Yes, I’m Shore…30/06/2012

Yes, I’m Shore…30/06/2012 30th Birthday. Not a person but Shore Watersports in East Wittering. I like Shore, they offer coffee to drivers and their weekend demo is always a great event with coffee, bacon rolls, barbecue, hot and cold running pretty girls and loads of distributors with surfboards, SUPs, kayaks and even kitesurfing gear this time. It’s party time when Shore have their demo! So, I worked the night before, got on the water, loaded the van and ran all the way down to Port Solent. I have no idea how much coffee I consumed in the twenty four hours preceding my arrival but what I can honestly say was it was just the right amount – I finally felt tired just before I arrived which ensured the best night’s sleep in a week, a whole seven hours… …until 6am when I dragged myself into the land of the living and, half an hoyur later, set of ridiculously early to ensure I’d arrive in time to set up knowing that the Goodwood Festival of Congestion was on. I was second there, beaten only by Stuart from Tiki who I’d spent a lot of last year’s demo chatting to and who’d given me my first and only surf lesson. The sea was shocking, tide was right up and the wind was howling with an onshore 25knot blow. It didn’t bode well. For the demo or the gazebo Andy insisted I bring and which I lashed securely to the side of the van in whose lee I set it. All set up I looked at the water and though some early bird locals were having a good time surf yakking my enthusiasm wasn’t there…yet. But hey, it’s me I’m talking about and it wasn’t long before I had assembled my surf paddle, grabbed the demo YakBoard and launched. I wasn’t allt hat confident I’d get out and wished I was wearing goggles as every dam wave sprayed into my eyes as I broke out with much effort and not a little swearing. A couple of hundred yards out I settled down and waited for waves. It was messy and short but every now and then a nicely-shaped wave came through but with my position being out time and again due to the unpredictability I was struggling to catch anything that I could really play with and with lots of false starts and turns to go back for another one when it died off I was starting to get despondent. Until it came right. I paddled, caught the face as it reared up and I was running down to the bottom. No thigh straps and lacking the performance I’ve got used to on the RRRapido but with the extra skills I’ve managed to develop on the latter I decided to give a bottom turn a go and see if I could carve it…and briefly, for maybe five seconds, I did until the mush came as I reached the shore dump and I braced into it with the YakBoard being pushed out from beneath me. wipe out. I repeated this five minutes later and with one last go before any punters turned up I caught a better wave and with a bottom turn, carve (or the best approximation I’d get today) and a bit of a bongo slide I turned into shore just before the dump and carried on all the way up to the beach. Right. That was that done then, the first of the demo yaks had been wetted and I’d shown the competition that at least one of us was stupid enough to get wet in this wind! Now, this does have a work-based reason too. Like the meteorogical flights that went up over Europe before the bombers were sent over during the war (but in no way a comparison) it’s vital to know just what is happening on the water when conditions are shit for the inexperienced and they are wanting to take your kayaks out. I now knew where they had to get to and where they would struggle and this information was passed on to some of the others too. I suppose you could, somehow, justify it as risk assessment. Health and safety gone mad? Look into my eyes!!! Well, as the tide dropped the sea, though still rough and surfable, became more conducive to letting people out on and go out they did. Spending as much time upside down as upright it was fun to watch and the on-water stuff had their hands full. At least the surfers were coping. Finally making it through the traffic from the festival of spped, Dan and Dee arrived. A chat ensued before Dan squeezed into his drysuit and took the Scrambler 11 out while I jumped on the Scupper Pro for a quick blast in the waves. Neither of us really stood much chance and spent a bit of time swimming wheenever we got dumped off waves. I changed over to the Yakboard again with more success and after a short while we both returned to the beach. Richi turned up soon after along with another forum member and so the day passed, chatting, lending out various kayaks and equipment and watching the carnage as more people took to the water. sunday began with a bit of rain again and the wind, supposed to die off, had picked up. High tide and rough water made the lending out of kayaks impossible initially and at first only a windsurfer braved the water. later a couple of surfers wet out and, though feeling a bit cold, I decided on a quick blast on the Yakboard to clear the cobwebs; some others could have done with a similar wake-up after the previous night's partying which i avoided by returning to my hotel for a queit night. The day passed in much the same way as the previous one though it was quiet with the demo kayaks due to conditions and come five o'clock it was time to start heading off for the long drag home through the usual south-coast to london traffic, swelled by the Goodwood visitors. till, i got a nice tan.

Sit On Top Girl…29/06/2012

Sit on Top Boy, that’s what she says to me. Snob. Just because she has a brace of Skerries to paddle around Shetland with. Of course I had a great feeling; getitng her sitting on top would be a great plan for today. So, following coffee at the Town House, as per forever, we considered the options. I’d not paddled the Bungay Loop before so was tempted to propose that but with a van to load and a run down to the south coast later in the afternoon and the last shift barely finished I suggested getting our fingers smelling of fish. Piking on the Waveney it was then! I know how to show a girl a good time. Parking was not going to happen at the pool so we headed for the quay, dropping in by the footbridge and parking up at the end of the road. She was apprehensive, having got used to the feeling of being inside normally but she decided to go for it anyway and sat on top for the first time. I had to stifle my laughter as she exclaimed how wet she was a second or two later. I grinned as she pulled on the shaft and moved off as I entered the channel. The wider water opened ahead of us and we paddled through it, waiting until we were out of the yacht basin before she pulled my rod out, thumbed the button and released the line, tightening up moments later and pulling away as I took my rod in hand and got myself sorted out as well. Up the river we went… We passed the bridge with no joy and I decided to change lure quickly having cleaned some weed off her lure and sent her on her way. It was bright with a fair amount of cloud drifting over now and again as we headed upstream, the tip of my rod twitching as I came from behind and then crossed over towards the other bank. Once again the curse struck, nothing was interested in the lunchtime Rapalas as we headed further upstream, past river police bend and on towards Gillingham. It was pleasant just mooching along the river chatting though, catching up if not catching fish and we had a bonus at Gillingham when I spotted something I’d not seen since my first season on the kayak…not a floating twig, the inch that poked up as it swam across the river caught my attention immediately as a grass snake made its’ way to the other bank; damned camera, it took a while to get turned on and I missed the shot as it slithered up the side of the kayak and along until it was clear. We watched as it made its way up the mud and into the thick, tangled bush. We got to barsham and decided to head back, changing lures again and setting off. The turn against the current worked again, in minutes I felt the familiar tugging; I grabbed hold and with a quick jerk put my rod into Paula's eager hands. She tightened her grip and started to pull, the resistance exciting her as it slowly came closer… …and then broke the surface near her…”it’s huge!” she exclaimed as it splashed by her side. I told her to loosen off a bit and it went off again, it had come up prematurely and was still somewhat lively but then, with a quick shake of its head, the rod lost its stiffness and the pike was gone. Damn! We got all the way back to the quay without another strike and with a quick turn and half-mile troll producing nothing either we headed back to the launch and once again I came up the channel behind her. We loaded up and, still wet, I was invited back for coffee before, like old times, I left her for the drive down to Portsmouth. Oh, the verdict? As I’d tried to tell her before, sitting on top is great!

Scuppered…28/06/2012

‘yeah but I’m shagged. I’m going to sleep first. Half ten?’ The times were far better when I knocked off but I really wasn’t up to it. I slept immediately and getting up was a struggle. All work and loads of play makes mark a knackered boy! But I cracked on and let Si know I was running late. Bad move two was changing launch at the last minute…we met and Dogger and headed straight out (with no electronics) dropping anchor, I think, in the hole. Now, it looked flat and it sort of was but the tide was screaming! We were coming up to mid flow, on the flood and we had both wind and swell running with it as we sat facing downstream. Neaps my arse! This was worse than last week but the anchors held and I dropped down the 4/0 Vikings with squid on one and bluey on the other. Smut? Roker? Pout? It wasn’t long before the stern dipped alarmingly the first time. It was a funny sea and one that had me ever so slightly dubious…Marty called up, could see us from the clifftops. I told him the sea was shite, nothing like it looked; he tactfully told me I was stuck there for the next three hours! Now a real mate would have launched his boat, driven twenty miles each way in it and come to our rescue with his pants over his trousers but not Marty. He just took the piss. So we sat there with me deciding to carry on fishing even though it was running too quick for me to be confident of a fish and not that sure about spinning around right now if it wasn’t necessary. Besides, I was up, I was full of coffee and the sun was shining. My arse went down again. Cleveland Princess were about, ¼ mile offshore from us. I’d spotted them when I’d come out. Nice chaps they are, not only do they have a respected charter operation but their eating establishment is good too…and they give us a wave now and then. I lodged it in the back of my mind that they were there just in case. I might have called them to see how they were doing too but I’d left the VHF on again and it was dead, not that I’m bothered, security-wise, as I have the phone and PLB anyway. Funny twitches. Roker? Moving uptide? Hmm, I can chat to Si. That’s that then, it’s picking up and I’ve just slipped and drifted though it soon settled again. Maybe it’s getting jerked out every time the stern drops. I changed baits and chucked them out again. It was quite a bit later when I started to drift at a constant, but slow, rate. Okay, so I had two choices now. I could wait for the anchor to bite again or I could use the lessened pressure to spin myself around with more confidence…I chose the latter option because the fishing was shit and I was getting bored and really couldn’t be bothered to redeploy the anchor in what I reckon was around 4 knots. I span, hauled and went over to raft up with Si so that he could do the same with some extra stability (not that I doubt his capability but with this flow it’s an option worth using and I’d called him over to do the same for me a week or two prior). I paddled for a while before I got to his position, the tide wasn’t much fun to go against and arrived to him telling me that Cleveland Princess were in difficulties. It had just come over the radio that they’d got a sleeping bag fouled around their prop. Random. I’d seen them up-anchor and start to move but hadn’t really registered that they had stopped again so close. I rafted up with Si and called up the coastguard to offer assistance thinking that I was low to the water and might be able to clear the prop or could always take the boat under tow . No need, the Spirit of Lowestoft had been scrambled and so we stayed there, chatting to watch the show. I was needing coffee. What a boring rescue! No helicopters or anything, they just towed her away and into port while we talked bollocks and watched. Oh well. We spun and hauled anchor before paddling in across the tide, taking evasive action from a WAFI on the way. CEFAS Endeavour was out too and I laughed thinking about the last time I’d seen her, stranded at the mouth of the harbour when I’d called up and diverted a pilot boat to rescue an abandoned jet-ski that was floating their way and I was cycling along the promenade (a strange thing, calling the coastguard and not telling them it was kayak snapper! Bicycle Snapper would have been plain wrong so I didn’t say my name at all). Now, we KNOW there’s submerged concrete pilings here, big, jagged, nasty ones that run for most of the length between those groynes. We know that they don’t have a lot of water over them right now. We also know we’re bored fighting this tide and so we go in slow, looking for any swirls or broken water that will show us where they’re closest to the surface, looking for any that uncover between swells. Good recce, we both landed as though we’d pulled Jordan (we didn’t touch the sides). A bloke came over and talked to us when we landed as always happens here. We chatted for quite a while. I haven’t the faintest idea what we chatted about or who he was or which conversation we had. In fact it might be the week before that I’m thinking of when we trolled the harbour approaches for bass and spoke to someone. Coffee. That’s what was missing. Si had cider in the car but we went home instead.

...and one says ‘can you smell fish?’...26/06/2012

Okay, so I gave the punchline first but it’s an old joke about two birds standing on a perch. I find it funny anyway. I guess you know one of the fish I caught already though so it seems pointless to carry on except I’ve got some nice pics and I feel like writing. I came off shift and the sea didn’t look fishy so I decided to head for Beccles again seeing as how the river is open again. Okay so it’s the wrong time of day for a really good session, evenings being far better, but it was such a nice day other than the wind that I decided to go anyway. As usual I parked up at the swimming pool and launched off the pontoon for a troll down the town stretch. I had a couple of rods out, my spinning rods with the Coriolis baitcaster and Sedona spinning reel with a small bunch of Rapalas to play with from my ridiculously excessive collection as I headed down towards the bridges at a walking pace. I suppose I should call it Galilee pace as Jesus is the only bloke I’ve heard of that walked on water. Not that I know what pace he walked at or anything but I digress. I reached the bypass bridge without a sniff and turned; perhaps with the flow going against me I’d stand a better chance as is usually the way. The theory is that the lure wriggles a lot more going that way and creates more disturbance but I don’t really know if it makes any difference. That said, half a mile later my rod started to buck. I reached around and took it from the flush mount; at last a fish on my repaired spinning reel! Tempted on the hot tiger 7cm Jointed Shad Rap I’d had the biggie on ten days before on opening day It pulled well, fighting like a good ‘un…As the yak weathercocked with the wind I pulled it closer; a small jack, a pound or two at most. Summer lure pike always surprise me with their power! In it came for the quick unhooking and off it went. I forgot to take a photo! Better catch another then! Up past the pool and on towards Barsham and with another mile covered things seemed to be quiet still. I changed lures, turned back and carried on. It was a slow day again but what a pleasant one! I was thinking that when I passed the revetments and the rod started to act strangely! I’d seen plenty of fish in the margins here, roach and perch mostly and was hoping for a perch…yes! My Coriolis, pulling a Firetiger J13, had hooked into the first perch of the season! I love perch, such pretty things, aggressive bullies that they are perch were the first fish I caught from my yak all those years ago! It wasn’t big, barely bigger than the lure but a pleasure to see all the same. With it back in the water I pondered catching the other predator that sometimes takes a lure on this stretch, that lovely species the chub…could I do the triple? I’ve never had it yet, just two of three on many occasions…I continued down but still it was a long wait. Really long and it wasn’t until I had turned again and started to paddle back to the launch for the last time that the rod bent over again…could it be a chub? Doubtful in this stretch but…? Nah. It wasn’t. At least I had my pike photo to go home with and go home I did, more relaxed than if I’d slept.

A Paddle Back…20/06/2012

A Paddle Back…20/06/2012 Sometimes the past catches up and you get to revisit it. With a forecast that scuppered the plans for fishing, an erroneous forecast as it turned out, I rescheduled my day to meet up with someone I’d not spent any time with for sixteen years. A paddler now resident on the Shetland Islands it seemed a great opportunity to have a catch-up coffee in the café we used to frequent before heading onto the river and paddling upstream to another old haunt. So, we met up in the town centre, walked to the café, told each other how they’d not changed since half a lifetime ago, reminisced and then walked around the town finding old places that had changed before parking up and walking down to the launch, stopping for a chat with another old friend from back then. The weather was perfect; blue sky, cloudless, sunny and warm with enough wind to keep us from roasting. With the Chatham leant out and myself in the Scupper we headed upstream for the forty minute paddle to the Lock Inn at Geldeston, the scene of many good nights and a couple of sessions fishing. We passed a memorable stretch of riverbank, laughing, and continued on our way idling along and chatting. The paddle seemed to go really quickly with minimum effort and, pulling the kayaks onto the bank we went in to get a couple of drinks; a real ale pub I had to go for the locally brewed orange wheat beer, drunk outside on a bench in the sun. Even after all this time we’re still a pair of delinquents. It was too short. We made the decision to paddle the upper stretch, the unnavigable part that only ever sees paddlecraft. The water is clearer here, the weed growth and fish visible and without a moments silence and our fair share of laughter we soon reached the weir and mill pools at Ellingham. Portaging across for another mile up towards Mettingham was a possibility but instead we chose to turn back, once again pulling in at the Locks for refreshment. We launched again and within minutes I had a phone call asking where I was and why I’d not done anything in the house and why I wasn’t back yet and what had to be done and blah blah blah…my excuse of it being such a beautiful day and the following two forecast to be shit cut no ice as it was my third day on the water in a row…but hey, I’d done the hoovering yesterday, tidied up, washed up, made dinner and then gone to bed before a night shift; I’d been home long enough this morning to repair the two wing mirrors smashed on her car overnight and have a bath so none of the mess was mine anyway. As you can imagine I really gave a shit. Reaching the launch point once again we loaded up and parted company for the time being, hopeful of another paddle before the holiday is over; all I had to do now was go home and make dinner before crashing out for four hours (after twenty one on coffee) and starting the next shift. I wouldn’t have had it any other way!

Out to Lunch…19/06/2012

The day was pretty vacant, I didn’t have a lot on bar some housework but it was far too nice a morning when I got in from work to not go out on the water. Si and I had already talked about a possible launch but he ended up with a load of jobs so had to cancel. Perhaps I should sleep instead? No, I was full of caffeine and it was beautiful outside; I decided he didn’t need to do his chores, that I didn’t need to sleep and with Eloise’s kayak on the roof already it could be quick and easy if I just kidnapped him without the hassle of loading his yak onto his vehicle and we fished locally. So I did. I stopped off for a quick look at the sea, it was reasonable in terms of clarity and flat. I reckoned on a fair chance of trolling up a bass or two from the rocks between Ness Point and the harbour so I carried on to his, knocked on the door and persuaded him that he really didn’t need to do any work just yet – an hour and a half should suffice I told him…he was persuaded! A quick re-rigging and we bundled his gear into the van and set off. Parking up at Dogger we launched easily into a calm sea and headed south. The flood was just dying down but we were against the southerly wind (that should have been westerly) all the way so progress was slower than it should have been. This wasn’t an issue of course as we were trolling. I didn’t expect a great deal on the way down as we were just inside of a mile of nets and sure enough we saw no fish. These stopped near the rocks though which left us clear for the hot spot. Except it was no longer all that clear. Never mind, it was a pleasant paddle anyway. I had a couple of bright 7cm Rapala jointed shad raps out on my spinning rods and with Si in the lead we set off. It was a bit bumpier here but perfectly manageable and I stayed within 20ft of the rocks, often closer. The inside lure was bouncing off rocks and sooner or later it had to happen – the line parted and my lure disappeared. That’s when I realised it was not a floater. I replaced it with a blue J13 and continued. Down near the end before the harbour approach I turned. Si was already paddling back and with us both on a blank I felt a bit guilty. Off he went and I continued north again. By the time he reached Ness point I was a good few hundred yards behind and I’d pretty much decided that it was pointless; I moved out a bit deeper, replaced the j13 with another shad rap and continued as Si turned and came down presumably for a natter. It didn’t take him long and by this time… My outside rod started to pull and buck, snagged or weeded or? Or! I pulled into what felt a reasonable fish getting a good scrap and line pulled from the baitcaster. Si drew alongside and watched me deal with the snag which broke the surface with a silver flash; his timing couldn’t have been better, it must be torture fishing with me this month! He did photo duty while I opened the centre hatch of the Tetra and pulled my fish out of the water and straight into the hull, unhooking and dispatching it swiftly before holding it up for a photograph. 51cm and 3lb, a nice plump bass. Si promptly headed back again for another try and I started to do the same but soon turned and headed back towards the launch. The tide and wind were both now in our favour and apart from the odd steering stroke I drifted back, my lures jiggling away sufficiently. I opened up the playlist on my phone, sat back and chilled out to some music, the first time I’d ever bothered having any on the yak. I must say I rather enjoyed being such a degenerate. I tried offshore of the nets this time in clearer water but with the additional depth and no features I expected the nothing that I got. Soon we were back at the launch point and headed in together for a smooth landing. After a chat with a friendly native we loaded up and instead of putting another fish in the freezer for an anonymous meal and wanting to share it with my fishing mate I invited Si back for lunch and beer…it was an easier decision than fishing and so off we went via a quick stop at Si’s. Maybe an hour had passed since it had been swimming freely and dodging the nets. A good wash in my sink and as I descaled it Si was set to work pouring beer, grating ginger and squeezing limes. The olive oiled pan went in the oven, on full blast and with the grill on as I sliced a sweet red pepper and a few tomatoes; these went in with a sizzle and cooked as I took off a fine pair of fillets, the heads, guts and frames reserved for pot and drop bait as I abhor waste from fish I’ve had to kill. I chopped a red chilli, combined this with the lime, ginger and some more olive oil and poured it over the inside flesh before turning them skin up and placing them in the pan. I oiled up the skin side, seasoned with rock salt and black pepper after pouring the remaining marinade over and stuck the whole lot in the oven. Aside from the scaling and filleting the actual dish preparation took maybe five minutes in total and so we had to open a second Cobra – the first half-emptied in the most glorious first swig since last summer. The skin was crisped up, the flesh cooked through and I laid the meal onto a plate each. Salad would have made a nice colourful garnish but being proper men, albeit 40-odd year old juvenile delinquents, we neatly side-stepped the foliage and went into the garden with the freshest and most wholesome meal you can get; in the words of Mr Oliver it was pukka!

Corton Smut…18/06/2012

Back again and what to expect? Last week’s session was the last of the ebb and into slack on a weak neap, five days on and it’s a strong spring with the last of the flood and over slack into the ebb…this time I also have a few small hardbacks and a softie gathered a few days before and a Portland rig to try a livebait with. I pull up at the top of the lane with high hopes and an hour’s sleep under my belt; Si is here already, it’s flat, low offshore wind and spitting slightly. I unload. We park up and trolley down, I’ve never seen the water so clear here and regret not bringing any feathers to try even though I doubt there use would amount to anything. With Si on the beach I head out to the mark, dropping to the south for the tide to drift me back over it, it should be high water slack now, an hour on from the top of the tide. I drift further south…it’s still running pretty hard. Si joins me and drops down nearby. The large softie goes onto a 4/0 running leger, the hook passed through twice while rod two receives a size 1 triple flapper baited with a pinch of worm tipped with bluey. Five minutes in and the flapper rod goes, up comes a whiting and it’s not a bad sized bait. I cut the rig off and pop on the Portland rig. It should now be able to swim freely a metre from the lead and with clear water and a lively fish I’m pretty hopeful for another bass; the 6/0 passes through the bottom lip and a 5oz lead finishes it off; I swing it over the side. Ten minutes pass and my crab rod starts to twitch; I pick it up and feel for a pull which comes seconds later, I pull back and the fish pulls back as I pull it up to the surface. Up comes a small smoothound for a kiss and a look around before heading back to the bottom, 40ft down, followed by the same bait that has merely been pushed up the line during the fight. It’s a decent bait this, nice and big, nice and firm and nice and tasty! That’s why the rod started to buck again! A better fish this time, heavy in the flow, another starry, around 5lb this time, breaks the surface handicapped in its efforts by wrapping itself in the line of the livebait rod. I bring it aboard and deal with it, unravelling and then cutting the birdsnest out of the line. Great. Holding both ends of the braid with a livebait still down I have to join the line with wet hands in a sea that’s starting to build. Till, nothing hits the whiting and I keep my fingers. Si gets one next, I turn to watch and it’s a good fish; I’m chuffed, he might not hate me so much this week! He battles with it then, as he’s pulling it aboard something happens, the hook straightens and it’s gone. He’s not smiling anymore, that was a PB. The wind, so slight before, has shifted more northerly and picked up, the waves have become choppier and larger and the boats are turning now as the ebb begins and starts to reverse us into the wind, a couple of hours after high water. It goes quiet for a while and then Si is in again, another smut around the 5-6lb mark and this time it make sit out of the water and onto the yak; he’s chuffed. The tide starts to pick up and darker clouds roll over; the clarity disappears as the familiar brown soup boils up from nowhere. Si and I hold a conversation; he’s drifting slowly. He must think I’m being unsociable ten minutes later when I also start moving downtide with a tripped anchor, slowly but enough to be annoying and to make chances of a further fish unlikely for a while. I decide to reel up and head ashore. I look around to let him know and spot a familiar boat on its way towards us, Lead Us is heading our way and I call Colin up to make sure he’s seen us; he had ages ago and has slowed accordingly; last time, back in the winter, I was up and down in the swell and nowhere near as visible. We have a quick chat as he passes by and then I haul my inverted anchor up and paddle back to Si, rafting up for the turn as his is still the right way around and the pressure on the warp is considerable. We swing around, he hauls up and the sea becomes far more pleasant as we paddle in, a pleasant and respectable trip under our belts once again.

Don’t tell Him Your Name…16/06/2012

I forgot. I’d nearly forgotten to get a new coarse licence too, I only remembered on Tuesday…it arrived on Friday and still I forgot. Perhaps it was because I was still on a high from Wednesday’s session on the sea or perhaps it was because I’m so conditioned to basing fishing on wind strength and its effects on the sea and the weekend looked dire but I totally forgot until Friday night that the rivers would be open again in the morning. Too late to arrange much other than a quick text to the usual suspects and it was only Mike who said he’d be along, but later than my planned time of 6am launch.

6am. Pretty unnecessary but I had to get up early to tire myself for sleeping in preparation for a new round of shifts. Even so I refused to listen to my alarm at 5 and hung around for a little while before jumping into the van and heading for the Waveney at Beccles.

A slight shift from the norm this time, normally I use my 12lb class boat rods for trolling, with Charter Special lever drag reels. The rods are beefier than I need for most of the pike I catch but they always seem to produce more fish than using thinner spinning rods. I have this theory, unbased on anything scientific, that the thinner rods put too much movement into the lures and make them behave unnaturally but I wasn’t too concerned today as I’d been a busy bee the night before and got my spinning reel working again. I’d seized it at the back end of last summer, a freshwater reel used all season for bass and left rigged and in the van without a rinse. Stripping with the aid of various hammers, chisels and chainsaws coupled with a can or three of WD had got it running smoothly again but with no anti-reverse. Now I don’t know about you but I have no need for a backwinding reel, the drag is my control on a fish and I hate getting 200 metres downriver and having to wind the bloody lot back in! Anyway, I’d got bored back in the autumn and slung it with the rest of my reels and ordered a new baitcaster, having killed my other one after twenty-odd years; no amount of WD and kicking could get it engaging properly. Well, the baitcaster, a Shimano Coriolis 100GA, had been picked up half-price on ebay and had travelled out to South Africa with me. There and here it failed to catch any fish and had been deemed unlucky…especially as I’d lost two of the casting brakes from the spool! Still, that was now on my one spinning rod in the van, one of my charter specials was on my daughter’s rod still from Swanage down in the hallway (I was upstairs) and the other was in the van rigged for smoothies. Where was i? Oh yeah, too lazy to deal with things I decided to strip the spinning reel again and fix the anti-reverse. While chatting on SWKA.

Google is your friend. “Anti-reverse spinning reel” ****ed. Or words to that effect and lo and behold, first hit is a text and photo strip down for the reel I have in front of me. Get in there! Ppool off, screwdrivers out of the tub, ah…need a spanner. Nope, got a Leatherman in the drawer somewhere. Yep, that’s off, right, that looks okay, pull it off, yep, fine, screws out. Umm, yeah, guess so, don’t really know, what the hell, let’s go deeper…aha! Simple! How obvious now I know…invisible from the schematic I’d used before but one piece of metal is on upside down and that’s the kiddy. All back together and though not running as smoothly as it was before the anti-reverse was re-engaging. So that was that then, onto the other spinning rod and with wire traces tied on it was left down by the door and I was off to bed.

So I pull off the road and head down to the parking place…Mike is already there and just about ready to go; I’m 15 minutes later than I’d originally intended. Yak off, kit out, clobber on and away we go…redhead J13 with rusty nails dangling from it (note to self, get some more trebles of the right size) on one rod and a 7cm Jointed Shad Rap on the other. The hooks are fine on this, I’ve had it well over two years and not used it yet. Fifty yards back, rod tips jiggling and we head south for the bridge, two Scupper Pros opening the season…

It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining and it’s already a warm one. The sky is blue, the water is low, and apart from some suspended dirt it’s reasonably clear. We should do alright today. I take one side, mike the other and we paddle slowly with the current.

I can hardly believe it. Nothing! We reach the bypass bridge and turn. I’m astonished. Clearly the fish aren’t aware that the season has opened. The news hasn’t filtered through to the anglers either, we’ve hardly seen any. So back we go, against the tide now, different lures on now, blue J13 on one and a Jointed Super Shad Rap. Back past the metal bridge, through the wide part and then, finally, the rod bucks, pulls over and I’m in! A nice hard scrap and a jack around a couple of pounds, punching above its weight, is brought aboard, unhooked, photographed and sent back on its way…the season starts.

 

We paddle up past the launch point, head upstream towards Geldeston. The rowing club is passed and rerun as it usually produces but nothing happens…

 

We carry on, past Gillingham where I fished as a kid and around the bend where Norfolkboy had started the season with a good fish a couple of years back when hilarity ensued for all but the guy in the boat that had been there since 3am…hilarity involving a multitude of yaks and a broken down yacht…but no fish from here today. E continued right up to the pump house at Barsham where Mike used to fish as a kid and then we turned.

Near the launch point we decided another run to the bridge couldn’t hurt, another half an hour and we carried on down. I’d tried a bunch of different lures by now but still the fish were shy.

  

  

We got near the bridge, I reeled both rods in and stuck a Storm Wildeye perch on for a few desultory casts and then decided to head back, trolling it even though I don’t usually troll them. I’d gone a few hundred yards when I decided I may as well pop the other rod back out with the 7cm Jointed shad rap on, Blue Shad pattern. Better out than in I decided even though it was pointless.

  

I’d not gone many strokes after engaging the reel when the rod bent over and I felt another fish on! A better one this time, a lot better. Mike was a few hundred yards away and didn’t hear me call as the fish pulled the rod tip over and into the water, lunging, pulling and stripping line off the baitcaster.

  

I battled with it. it pulled, it ran, it dived and then I got the first glimpse; a good fish! Up on the surface it thrashed and dove, came up, thrashed some more and dived again. I couldn’t see Mike now and with it alongside and tiring I decided to try my phone…and he had it on him. I wanted a pic, would he come please? Of course!

  

  

As he pulled up he took his camera and realised the batteries had died! Damn! He came around the other side, grabbed mine and got back into position as I gilled the fish, wrong-sided for the lure so more carefully than normal and with my reverse hand under its other end pulled it out of the water keeping a  firm grip that held it when it gave one last thrash and with the lure removed Mike got the pictures.

  

I placed her back in the water, held her to recover and in seconds she swept her tail and descended strongly. With that we paddled back, lines in, the season well and truly started.

Basstardly and Smutley...13/06/2012

That last bit of the graveyard shift really drags. It’s getting light around half three and with the wind still gentle at that time of the morning and nothing going on time slows down. The forecast for the day is a beauty, 7mph north-westerly, sunny with an ebbing neap tide and low water around 11:15. This was screaming thornies on the banks if it came to pass. Arrangements had already been made to fish in the morning but come knocking-off time at 8am I just had to get my head down for a half-hour nap. I left the house just after nine, the coffee not quite kicking in yet, with dry gear, unwashed squid, bluey and frozen blacks. As much as I wanted to wear my Sidewinders I figured a drysuit was best in case I rolled off the yak while asleep…everything else was, of course, already in the van. Well, mostly. The question now was where to launch from so I went straight to Si’s first. Options were Dogger, Tramps or Hopton but with the wind having got up the decision was that Hopton was a no-go for the banks offshore. With an ebb tide Dogger would allow fishing there, off Tramps or off the church with an easy paddle either way. Dogger it was then, chosen for the proximity and parking, short distance to the water and lack of slopes! The only negative is a restricted launch area with a nasty shore dump and backwash but you can’t have everything eh? As I left Si’s I realised that I had no camera. Both compacts and my deck mounted video where on my desk at home. Should I delay things and fetch them? I decided not, I had my phone if really necessary and Si had his camera after all. A few minutes later and we were on site and got ourselves and the yaks kitted up, carrying them to the water rather than using trolleys which turned out to be quite a good move as things transpired. I launched; it’s a steep shelf and lifting my legs up from thigh level wasn’t as easy as I’m used to but I timed things well and got straight out without getting hit by any waves. Past the end of the groynes I turned and watched Si, chuckling as he leapt one wave after another, putting his new Scupper through its paces. Lovely job; we headed north. The wind had got up a bit more now, at least double the forecast and it had shifted in the last half hour to being north-easterly. This gave rise to some white tops and some large waves and with the spray shooting up from the sea defences under the cliffs by the church it was clear that Tramps was as far as we could go and not too far out at that. Still, there’s a lot of rough ground here and with Smoothound and Ray being our target species the former should be likely. I nearly didn’t bother with the electronics but was glad that I did after all as I located the ground easily enough and got out over the contour line. Depth was now between 30 and 33ft, depending on which bit of water was under us at the time. What rigs? Well, a triple flapper made with 9-inch Gemini booms, short snoods and 4/0 Vikings on the starboard rod, fishing Marty’s way (though he uses two hooks) baited with black lug and a bluey tip on the top, black lug and a Tesco finest raw frozen king prawn (nabbed off Si as he always stakes some) in the middle and black lug tipped with unwashed squid head on the bottom hook. A 4oz breakaway lead clipped onto the bottom and in it went. Port rod, the smut rod, saw me using a 4/0 Viking pennel with a 2ft 20lb Amnesia snood and a running leger trapped on a 6 inch length of line, another 4oz breakaway attached. Whole unwashed squid this time though I stuck in a half fillet of bluey in case I landed it on a smooth patch with a thornie in it… It took ten minutes or so before the first bite, starboard rod, middle hook with the prawn on the end and in came a keeper whiting; I was off the mark. I rebaited and waited…ten minutes passed and then the port rod went; I struck and it took off! Smoothie on! It belted away and took a couple of minutes before I had her on the surface; nice, a 3lb’er. I hauled her in, kissed her on the nose and although I wanted some more smoothie for the freezer I popped her back, hoping for a larger one. That took another ten minutes, the rod went again, hard, and I struck into it meeting solid resistance…and then nothing. Something had damaged my braid and it parted; the joys of rough ground. Damn. I wound in and re-rigged with a single 4/0, same trace, stuck on half a squid and a 4oz bomb and cast it downtide 50 yards. Another ten minutes passed and then a few taps. I pulled into the fish, met solid resistance and pulled up my second smoothie. Bigger this time, 5-6lb and until it came alongside it was a disappointing scrap. Then it took off…and how! Back and forth, up and down, using the tide and crossing the bow until finally I brought her up onto my right foot and, hands on the trace, lifted her aboard. Hooked in the scissors she was swiftly dispatched and went down the centre hatch. Target achieved! Another whiting followed, again on the prawn bait and bites were missed on both rods before the squid bait went again. Heavy but slow; not a smut. No nodding though, didn’t feel cod-like but sure enough when it broke surface it was! A 3lb codling went down the hatch; oh what a day! We started to turn, the wind was overpowering the last of the tide and things went quiet. A six-inch whiting came up and was immediately sent back down again, lip-hooked on the 4/0 running leger. What might I tempt this time? Nothing it seemed…I waited a good 45 minutes and then a small smoothie of a couple of pounds came aboard on the bottom hook of the flapper rig; a kiss and back she went. Marty called up, he’d wandered down the beach and was curious as to how we were doing. The guys on the beach were having a hard time of it and as we chatted I delayed removing the whiting to replace with another squid bait – wanting a smoothie for Si who hadn’t had one yet. It was lucky I delayed as, mid-sentence, I let out a very loud string of expletives… The rod banged down, HARD! The tip bent down towards the water alarmingly with a hell of a curve and I grabbed the rod, the phone on speaker around my neck, nestled in the top of my buoyancy aid. The fish took off, hard and fast and all over the place…what the hell?! It felt like a good smoothie but on a livebait? I started to haul it up and it kept diving down again; I loosened the drag off a bit, I wasn’t going to bully it and it might need some line and then it came up into view…I swore again! Bass, my first of the year and a good one at that. A very good one. I’d only hooked one this size before and that had been lost next to the yak. I had no net, no lip grips and the sea was horrible now; I was anchored off the bow for once having had a wet back a couple of times. With Marty telling me to stop fucking around and get it in I grabbed the trace, pulled it closer and let go when it ran, grabbing it a couple more times and then finally hauling it over the gunwhales…it hopped back in again and with the single 4/0 in the jaw not looking too secure I lifted it in again and got my hand down over its shoulder. YES!!!!! It was a PB, that was certain. It looked like a double too. She was coming home with me. One that was missed by the long liner working a couple of hundred yards to our south for the last few weeks (landing cod, bass, smoothies and ray in decent numbers apparently). The trouble was I wasn’t certain she’d fit down the hatch! It took some effort but she did, just! I reckon they could hear me hollering from the beach! That beautiful, shimmering silver…I rebaited with a squid and dropped down. We stayed another half an hour, the sea quite large now and then I decided that it wasn’t going to get any better. I pulled in the starboard rod, cleaned the hooks, cut the trace off, broke down the rod and stuffed it all into the front hatch with my finder. That was when the port rod started to go; I left it while I dealt with things and then struck and wound in…YES! I’d done it, the other target species and the fourth of the most-desired from here, a thornback ray! Not a common catch on the yaks here by any means. A beautiful little thing but not large enough to make a meal for two. Unhooked, photographed and returned I broke down the other rod. Five species, three good keepers and a couple of keeper whiting, some satisfying returns, some nice interesting water and a day out with a mate after a few shifts, what more could I ask? I up-anchored and slung that in the front hatch as well then went to grab Si and head in. The landing wasn’t going to be easy, I knew that. That’s why I’d stowed everything. We came up to the part of the beach that was clear of hazards to find three anglers; the northerly one reeled in and waved us ashore – really appreciated that as we didn’t have the luxury of choice in this sea. It was somewhat disturbed here and I got in close, holding back for a big one just for the sake of it! I took a fairly large one but ended up at an alarming angle…I had my arse up on the top of the bit between seat and tankwell but it wasn’t quite enough to lift the bow and the nose went under. I slid off the side and pulled the kayak the last few yards in and up the beach as the rip tried to pull it back out again. Si made a better landing and hopped out on the beach. Marty wandered down then, having headed back up to tramps thinking we’d launched there, poor bugger! Apparently the beach anglers had managed a dab and a flounder between them… We carried the yaks back up to the van, a couple of anglers passed us going home; they weren’t happy, had caught nothing. I didn’t show them what, in the words of Bullseye’s Jim Bowen, they ‘could have won’! Then I remembered the tape I have in my buoyancy aid…we laid out my bass…77cm! According to the tape that equates to 10.5lb! It also states it’s a fish of a lifetime so I guess I have nothing to look forward to now. No matter. At least I had a beer back at Marty’s when I dropped him off. So, my luck, largely absent since 2nd January, finally returned with a vengeance on the thirteenth. A day without film or camera. Si and Marty’s phones came out for dry-land shots and then it was away back home for descaling, gutting, skinning and filleting duty…the bass scales reserved for my mate at CEFAS to have read. It’s Father’s Day on Sunday and so that special fish, deserving of a wider audience than the four of us, is wrapped and bagged in the back of the fridge to await a full family barbecue for eight.

To Hell With Kayak Fishing…07/06/2012

It’s 6am and I’ll finish my shift in a couple of hours…I’m flagging and I just want to go to sleep. Quite why I sit there, grinning like Beavis and Butthead, and come up with the idea to go out skating I don’t know! Still, that’s the decision and I allow another hour for Si to wake up before texting him. We’re off to Hopton in search of thornies. As long as I don’t decide to have a nap. “Man up, Mummy” comes the reply – it’s a running joke and you’re not being let in on it. With my shift over I wander back to my house. Hmm, croissants, pain au chocolat and coffee I think. The oven goes on and I head upstairs to grab my camera, a couple more rigs and check the tides and wind. Looks pleasant enough and doable, a bit windy but not so bad. As I move off I spy a text from Si. He has a seized reel – can he borrow one? I turn around and grab one from the house then head for his to help him load up as he’s free earlier than expected, as am I. It’s a beautiful morning, bright and blue and by the time we reach the launch site I’m feeling somewhat warm. This gets worse as we unload; it’s a real suntrap at the top of the cliff here. With Si still getting sorted I trolley down the hill and launch, an easy launch today, and paddle out to the mark. I’ve actually taken the Humminbird out today so that I can get myself on the edge of the beds and check and store the location if I do find some thornies. Behind me are frozen blacks, unwashed squid and blueys and I’m rigged up with a 3 hook boom flapper and a wishbone rig, the latter for thornies or smuts and the former for cod, bass or whatever. I’m pretty hopeful. Mind you, past the groynes it’s a bit bumpier. That winds pretty strong too. I’m not making great headway against the tide either; it’s slap bang mid-tide now anyway so that’s to be expected. Still, I push on and get past the mark and clip the warp through the carabiner and drop down, shuttling the trolley to the rear as it spools out. Is it me or is Neptune a bit pissed off this morning? The sea has suddenly taken on a new shape as I’ve stopped moving and it’s not all that pleasant…I’m swinging, bouncing and the waves are coming in from all angles and quite large too. The wind’s playing havoc as well. Best I wait before I drop down and I leave the paddle on my lap ready to brace. WOAH! That was close! A wave has snuck up on me, caught the paddle and pivoted it on my thigh, twisting my leg and damned near having me in! Only a hip flick and rapid lean has kept me from swimming; somehow I don’t think we’ll be fishing today after all. Si is afloat now and I call him up, tell him not to drop anchor but to come over and give me a hand. I’m not swinging around in this without help if I don’t need to but I’m not dicking around with ditching it for later retrieval either. He pulls up and with his added stability I spin the kayak around, he lets go and I start to haul anchor. It’s hard work, there’s a good 3 knots passing under me. I get it up and we head in for a boring landing because the beach is flat. Now Si has only just got his Scupper and we don’t want to waste our morning so we de-rig and put things into the vehicles. It’s time for an ad-hoc self-rescue session and with the sea defences further up taking a battering we head for the rough water there to do some. There’s no real point in being able to do a re-entry on a flat calm piece of water if you’re going out regularly in worse (although it is a start I suppose). We paddle up and the temptation to play first is just too great. The swell is slamming in nicely and being reflected back into the oncoming waves, there’s foam and spray and dips and peaks and water everywhere. Looks like it might be a good morning after all; we get the cameras out and take it in turns to snap and film. It’s quite demanding and after both of us have hit the sand at the one end we decide to do the intended self-rescues. I go first and then it’s Si’s turn. He starts off really well but this isn’t a Caper and he goes headfirst over the other side. Smugly, I crease up. Time and again it happens and though intensely embarrassing and humiliating because of the camera it’s not really the case of incompetent fumbling by an uncoordinated and inept buffoon. Look at that sea. Now figure that the kayak you’re on is totally different in length, width, seat depth, stability and layout. Nah, it was most definitely to be expected. That done it was time to head back and off we went with just a couple of close calls for me when I went too close to the woodwork on large waves and hit the barely submerged groyne posts on the way past. What a classic example of a crap session becoming something memorable though eh?

Worth A Shot…06/06/2012

The forecast is rubbish. I’m going out though, somewhere. I need to get up early to keep my head straight for my next shift at midnight so a 5am start is as late as I can leave it. I reckon an inshore fish at Corton in the hope of smoothound could be a goer. This is the reserve in place because I don’t like the look of the hoped-for Sea Palling session as suggested by Pieman and Spark, so I make my excuses and that’s the end of that. Spark phones me. “I think you’ll regret it”. He knows his stuff so I change back again! That’s why I set off at 05:30 for the 30 mile one hour drive to Sea Palling. It’s my first time back since last summer. I drive up the dune, drop the Scupper at the top and then turn and head back into the village, parking up at the charity car park. A quid rather than the rip-off closer by. I gather my gear and Spark pulls up, early. We chat and head down to the beach together. I leave him to stow things and take advantage of a flat spot to launch. The wind is fine, nothing like forecast so he is proved right as I paddle out to the reefs. It’s a bit lumpy inshore of them mind and, oh, that’s a big one! The swells coming through the other side aren’t tiny and they’re hitting the rocks pretty impressively. I decide to do the first reef from the inside… Nothing. Okay. I take a diagonal course and head across the gap diagonally, coming out offshore of the second reef to the north. The water ain’t that clear, I’m relying on the vibration and noise from my J13 and Sliver Rapalas and am unconvinced they’re going to attract anything. I paddled by the reef, as close as I dare. The swells are 3-4ft predominantly and when they hit they crash and either bounce back or along, either way they suck the water down and expose rocks below and scarily close. That’s why I don’t come here that often! I reach the end and decide to try flicking a lure inside the swirls and eddies at the end on the inshore side while I wait for spark to catch up. I wish to give him verbal abuse. The tide is moving me as fast as the popper though so no joy there and then I decide he’s taking too long and, as I can’t see him because of the height of the reef, I decide to go around and have a look for the wreckage and see what I can salvage. As I am about to head out he reaches the end and turns in, “it’s not fishing too bad is it!” he says. WHAAAAAAT????? Three bass he’s had. I’m amazed to say the least. I’ve not even caught a rock. I swear at him for a while and he lends me his lucky Yo-Zuri. Off we go again. We’re paddling against the current but it’s not bad, not bad at all. It’s a pleasant time we’re having and it’s a reasonable workout but with nothing happening we turn to head back south, leaving the top reef as it’s sanded up and Spark says there’s no clarity at all there…so now we take the conveyor belt down. We’re making good speed and that’s a problem. I don’t like trolling downtide, the lures don’t shake my rod so much as they’re moving at the same speed; hold back my drift and they catch up. I’m not convinced we’ve made the right move in going up then down then up, especially as the water is getting dirtier…we should have maybe gone down to the Waxham end first and then up to the top and had a full run but that’s hindsight and we didn’t. We try the inshore side of one reef and all is going swimmingly, though not fishingly, when I snag up on a rock. With this current it’s a pain and I get into all kinds of strife while taking in my other rod and end up cutting the lure off to retie it…five minutes pass and then I’m ready to paddle up and retrieve it; it pops up of its own accord then…Glad it didn’t go like that in the swell of the other side though, I’d have been a bit concerned. We carried on down, back to the offshore side and the water continued to get murkier as we moved faster. The reefs that were now covered looked promising and I went in closer, too close a couple of times, but got away with it. Damn but these fish were hard to find today. Nothing. I reached the end and turned to head back, changing to a couple of smaller, noisier, brighter Rapalas. I drifted a fair way in the time it took to attach them and then started my paddle back, straight over the bottom reef. It took some time and effort. Still nothing and we kept slogging on; the tide was at full bore now, running around 3 knots but as it gushed past the end of the reefs it seemed to pick up more and a real effort was needed to push through at times. We had to face the facts, we weren’t going to get anything and so we headed in as we approached the launch ramp. Pieman arrived then and was chatting to spark as I waited for a slightly larger wave to hit the beach with. Even the waves here were disappointing today! It took a while and then something with just enough power to make me smile rolled in with me at the front of it…the jury is out on the effectiveness of my new hat. It was a nice day out anyway!