I crank the drag up a bit so I can gain some line. It’s not easy but it’s off the bottom after a couple of minutes. Should I be frightened? I’m not, after all I’ve seen plenty in my life and a few this trip – the last one yesterday when it tried to steal a Yellowfin from under my nose when we went out on the jetski. A decent bronzie that one, 8ft maybe?

I follow it around for a while, cranking up slightly more line than its peeling off and then it goes slack. I guess I’ve been bitten off and reel in. Nope, all intact. The hook has pulled, my own fault for not striking; just winding down to the fish wasn’t enough. Oh well, I rig the tail and drop it down.

It’s quiet now, takes a while before the next nibbles come. Then along comes another shark and I’m locked in again. A bigger fish this one and I can’t gain much line at all, it’s solid, but moving. I’m moving too. Quite fast and north. I up the drag but still can’t gain any when I lift. I’m on 80lb class tackle too. I try for five minutes before it occurs to me that not only am I running out of time before I’m getting picked up but also that I might be better off not bringing a shark of this size up to see how small and tasty I am. Hehe. I know it’s bigger than this paddleski and I’m over a mile out on my own. I get my knife out, wind up what I can and cut the line.

Right then, best I put the tinsels on again and see what’s about. The answer is not very much. Eventually I pull up another bananafish, dispatch it and start cutting small baits. I have no more wired ones left so just plump for one of my faithful 4/0 wishbones. Down it goes with a small piece of fish and the bites are immediate. Small bites and my hooks are stripped in minutes. Okay, try again…success, a double shot! A pair of small but stunning fish, a Slinger, with its beautiful blue eye make-up and a Dane, vivid and hissing!



I unhook them and pop them back in the water, rebait and get a phone call. Everyone is at Margate now and waiting for me. I stash my rod and start the paddle in.



Then I hear a sound, with half a mile to go. Damn, my headcam card is full. My landing isn’t going to be recorded on it. A pity as the water is pretty big. I carry on in, stop to take some film and then decide to stow it, and my hat, in the hold. I look around, it’s safe enough right now but I don’t notice that I’m drifting into shore so quickly. Margate keeps disappearing.



I’m quarter of a mile out and this wave, bigger than the others, is going to curl and break and I need to react NOW. I turn and paddle for it, wanting to shoot over but I’m not going to make it. TURN YOU BITCH! I get around in time but can’t get the speed up; I’m in the wrong place too and it starts to break as it reaches me. It’s all I can do to lean into it and brace. It consumes me. I am, quite literally, inside the wave. Not tubed or anything flash like that, I am inside this foaming breaker and I’m keeping upright, held in by the toe straps and my coiled paddle leash (kept attached because quite frankly I’m not swimming with sharks by choice).

The paddle leash snaps, my arse comes out of the seat and, shortly afterwards, the ski is ripped from my toes. It’s me and my Nordkapp now and the ski is floating fifty yards away. I glance at what’s behind and start to propel myself towards it with my paddle. I think I can just about make it…I do and climb aboard. I turn her and start paddling in, there is still a fair way to go but there’s nothing over 6ft right now and the confused state of the sea is on my side. I make it in fine, brace, lean and slide in sideways. All in one piece but soaking wet and with a hold hat’s shipped a fair bit of water and those cigarettes, the new pack of which I’ve managed to light just one, is finished. I drag the ski along the beach and Julius comes down to help me carry it up to the Land Cruiser where I get thanked for providing such good, free entertainment. We load up and while the rest go off to town and then home Julius and I grab a coffee before heading off to the estuary to have an afternoon fishing from the kickboats. But that’s another story.

With THAT launch, THOSE hook-ups and THAT landing I can honestly say it was the best three hours I’ve spent paddling in my life. You’ll see the video (apart from the landing which didn’t get captured on camera’s 1,2 or 3) in a week or two so for now you only have my word for all of this but rest assured it ain’t the word I uttered at launch, hook-up and landing!

Blagging the African Queen…25/03/2012

I’m heading north to Zululand tomorrow for a bit of jet ski fishing so my aunt decided we had to go get me the right lures from the tackle shop around the corner on the way back from fetching my grandmother for dinner. Previous plans to get hold of a fishing kayak seemed to have come to nowt but suddenly there appeared a secondhand one for sale outside the tackle shop! Best we take it for a test ride then eh?

Forty quid changed hands for tackle and we had secured the loan of this knackered old Stealth fishing ski. I suggested paying a few quid to borrow it for the rest of the week and this idea was taken as a good one so my uncle and I returned soon after and tied it onto the back of the Land Cruiser. Job done, I was in business!

A huge dinner was consumed and with everyone else going for a siesta I put my paddle together, loaded the ski into the back of the bakkie and headed down towards Port Shepstone where we walk the dogs.



The plan, with the sea a complete mess, was to launch into the river mouth and head upstream to flick some lures in the hope of a kingfish, kob or whatever else may be lurking. Now, this Stealth ski ain’t light; solid and weighing in at many more pounds than my Scupper I had to drag it over the vegetation and down the hill to the beach. It was surprisingly easy and I found myself a nice launch spot.



Now for the bad news. There has been a couple of big storms in recent days and the clear water I flicked a handline into the other day was now the colour of coffee. Strong coffee. With milk. I knew from the start I’d stand little chance of a hook-up but what the hell! I needed to paddle off some of this food and beer inside me from the last ten days. So with everything in place I pushed away from the edge and set off.

The river was emptying into the sea and with the shallow water, numerous sandbars and current I was making slow progress. The wind didn’t help either and this particular model as well as being heavy is flat bottomed with loads of rocker at the front – like a thick surfboard to deal with launch and landing here on the Kwazulu-Natal coastline. This effectively gave me the speed of half a gazelle even with my Nordkapps and the regular bottoming-out of either the underside or the built in fin didn’t help either. Still, I was happy and I paddled my way up to the bridge supports which hold fish.



I tried a popper. This was the only thing I could think of that might provoke a take. I worked it for ten minutes, fast and slow but nothing happened so I set off upstream once again. I was in deeper water now and the current eased a fair bit as the river widened too.



After half a mile or so I had thick bush either side of me; immediate thoughts of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. I looked around but could see no monkeys sadly though they have been a regular sight in the garden and on the roadside. Crocodiles were the other thing to look for, a concern as I’d need to return this ski without any more holes in it! Thankfully hippos aren’t found in this river as I’d have not launched if they were, those things are a major danger and my grandfather lost friends when their boat was attacked by one many years ago in the Congo. Oh, and snakes. I would need to keep my eyes peeled for them too as mambas are common here as well as many other venomous wrigglers. For clarities sake I’d just like to point out that I’m not kidding.



Finally I found a piece of water with a surface that was still. Lots of small fish were topping here and I cast to them but there was nothing interested in my invisible lure so I soon gave up and carried on with my paddle. I soon spotted the first of at least three kingfishers, darker blue than ours in the UK, and some other really colourful birds but each time I stopped to fish I drew a blank.

A couple of miles upstream I could see some more sandbars. As I drew towards them I grounded out. I wasn’t going to get out and pull the kayak through in case of leeches, bilharzia or whatever goddamn nasty shit the river might teem with so had to force my way through the next 300 metres with my paddle pushing through sand and a couple of inches of water. The flow didn’t help much either but I finally got past and carried on upstream, occasionally throwing my popper around in vain.



Sandbars appeared again soon after and I couldn’t get through this time so I turned and headed back…there was only a couple of hours of light left now and it’s not really wise to be out and about in the dark around here. Africa is not a safe place. I changed over to a Dexter Wedge and tried that for the rest of the way back. I cleared the sandbars again, the flow assisting me a bit this time and continued on my way back towards the sea. As I neared it I could hear the waves thundering onto the shoreline and once I reached the beach I could see the breakers the other side of the sand banks through which this last part of the river flows, I also saw a beautiful woodpecker. I decided that I may as well chance my arm and throw a wedge into the sea for ten minutes here and pulled up behind a sandbar.



It did me no good though and so I re-crossed the river, landed and dragged the kayak back up the hill to the bakkie.

Though I’d blanked and had a hard time in places it was a memorable paddle and gave me an idea of how the ski handles. There’s always tomorrow after all.

The Apprentice…11/03/2012

Do I look like a babysitter? Not if you look at some of the babysitter websites online I’m sure but in desperation my brother turned to me and asked if I wouldn’t mind having my nephew overnight. No hesitation whatsoever and the girls were excited all week. Now, Michael really enjoyed fish and chips here the other week so, duly filled with Carpyken’s cheesy fish crumble (I made a huge batch of breadcrumbs in the week) Mike was packed off to bed after watching a selection of videos of the awful conditions that has been my kayak fishing year so far. This was preparation you see as Mike wanted to go kayak fishing…

It was 6am when I woke him up. A bit earlier than he normally gets up but he was down and dressed in no time and with my wife’s new waterproof trousers, my boots and my spare PFD we set off to Gunton where he’d be paddling out in Eloise’s Tetra 10. It was a beautiful morning, the sun had just come up (not something he sees all that often) and it was reflected in a flat sea; virtually no wind and what little there was had enough westerly in it to promise a pleasant ride.



We unloaded and headed for the water. Mike had some concerns, I later heard, about being out too far, whales and God knows what else but he seemed game on in the best traditions of the Crame family and launched himself as I stood back and filmed.



We headed out about 300 yards into around 30-40ft of water over some semi-rough ground. Down went my anchor and with it set Mike came alongside and we lashed the kayaks together – it was a big tide so I wasn’t taking any chances of anchoring him separately; besides, we could chat like this. A wishbone with small hooks, frozen blacks and squid on a Fladen Ice Pike rod went down and he settled down to watch the rod tip as I baited my own rod up, fishing a three hook boom paternoster, again with lug and squid.



Very pleasant it was. For me. How about for him though? Seasickness? Nerves? Discomfort? Wet feet? I asked how he felt…



Great! We sat and watched…and then the rod tip twitched and he picked up his rod…he struck…he reeled in and…



Great stuff!

Then another.

Then the tide started to run in earnest and with it came the weed. Uncle Mark was blanking and there was very little chance of catching up now as the bites just tailed off. We gave it another hour and with lines being cut, deweeded and retied every few minutes it was time to call it a day. I untied Mike and sent him off while I hauled anchor in mid-flow. It took a bit of effort to get back to the landing spot (the only safe spot for a mile due to broken sea defences) because of the current but we both landed without mishap and packed the van before heading home. My apprentice enjoyed himself!



Epilogue: Freshly caught whiting, butterfly filleted, breadcrumbed and deep fried was a superb starter for son and father; there’s nothing better than eating your first ever sea fish within a few hours of capture.

Fizzling Out…10/03/2012

Well it’s almost the end of the coarse season and once again it’s passed largely unnoticed apart from the twenty-something-quid I saw disappear from my bank account for an Environment Agency rod licence back in March. But hey, it’s March and around the time that the girls go to spawn…and Snapper knows one of the places those horny sluts go. Or went. Or did go. Something like that. Anyway both my biggest pike have come from that spot, both twenties and both just before the end of the season. 1989 and 1994 they were and within a couple of feet of each other. It was nostalgia that made me go there this morning even though I’d stand a far better chance of catching on the Waveney and the paddle would do me good.


You see, I’ve blanked here far more times than I’ve caught. It’s also not really worth bothering with the kayak either, being 16ft wide and maybe 500 yards in length if all three pieces are added together. The trouble is I just don’t choose to fish unless I’m in a kayak these days and the idea of sitting on a riverbank is enough to leave me cold without the chill from beneath my arse. Nonetheless I unloaded the scupper, dropping it over the barbed wire fence and put my kit in it for the short drag to the dyke. Kit today was a 7ft 6in 12-20lb boat rod with a 4” KP Scarborough centrepin reel terminated by a wire trace holding half a bluey on two trebles beneath a float and a Shimano baitcaster reel on a 7ft spinning rod holding the same. I had a few lures with me as well in case I got bored.



It was a hairy launch to be honest. I was more likely to get a dunking clambering down the bank and over the reeds than I usually expect from launching off the beach but I made it without drama – phew! – and paddled the hundred yards to my mark. Ludicrous really. Anyway, I dropped in my baits and reversed.



There was a bit of flow, drainage from the surrounding marshland and within a few miniutes the floats were getting close to my position. I reeled in and decided to go the other side of themark and trot them down instead.


And therein lay the problem. The water was quite high and I would need to pass under the subsiding bridge. It was low, I could see that, but I figured I could breathe in and get under it…no-one loves a coward. I limbo-danced my way through, scraping my PFD on the underside and frightening any pike within 300 yards. That’s the whole water covered then.



I slung my paddle into the reeds and sat there as I trotted the baits down to their positions. Now it was time to sit and wait.

I continued waiting for a while.

Then I got bored and went for a walk.

Then I came back and waited some more.

Then I passed under the bridge again, even scrapier this time. I decided to trot a bait down nice and slow on the KP and stuck first a Storm Wildeye perch onto the end of the line and then a nice shiny spoon onto the spinning rod. Perhaps this would keep my mind more actively occupied.

It did but I still got bored. The fish weren’t playing. I gave it until 9am and then hauled my kayak out and went home. A pleasant enough reminiscence but I’d rather have had a fish.

Inside Some Kayak Anglers

Well, another 15 minutes of stardom! Rob Appleby was contacted by the editor of http://themilkcratemag.com/ over in the US and asked about doing an interview along with some of the other hardcore UK kayak anglers...three of the four are now up with one last one tomorrow. Mine's posted today. It's basically a bit of an insight into the heads of me (Mark Crame, Ian Harris http://dizzybigfish.co.uk/ Rob Appleby http://www.saltwaterkayakfisherman.com/ and Richi Oliver (who wouldn't know how to put a blog together but builds very good brick walls!) all committed and regular kayak anglers and quite a different read to the normal stuff ( catch reports etc).

enjoy!

Getting Norman Wisdom…04/03/2012

Determined I was, I was damn well going to fish the wreck of the Norman this weekend, on the turn of the tide as it started to ebb. We’d blanked here a week prior on the turn and flood but this could be different. So I got up at 5 as usual on a weekend and persuaded Si to do the same.

I know, I know. Stupid time of day. I have family to contend with though, and tides, and cooking…I also had a bunch of stinking, dead worm that had been donated a few days prior and a need to get wet.

The days are drawing out, I’ve cut my tip lights off – launching when I can see what I’m doing is novel I must say. Si was complaining about being up early but little does he know what I get up to when it’s bass time…I trolleyed down and launched, an hour and a bit after high water.

Right, I don’t want to lose my anchor but I want to fish the other side of the wreck to the flow…loads of line on this reel, if I drop around here, 260ft away in 26ft of water I should be in the vicinity…I dropped anchor, paddled myself and drifted down. The wreck passed under the sonar; bang on!



I baited up a wishbone 2/0 and a single 4/0, both on zip sliders and with running leads, the tide was really soft so I used small weights with no grip wires. Lucky really, the tide was still slack and I drifted 240ft from the wreck, unlike Si who tied off to the ginger beer bottle we left floating there last week on his snagged anchor. Anyway, I cast my baits in all the same.



So I drifted around and then got my first fish while watching the resident seal watching us. Well, I brought the whiting out of the water and I was getting stared at; I kept it aloft and it came closer…I was hoping it’d come right up like it had in the summer but no, she dived and was only small on the resultant video. Oh well, back went the whiting.



Still moving, I had another three.



There were fishing moving around and what I took to be sprat shoals mid-water, with fish feeding on them perhaps too.



Maybe that’s why, once I got back over the wreck, nothing gave a toss about lug and squid cocktails…



Well, I finally managed my first fish off the Norman, a nice little whiting of around 4 inches!! That was it for the day, a grand total of five and by 09:00 I had decided I was bored and so Si and I hauled in to head in. So, was it worthwhile? In terms of specimens or food clearly not BUT I had answered my other questions: 1. My new cag was up to the job. 2. Cag and bib/brace was sufficient for the time of year (though not for risking rough weather or immersion). 3. I could position myself bang on the Norman with my anchor out of the snag zone. 4. My neck/shoulder is bearable for paddling. 5. I am better looking than Si.

We paddled in and noticed Mike launch and come to see us. Late he was but instead of not bothering he popped down without rods to paddle out and catch up. Nice touch! A pity we inadvertently cut his trip short but heading back against the current was a worthwhile effort for all of us.



Apologies for low quality photographs, they’re still captures off the video camera.

Fogged Off…03.03.2012

Dan had asked for my help in rigging his first kayak the other week but with loads on my plate I hadn’t got around to it by the time he’d done it, as I discovered when I invited him over as I had the tools out to rig an anchor trolley on my daughter’s Tetra. Never mind, he came anyway and we hatched a plan for him to pitch up in the morning around 9 when I’d be thinking about heading in at Hopton from fishing…

05:00, out of bed, 5:05 back in. Fogbound. There was no chance whatsoever that I was going to drive in that crap.

Just after eight, family fed, I let him know that I was up for an hour on the water if he wanted to do some practice and so I took the Tetra down to the end of the road for 9am and met him there, all ready to rock.

Out he went, into the sea for the first time. It was a tad choppy.



For a warm up we went for a brisk paddle down to the Claremont pier, up to the South pier (against the current) and back again…



…before heading into shallower water, where it was lumpier from the waves breaking and he deployed his anchor, hauled it again and stayed on. First time he’d tried it.



Satisfied, we headed back out a little bit, out of standing depth, and he had his first go at a self-rescue. Now I find this dead easy but I’m reasonably fit, reasonably light and well-practiced. Dan, on the other hand, is not a featherweight, has a few years on me, has never done it before and had only the briefest of instruction. I’m such a bastard. On the plus side, he was keen as mustard and paid attention. Over he went…

…and back on, first time. Like a hippo roller skating perhaps but he was on and in his seat. Fine, do it again…



…in a couple of seconds his paddle was in his hand. What might best be described as an excellent student! Remember, it’s March, the water at its coldest; it’s choppy, there’s a bit of swell, some wind, it’s his first time on the sea in his new kayak…That’s a round of applause in my book.

Oh yeah, then he made his first landing, bracing hard and running in straight without getting wet.



Apologies for low quality photographs, they’re still captures off the video camera.

Back in the Saddle…26.02.2012

“Hi Mark as you may know I’m bit of a cripple at the mo”.

So began the message from Lozz. The three 3-tonne steel tubes that landed on his leg smashed enough bones to put him into plaster and out of action for four months but with the cast coming off on the Monday there seemed no reason why he couldn’t fish at the weekend. Well, apart from not fitting in his kayak and not being able to walk of course…

A different kayak is duly leant and so on Sunday morning we meet up once again at Hopton; it’s been a while since we were last here together. But I shall rewind.

I woke up. It was daylight. The alarm had yet to go off. Something was very wrong. My wife was asleep next to me, the girls were asleep above; I checked the time, it was just after 7. Oh yeah, I had managed a day pass. I got up after the lie-in and went down to get the coffee on and start the bacon sizzling for the descent of the hordes. That’s when my eldest appeared, she was doing breakfast and today she would fry the bacon for the first time. And so, around 08:30, I walk out of the door and head for Hopton with a full stomach.

It’s summer. Bright sunshine, blue sky, warm and with only the slightest breeze. Indeed, I’ve had the first barbecue of the year only yesterday. I head down Beach Road and there is Lozz with Trudi by his side, ready to rock. We chat and then get the gear sorted, get kitted up and I drag the yaks down to the shoreline. There’s a slight dump now but easy to time for and with the stormtrooper boot wedged into the footwell I grab the bow handle and drag him out and throw him past me back into his element.



4th November 2007, that’s when I caught my first codling from the kayak. That was with Lozz. I’d had my first smoothounds with him too, down in the Solent. Now, hopefully, I could put him onto that shoal that has been hanging off Corton for the last four months. It’s only a couple of miles and the tide will assist us in the run down…it’s running that way after all. We’re there in a little over ten minutes.



We drop anchor, I stick 300ft + of warp out and settle into something I judge to be over 3 knots. I can’t be sure but it’s more than usual and I have to resort to 8oz leads to hold bottom – I think though I’m not sure they’re down there. Lozz is a hundred yards back, I should have stopped feeding warp out sooner. I’m swinging a bit but nothing too dramatic. I bait up and drop down; I don’t feel the lead hit but with a shallow angle I knock it out of freespool and place the first and then second rod into the holder.



It’s a beautiful day but why so few boats out? We’re sitting there amongst 8, a mixture of charter and private anglers; I’m alongside Blue Dawn, maybe a hundred yards inshore. I kind of drift, slowly, over the first hour and just creep along covering maybe 50 yards in total before the tide eases just enough to stop pushing me. I’m not getting any bites and nor, it seems, is anyone else. I’ve heard mention of a couple of whiting and that’s it. It’s great listening in to the other traffic on the VHF. Sometimes there’s some real beauties. Like the two trawlers who come out with a classic:

“There’s a dug out canoe over there mate. Probably one of them immigrants.”

I was in stitches with that one but resisted the temptation to call up Lozz with “Immigrant, Immigrant this is Dugout, Dugout over”…I would have but with not even a bite I didn’t really have anything to say. Don passes over the cliffs in his Gyro but doesn’t swoop down overhead to give us a display this time – we’re amongst others so it may not seem polite if indeed he’s spotted us there. I bet it was fantastic being aloft in such great conditions.

The tide doesn’t seem to want to slow, it’s incessant and It’s been well over an hour before I get my first little rattle which doesn’t develop. I wait another twenty minutes for the second…the third comes ten minutes after that and as the tide finally slows, an hour after high water, I get a decent couple of bites and haul in a double shot of whiting; like waiting for a bus this.



I then bring fish in steadily for the next hour until slack water, I miss some too and when I make use of my convenience zip I have both rods going as if all the fish off Corton are wanting to take the piss out of me…



…then finally, two hours after high water, slack arrives and the sea goes oily.



It would seem that of those who are talking only 3 codling have been caught. The water is getting clear enough now that it looks like summer whereas in close it’s a lot more coloured; perhaps why the beaches are suddenly improving. Boats are strung out along the coast and people are moving; Cleveland Princess steams up, chats to Lozz and then heads to a position nearby.



I drift aimlessly and then, as Blue Dawn starts to turn I pull my lines in and swing around to face north. I let the rest of my warp out to get closer to Lozz too and finally we can talk to each other. His leg is starting to annoy him now and he decides, while the tide is just starting to run, that he’s going to haul anchor and head in. I’ve just baited up again so decide to have a cigarette and catch one more whiting…



…in those few minutes the tide starts running swiftly and I have to make quite an effort hauling in all my warp. As I wind it onto the reel with the anchor on the deck I am making over 1.5mph with no wind already. I stow it and pick up my paddle, head northwest to the launch site and at an average of over 6mph I attain 7.1 with little effort. God knows what I’d have managed when it really started to push!

Lozz is hanging just out from the groynes as I come in. The waves aren’t anything to worry about today but I head in first as he’s not going to be jumping out. I land smoothly but my fish are washed out of the tankwell. I jump into the water and fling all but one up onto the beach and then Lozz runs in…as he hits the beach and slews sideways I help him up onto the sand and he gets out; he’s done it and he’s smiling though I suspect it’s through gritted teeth. Trudi is there with his crutches and up he goes as I follow behind with the yaks.

Well, it may not have been the best day for fish but we had a bit of sport, had a decent paddle and had great weather; more importantly Lozz is back.