It’s my last trip, my last run down to the south coast with a van and trailer, my last overnighter and I’m off to Christchurch. It sort of became a tradition on the first trip here of the spring to meet up with Overrun and go for a session though it’s never been much of a success…and what? It doesn’t matter.
I spoke to James and Tanners lane was settled upon. Richi was also up for it and with space on the van and nothing to do for a while Stinkyweim got an invite too. That’s why the poor bugger was dragged from his bed and we were on the road soon after four in the morning
Two drops and then it’s my last one and happily it’s one where coffee will be forthcoming! Good old Bournemouth Canoes delight as ever and with the boats unloaded Darren brings through two steaming cups and after chatting about my new job we depart for the premier Inn at somerford.
We check in and I’m knackered. Not that I’m missing fishing though, far from it and we dump the trailer around the back before heading off to the scene of my first smoothound session. Low bridges conspire against us but we find a way through and pull up on the beach behind Richi. Talking while setting up the owner of the beach who lives a hundred yards from us comes to chat. The van is not appreciated but he says I can stay this time, just not come back! We had a good chat and left on good terms and then it was time to launch.
The day had been a beauty until now; sun, blue skies, warm, no wind. Now though the wind was blowing and the sea was choppy. A smattering of mist was building and I was decidedly cooler than earlier. We launched just the same and paddled out.
Half a mile out and I dropped down in around 8-10ft of water and about 2-3ft of chop. The water looked clear enough but I was fishing blind and it wasn’t all that comfortable. I sat there, Si positioned a couple of hundred yards inshore of me and waited.
I appeared to get some taps and then line was being pulled slowly in starts…I knew what it was and knew that we’d lucked out. I reeled in and sure enough I had a weight of weed to strip from the line. The other rod was duly brought in and stripped too; the beautiful ragworm Richi had picked up for us were going to go to waste.
Si headed in for a while and James arrived on the beach. I moved and tried to get away from the weed but to no avail. I called James up and told him not to bother launching and ten minutes later I was back on the land, gutted.
We stood and chatted. Richi returned. I spotted some gulls diving and we tried flicking out some lures but nothing hit them. That was about the time people with funny shoes and strange trousers started prancing around on the beach. Some had cameras, some had baseball caps. One had long blonde hair and with a builder amongst us our friendship was doomed to fail! No, it wasn’t a porn shoot much to our disappointment but a music video for some anonymous band we’d probably never hear of anyway. They appeared to enjoy themselves though, snogging and subsequently splashing each other with piss and mercury contaminated salt water and managed to avoid any lurking stingray so I guess things were good for them.
We loaded up and headed off, avoiding horses as we made our way out of the New Forest, set course for the hotel via the worst and greasiest, by far, KFC I’ve ever eaten and crashed out in no time ready for the run back home and my last day with Johnson Outdoors…
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