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.
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