The Finer Art of Fishing…07/09/09

The Finer Art of Fishing…07/09/09 There are two types of people in this world. Those with balls, and girls. Likewise, there are two types of angler too; those who have to fish and the other one. As knackered as I was after a hard night I had to get on the water and, stuck for ideas and time (I crashed out all morning) I decided on specimen hunting for a species that always gets the pulse racing; yep, one that takes balls to target from a kayak. Things had to be right to ensure success and I’d not gone after them at all last year; I had to prove to myself that I could still do it, that I still had cojones grande. I timed things badly. It was coming up to high water and I needed to dig bait. I could have grabbed something from the freezer but fresh is always better. I took the fork from the garden, jumped in the van and got stuck in traffic; I cleared that and the lock was open. Half an hour to go a couple of miles. The water was well up when I arrived and trying to break through the top layer of shingle, stone and detritus of the harbour beach was an effort even before I broke the bloody handle off. Could things go any worse? Well, I could see fish in the margins, my quarry and what looked like smelt. Well, I failed to find any rag but did walk away with two crabs, the pair of which would fit on my fingernail. I took Whippersnapper’s Tetra off the roof. I would need the width, drag and stability of this. The last thing I could allow was to be dragged out into the area where the boats move about, out of control. Next out was my specially made rod, sensitive enough to feel everything and with enough flexibility to cope with the powerful runs I could expect when I got a hook-up. Fitted with a free-wheeling centrepin I’d have the 1:1 pulling power so necessary to haul this leviathan up and allow it to run if I got into difficulty holding it. A crash dive could see me in trouble. I paddled out, past the most recent wreck, and down to the area I’d seen fish holding quarter of an hour before but they’d gone. I gave it a while and then moved. Nothing here either. Onlookers were intrigued as I headed back and settled in over a yard from where I’d launched. Okay, so I could have fished from the shore but it’s snaggy here and I didn’t want the risk of being pulled in. I broke off a fresh piece of crab and dropped down; the fish were here and visible. Voracious predators, they attacked the weight and bait immediately. Should I be using wire? No, just suitably thick mono. Bites were constant but they’re tricky buggers to hook and I missed so many strikes…finally managing most of a crab… …it took half an hour of constant twitching before finally I struck into one and it took off in all directions. A battle of epic proportions followed until finally I lifted it into the kayak; my first sand goby for two years. I was made up! Photographed, unhooked and released I set about trying for another of these pack fish and was soon rewarded. Satisfied, worn out and running low on time I ditched the remainder of my bait when I spotted a bass moving in to the swim; I found one morsel left on the hatch and set about tempting this…and, fighting its way through the frenzied mass of gobies, I got it on the hook. A shirt scrap later and it was ready for landing… That was it, target achieved, fun had and I was feeling tired again. I paddled the yard back to the slip and loaded up, another frustrating species off the list and perhaps my last bass of the season caught and returned. A night session for them next if I dare?