Saturday 27 October 2012
All Hail the RRRapido...27/10/2012
I was chomping at the bit. All night I was jumpy, waiting impatiently for the clock to hit 8 and release me to get changed and hit the beach. In fact, I was intending to leave early if at all possible but let down by a shift partner who didn't arrive and a replacement who was late in I had to leave on time.
It had been cold when walking in that night, the northerly blowing right through me and it was cold now, too. I didn't go the direct way though, heading instead towards the beach to walk the promenade and cut back home. The sea was up, ten minutes off high water, and the spray was shooting up in the air as it hit the concrete at the north end of South Beach. It was looking promising as I approached.
I walked south, my head cocked to the left as I stared at the water. Good swells, large; larger than yesterday. Waves were coming in constantly, mostly in the 6-8ft range, with not a lot of time between them though it was cleaner than yesterday. I was getting excited now! This was looking the best it had been in the year I'd owned my RRRapido! I picked up my pace, passed the watching boardies trying to decide what to do and got home with no further delay.
No-one was up so I squeezed into my Psycho III wetsuit, bought from Shore Watersports especially for days like this, popped my Kolas on (to avoid waking my wife rummaging for my wetsuit boots) and went and said hello to my littlest, reading quietly in bed, and suggested she might want to come down later and watch the surfers. Out the back I went, picked up my RRRapido and the double torque Mystik and wandered up the alleyway to the beach, turning to look at the rainbow behind me.
The sun was still climbing, dead ahead, as I approached the front. Boardies were milling around everywhere, only two suited up as yet, and I attached the ATC9K to the bow before descending to the sand. One boardie was on his way out, the first, and another followed me, leapfrogging ahead as I adjusted my thigh straps. The sea was pounding and I just couldn't see any gaps; launching was going to be interesting to say the least. Best I just suck it and see then!
I entered the foam and, where I'd been knee deep the morning before I was now in up to my chest - the north-easterly swells had scoured so much of the beach away in the preceding twenty-four hours it was untrue. Likewise, the sand shipped in over the last few weeks was mostly gone too. I clambered on and started to paddle without time to put the thigh straps on, the paddle leash getting in the way (fitted due to the anticipated congestion this morning and the knowledge that I'd be in the water a fair bit).
I got fifty yards, over the first couple of waves and then, in a wall of foam, got flipped backwards. Strike One!
I washed up on the beach and headed back out...got fifty yards again and then got hit by more foam. Strike Two!
Starting to feel silly now...try again...fifty yards, wall of water, Strike Three!
Around Strike ten or twelve I decided to head up the beach away from the groyne and try and take the rip in the centre of the beach out. I made a couple of attempts here and, like the flotsam that I was, wandered back onto the promenade to try and locate somewhere I could get in...it didn't look any better before the pier. I got my breath back and decided to try along the edge of the groyne again. It just wasn't possible! The waves were relentless, no more than 5 or 6 seconds apart and no small sets. Time and again I got trashed, unable to duck dive like the boardies and without enough speed to combat the onrushing water and with the camera being ripped off the mount again, no longer attachable, I gave up and decided I had no option but to walk. I'd provided good entertainment for at least three-quarters of an hour after all...and there was no way I was going home until I'd got out back and ridden at least one wave!
A quarter of a mile later and I was stood by the lifeguard post, the base of which was getting hammered by swirling water. Deflected further southwards by the harbour, the waves rolling in were a bit lower and a bit less powerful. I waited for the best moment and went for it, paddling out easily and heading south with the wind behind me, trying to pick up anything that looked rideable from where I was...I got assistance from a few but nothing that lasted and after another five minutes I approached the break.
I stayed offshore from the boardies by around fifty yards and a similar distance southwards. There was no way I wanted to run anyone over and I wasn't convinced I’d be staying upright all that much! Besides, when I got my wave I wanted a clear run - it took long enough to get out here and I wasn't going to do it again!
They weren't quite peaking where I was so I waited and waited, trying here and there but just running for a bit before being overtaken...and then...and then...eight foot up from the trough , running right along the full length of the groyne and beyond, stretching back a way from the rapidly-moving face came this wall of water, a huge wall of water, still growing, sucking up more from the trough ahead and starting to become more vertical as I ran ahead and it started to catch up...I could feel it picking me up and, moving with it the lip started to curl over beneath me...I was on top of the wave, right on the crest and I was stuck, I couldn't get onto the face with the wave moving so fast and then there was no bloody chance I'd even try as it disappeared beneath me, my arse on the wave and my feet overhanging the lip as I stared down to the bottom of the trough, seemingly a hundred feet below as I skidded around on the top and dropped off, paddling hard to clear the following wave and regain a position to take-off from.
It was exhilarating, that's for sure. It reminded me of a time a couple of years before when the wave I was surfing reared up just before shore and looked like depositing me in a massive, bone-crunching dump before crumbling beneath and giving me a soft landing on foam...but I didn't think I'd have done any more than get battered and half-drowned from this one and I'd already had a gob-full of North Sea during the launches!
I tried for a few more, being overtaken again after a couple of seconds and then the hail started. It had been dark for a while, and I mean dark, and as the squall passed through the hail hammered down painfully on my freshly-clippered head and the backs of my hands. It made one hell of a racket and stung as it hit. Some summer this is!!!
I took another big wall, sat on top again as it left me hanging and moved on; it just wasn't happening for me today.
I waited a bit longer for a wave, had a small run but hooked back over when it started to close out and then got hit by another, longer and harder hailstorm. This was getting silly now.
Then, finally, one started to shape up nicely and I ran ahead of it, picking it up and shooting down, hooking into a bottom turn and running along the face; this was the one I’d waited for since getting out, the one that'd take me back into the beach, honour sort of semi-restored...I ran with it and then, coming out ahead I see a boardie...shit! No avoiding him in this track, no option but to pull off the wave. A pity but that's life and I was stuck where I was, getting back out was going to be doubtful so I did the next best thing and caught the following wave, scooting past and round the surfer and ending in a sideways slide onto the beach.
I picked up the RRRapido and, after stopping to chat for a few minutes, headed home for a coffee to wake myself up and get some warmth back into my wet, shivering, battered arse!
Friday 26 October 2012
Roughing it on the RRRapido…26/10/12
I rather fancied that forecast…north easterly, blowing hard and ramping up the waves. Hmm. The best time would be about 06:30 for an hour or two, after that the water level would drop and the swell would be absorbed by the banks. The trouble was, I wasn’t due to finish work until 8…
I managed to leave ever so slightly early and went home, greeting the family briefly before deciding against my wetsuit and clambering into the drysuit to save time and give me a bit more comfort (even though it’s harder to perform in it). I untied my RRRapido, rigged up my replacement ATC9K onto the bow for filming and then wandered down the beach with it over my shoulder on a thigh strap.
I recognised the van in the cul-de-sac, recognised the two people looking at the waves. I was surprised that they weren’t in the water; I was surprised that no-one was even though it was messy – messy, but big and rideable. I couldn’t waste time and in I went, paddling up the length of the groyne.
I moved out past the end, the wind holding me against the current and waited all of a minute before paddling for shore in front of a wave that had ramped up nicely to around 4ft; I was away…15mph, 15 seconds of down and along and then I cut back and over. Sweet!
I paddled back out, getting to my start position, paddled, leaned badly and was in, grabbing the thigh strap just before the first wave broke on me, propelling me into shore. I bobbed over the second and, as the third broke got set and threw myself back aboard as it passed.
The next ride was going beautifully until I got cocky and tried for a 180, 8 seconds in. I swung her around but leaned badly while still at an angle, dug the arse in as the nose got foamed and went over. Never mind, I’ll get there when the waves are cleaner; I want to do it on camera though, having managed it a few times on smaller waves and I want to make it around to the full 360 but I need these surf days to happen! I am so out of practice it’s untrue, the RRRapido having cursed the swells here.
Well, I was back out once more and here came a beauty…it’d make 5-6ft and I ran ahead, as it caught me up, still on the rise. Down the face, into a turn and I’m skimming along at 16.77mph; the crest is about to crumble and I shoot upwards, catch some clean water and run down again, impressing myself, and keep going before the waves breaks apart and I slide in towards the beach sideways in a pile of foam. Twenty seconds of a fantastic ride and then, as the bubbles dissipate beneath me I roll over in the shallows unable to get back from my leaning brace.
I paddle back out. It’s getting messier now, some larger waves are coming through but most are getting smashed before they arrive with most of the rideable stuff closer in than I can be bothered with. I‘m flagging now though, after forty minutes of battling wind and waves to hold position and I start screwing up. I’m catching waves late and pearling, I’m leaning wrong and rolling, I’m all over the place and I’ve got an audience. I get the odd wave and ride it a bit before being flicked over. There’s water in the hull now too, not a lot but enough to affect my stability; worst of all it’s a battle to get out and three or four times I get almost to my start point when a biggie rolls in, breaks and trashes me, washing me backwards. I’m swearing.
I get out again and see a beauty lining up, the biggest of the day, this will make 8ft…that’s very, very good for here and it’s nicely shaped too. The trouble is I’m too close in for it now, waiting for the sixes, and if I try to ride it I’m going to get trashed; I won’t get enough speed up, it’ll be a late drop in and it’ll take me too vertical. I’ll pearl and get hammered worse than the last wave that held me, with buoyancy aid and drysuit, under the water for a couple of seconds, tumbling. I have no choice but to bottle it and try to haul myself over it in time…I make it and regret it for the rest of the day.
I catch a couple more that don’t throw me in and then have a bad run. I decide on one more good, long run and make my way out as a couple of boardies pitch up and paddle out. I chat briefly with one and head for my take-off spot, ignoring one wave because number 2 is paddling out and will be in my way. In fact, both of them are on my line for the next quarter of an hour and I have to ignore most of my waves, choosing lesser ones that have me in when the run is clear. Damn damn damn…just one more! I swim a couple of times and then, a smaller one of 4ft or so comes in, nice and wide and I decide what the hell and take it, scooting in past the boardies for a decent run, turn side-on and shoot up to the beach in the foam. That’s it, I’m knackered now and the best of the day has passed.
Tomorrow’s looking even better…
I moved out past the end, the wind holding me against the current and waited all of a minute before paddling for shore in front of a wave that had ramped up nicely to around 4ft; I was away…15mph, 15 seconds of down and along and then I cut back and over. Sweet!
I paddled back out, getting to my start position, paddled, leaned badly and was in, grabbing the thigh strap just before the first wave broke on me, propelling me into shore. I bobbed over the second and, as the third broke got set and threw myself back aboard as it passed.
The next ride was going beautifully until I got cocky and tried for a 180, 8 seconds in. I swung her around but leaned badly while still at an angle, dug the arse in as the nose got foamed and went over. Never mind, I’ll get there when the waves are cleaner; I want to do it on camera though, having managed it a few times on smaller waves and I want to make it around to the full 360 but I need these surf days to happen! I am so out of practice it’s untrue, the RRRapido having cursed the swells here.
Well, I was back out once more and here came a beauty…it’d make 5-6ft and I ran ahead, as it caught me up, still on the rise. Down the face, into a turn and I’m skimming along at 16.77mph; the crest is about to crumble and I shoot upwards, catch some clean water and run down again, impressing myself, and keep going before the waves breaks apart and I slide in towards the beach sideways in a pile of foam. Twenty seconds of a fantastic ride and then, as the bubbles dissipate beneath me I roll over in the shallows unable to get back from my leaning brace.
I paddle back out. It’s getting messier now, some larger waves are coming through but most are getting smashed before they arrive with most of the rideable stuff closer in than I can be bothered with. I‘m flagging now though, after forty minutes of battling wind and waves to hold position and I start screwing up. I’m catching waves late and pearling, I’m leaning wrong and rolling, I’m all over the place and I’ve got an audience. I get the odd wave and ride it a bit before being flicked over. There’s water in the hull now too, not a lot but enough to affect my stability; worst of all it’s a battle to get out and three or four times I get almost to my start point when a biggie rolls in, breaks and trashes me, washing me backwards. I’m swearing.
I get out again and see a beauty lining up, the biggest of the day, this will make 8ft…that’s very, very good for here and it’s nicely shaped too. The trouble is I’m too close in for it now, waiting for the sixes, and if I try to ride it I’m going to get trashed; I won’t get enough speed up, it’ll be a late drop in and it’ll take me too vertical. I’ll pearl and get hammered worse than the last wave that held me, with buoyancy aid and drysuit, under the water for a couple of seconds, tumbling. I have no choice but to bottle it and try to haul myself over it in time…I make it and regret it for the rest of the day.
I catch a couple more that don’t throw me in and then have a bad run. I decide on one more good, long run and make my way out as a couple of boardies pitch up and paddle out. I chat briefly with one and head for my take-off spot, ignoring one wave because number 2 is paddling out and will be in my way. In fact, both of them are on my line for the next quarter of an hour and I have to ignore most of my waves, choosing lesser ones that have me in when the run is clear. Damn damn damn…just one more! I swim a couple of times and then, a smaller one of 4ft or so comes in, nice and wide and I decide what the hell and take it, scooting in past the boardies for a decent run, turn side-on and shoot up to the beach in the foam. That’s it, I’m knackered now and the best of the day has passed.
Tomorrow’s looking even better…
Friday 19 October 2012
Corton Scraps…19/10/12
I knew that Mike was off on Friday and text confirmed that Wilmy was free as well so the final decision rested on conditions in the morning. The wind had stopped at least but the problem we faced was the rain. At 8am when I knocked off it was raining and had been for a while. There was no point launching before 10:30 because of the tides so at least we had the option to wait and see and this was what we chose to do.
It cleared. We went for it. I pulled up behind Mike and started to unload. Things had already gone awry though, the rain was just the first issue and now the coast road had been closed just shy of the launch point so I’d had to double back and come around in a loop. Would it be one of those days? Well, with my finder/plotter not bursting into life it may well prove to be so.
Wilmy turned up next and with bits and pieces loaded up we walked down the ramp to the beach where the sea was perfect. Flat as you like, low offshore wind and clear skies. This followed a few days of rough water so expectations were high and we took the tide down to Corton to fish off the church. This would be Wilmy’s first time anchoring and so I stuck around watching and talking him through while Mike dropped down then went uptide and dropped down myself. We drifted quickly initially and left Mike out of earshot but then with the Scuppers swinging crazily in mid-flow we ended up being magnetically attracted so rafted up to make things safer. This also put me in the ideal position to smoke Ian’s fags…
Blacks and squid, wishbones and pennels and we started off with a rod apiece. Straight away I had a decent whiting that dropped off at the bow and then it went quiet. It was too quick for regular bites but we had a few and the fish were coming in, Ian having his first yak whiting soon enough.
The whiting have thinned out a bit now so the codling are going to become more likely soon and with that in mind I hooked my smallest whiting of the day and dropped it down as a livebait; one can but hope. Ian was doing fine as he was though and pulled up a nice doggy.
As the tide finally started to lose strength the colour dropped out and the sea got clearer. We split the raft and I was able to deploy all rods and Wilmy was able to get a proper feel for things. Then with slack water upon us Mike up-anchored and paddle dover as we did the same and took the start of the ebb back north, making it just in time before the rain started, hammering down once I was on the road again with my tea and a bunch of decent whiting to be enjoyed at a later date.
Blacks and squid, wishbones and pennels and we started off with a rod apiece. Straight away I had a decent whiting that dropped off at the bow and then it went quiet. It was too quick for regular bites but we had a few and the fish were coming in, Ian having his first yak whiting soon enough.
The whiting have thinned out a bit now so the codling are going to become more likely soon and with that in mind I hooked my smallest whiting of the day and dropped it down as a livebait; one can but hope. Ian was doing fine as he was though and pulled up a nice doggy.
As the tide finally started to lose strength the colour dropped out and the sea got clearer. We split the raft and I was able to deploy all rods and Wilmy was able to get a proper feel for things. Then with slack water upon us Mike up-anchored and paddle dover as we did the same and took the start of the ebb back north, making it just in time before the rain started, hammering down once I was on the road again with my tea and a bunch of decent whiting to be enjoyed at a later date.
Tuesday 9 October 2012
Slow…09/10/2012
A suggestion of fishing…good suggestion. Typically inconclusive forecast and a meeting later restricts things to Hopton; shift ending at 8am and a judgement made then on the wind that isn’t coming from where it was expected. Procrastination steals time and dissuades Mike, Wilmy is being diplomatic and Si is still in gainful employment so it’s just me on the ramp.
Hehehe. It’s bloody cold. The new shift were moaning about it when they walked in. That’ll be the north wind doth blowing then. They’re right though, it is cold. Northerly means swell here too and it’s quite lumpy out there this morning and a few bits of white indicate that there might be a bit of easterly in the wind too. There were loads of whiting about at the weekend though so it’s got to be worth the effort and the Scupper comes off the roof.
Simple session today. One rod, handheld, anchor and reel and a bit of frozen bait. I let the large waves dump then, waist deep, jump onto the yak and paddle out without getting any water dumped in my lap for once. I’m bouncing around a bit but the water is really clear and I’m thinking things might be quite productive today. I drop anchor a couple of hundred yards out to try close in for once; I never fish here but there might be some dabs or bass kicking about and I’m still further out than the casters can reach. The wind is holding me side on to the flow though, it’s very strange but my line is going out the same way as my anchor warp and I’m being held uptide of it. The wind isn’t even that strong really. It makes things a bit tricky in terms of bite detection and the lead seems to be moving around a bit. Finally though I get a positive knock, strike and pull in a pin whiting. Ideal for a livebait but I’ve only got the one rod out with me today. I head deeper.
The wind and flow are still conflicting and I’m still bouncing. Nothing is biting. I try a herring trace, knowing the shoals are about but with no finder onboard I don’t know if I’m over them or at what depth they’re swimming at; a pity because it’s the clearest water I’ve seen here yet. After a fruitless wait I decide to drift a bit, jigging the trace. I’d quite like some nice fresh herring for lunch, especially if I get some plump fresh roe into the bargain.
I seem pretty static. I get bored after a while and paddle over to the wreck of the Norman. I know where it is. Doesn’t do me any good though, I still don’t get anything so I drift back, very, very slowly with the wind and, getting bored, stow the rod and paddle in avoiding the larger waves to make a smooth landing before dumping my gear and going for a quick play, surfing in a few times. Haha, I’ve undone my pee zip at some point recently it seems; all I have to show for the session is a set of cold wet balls.
Simple session today. One rod, handheld, anchor and reel and a bit of frozen bait. I let the large waves dump then, waist deep, jump onto the yak and paddle out without getting any water dumped in my lap for once. I’m bouncing around a bit but the water is really clear and I’m thinking things might be quite productive today. I drop anchor a couple of hundred yards out to try close in for once; I never fish here but there might be some dabs or bass kicking about and I’m still further out than the casters can reach. The wind is holding me side on to the flow though, it’s very strange but my line is going out the same way as my anchor warp and I’m being held uptide of it. The wind isn’t even that strong really. It makes things a bit tricky in terms of bite detection and the lead seems to be moving around a bit. Finally though I get a positive knock, strike and pull in a pin whiting. Ideal for a livebait but I’ve only got the one rod out with me today. I head deeper.
The wind and flow are still conflicting and I’m still bouncing. Nothing is biting. I try a herring trace, knowing the shoals are about but with no finder onboard I don’t know if I’m over them or at what depth they’re swimming at; a pity because it’s the clearest water I’ve seen here yet. After a fruitless wait I decide to drift a bit, jigging the trace. I’d quite like some nice fresh herring for lunch, especially if I get some plump fresh roe into the bargain.
I seem pretty static. I get bored after a while and paddle over to the wreck of the Norman. I know where it is. Doesn’t do me any good though, I still don’t get anything so I drift back, very, very slowly with the wind and, getting bored, stow the rod and paddle in avoiding the larger waves to make a smooth landing before dumping my gear and going for a quick play, surfing in a few times. Haha, I’ve undone my pee zip at some point recently it seems; all I have to show for the session is a set of cold wet balls.
Saturday 6 October 2012
A Tasty Tankwell…06/10/2012
My last cod fillets were eaten for lunch on Wednesday, battered and deep-fried with home-cut chips and mushy peas; being the last for the time being I wanted to cook them in my favourite way for cod and as poncy as I can get in the kitchen at times I really don’t think there’s a better way to taste this fish! I’d heard of one or two coming out over the last week or two and knew that the whiting shoals would be in now with the start of the dabs too; I’d pan-roasted the last of these two species from the freezer the day before so needed some replenishment of them too. I only had two smoothie meals left too. With the wind finally dropping after a fortnight, Wilmy’s anchor trolley needing to be tested and Si desperate to get out I got a pass for a Saturday morning, a day I don’t usually fish any more.
I’d got two nights off so it was ideal for an early start to catch the tide. I didn’t realise that I was so tired though, and I had every intention of watching a film, the conversation running along the lines of “what are you doing tonight?” “getting drunk and watching porn” “what?”. Being an old man with a re-aligned sleep pattern though I failed drastically and for the second night in a row collapsed into bed at half-eight. At least that’d make the 5am start a bit easier.
I got up with no problem, made a coffee quite happily, had a quick nibble and got my bait out. I was feeling rather upbeat; rested, fed and back to my most familiar fishing. Then I went into the conservatory to get my drysuit. Then I noticed it was raining. I hate the rain.
I considered cancelling but checked the forecast again first. It was going to stop at some point in the next couple of hours and, seeing as I was up, coffee’d and needed to stay up and tire myself ready to get to sleep before another nightshift I decided to go. I loaded the last bits into the van and headed to Hopton.
It was neaps, small tides and a moderate westerly. I’d thought of doing Corton, the tides being perfect for it but I kind of wanted to start my winter whiting wonderland and codling captures off the traditional mark, especially as it’s around the time I traditionally had a bunch of people anchored off here for a meet. Pulling up on beach road I had a look at the sea. I didn’t really need to, the sound was reassuring enough and I knew from experience what it’d be like from the forecast but I had a look all the same and it was lovely.
I was on my own. It was still too dark for Wilmy to load his kayak onto the roof and Si had been hit with man flu so I’d have the place all to myself. With thoughts of Flat and Norfolkboy loading up with bass a couple of days before up north I figured on making up for my turning down of the invite to join them! Now, not many people would class bass and whiting as being equal, certainly many locally get really fed up with the latter but I do in terms of the plate. Now, I have a fair few silver fillets in the freezer to last me the winter and these give the options of certain dishes. The co, when they pitch up, give me another set of options but if there’s one meal I really enjoy, and enjoy very regularly, it’s whiting fillets dipped in egg and rolled in breadcrumbs, deep-fried and served with Langans chilli sauce, sweet hoisin or plain ketchup. The kids love it too and it’s perhaps their favourite fish meal. So a meal of whiting or a meal of bass is all the same to me.
I paddled out and dropped anchor. I’d replaced the starboard trolley lines the day before and re-attached the port rear bungee after my last disaster in a big tide a few weeks ago when I’d had the bungee snap and had to cut the trolley free on the other side. It was all a bit tight now so it’d take a few trips to stretch and bed down but at least I was running again.
I baited up and cast out. For some reason I couldn’t tighten up the line and then, in the light of the headtorch, I noticed that my line was coming towards me. I reeled in and checked; my anchor and buoy were missing. Great. I immediately knew what the problem was having had this before, the spring must have gone in the carabiner. Now I just had to paddle back uptide and try to find a dark blue buoy floating in the dark somewhere over there. That’ll teach me not to take my electronics out! Amazingly I found it with no trouble, countering for wind and tide instinctively (upstream and into the wind of course) but it did help that I was in my own backyard. At least it had stopped raining.
I reattached and stayed attached for at least a minute before it gave way again. Okay…so, do I connect from the port side? I prefer not to, the starboard side is the one I use unless I have to, so I decided to swap the carabiners over. This sounds easy but was a bit of a pain, involving a bait knife holding two rings together and jammed under my leg while swapping one to the other. Still, it was all good fun and worked fine once done. I cast the first rod back in, a 2/0 wishbone with black lug tipped with mackerel while I stuck a 4/0 pennel into a whole squid in the hope of a late smoothound or a cod that might have some food left by the whiting. There was a third rod too, with a single 4/0 attached. This was going to hold a livebait in the hope of cod or bass passing by if I could catch a suitable one.
The first fish took all of five minutes. It was a bit large for my choice of a livebait but needs must and I could always swap it later. The whole squid kept banging away with whiting bites but I concentrated most of my efforts on the wishbone rod, tipping variously with mackerel, squid and sandeel as I was using up a frozen lump of assorted leftovers. Bites were constant, the whiting coming in were a good size, averaging around a pound or so; it was a struggle to get a smaller one for bait in all honesty but I finally managed. It’s rare that I want to get a smaller fish! A few double shots came aboard to the wishbone and one on the pennel but mostly it was singles. I had a couple of dabs too and one was a lovely specimen. Let’s hope they turn up in numbers soon, lovely to cook, serve and eat.
The tide started to slow an hour after low water but the bites continued to come until it stopped dead for around fifteen minutes as the tide turned. The flood started to pick up but the bites were far fewer than they’d been on the ebb. The wind had now turned to a north-westerly and was over the tide, the flow was faster and the sea had roughened up slightly. Not by much, but noticeably. The whole squid was getting constant bites but they were sporadic on the other rod. I listened to the chatter on the radio and it seemed that the charters were just getting started. I let High Flyer know what was happening inshore with me and, once he started, he let me know that they were incredibly getting mackerel! There were loads of herring shoals showing on his finder too. Meanwhile, Cleveland Princess were inshore at Corton and waiting for the tide to start running. They’d had a couple of codling a few days before so were hopeful.
As the tide speeded up I decided to head in. My tankwell had filled up nicely with fish and I hauled anchor. Halfway in I spotted a familiar vessel tearing along from the harbour. Five minutes earlier and it’d have been easier for me to hang around and chat to Marty who was also headed for Corton where he and Richard were going to catch a couple of codling and a few score of good whiting. Bloody hooligans.
I paddled in and landed smoothly, not losing a single fish out of the back. 31 fish for around 20lb, I had a bit of filleting to do when I got home, not including the half-dozen roasted on the bone with cherry tomatoes, celery and mushroom for lunch.
I do like the whiting shoals.
The first fish took all of five minutes. It was a bit large for my choice of a livebait but needs must and I could always swap it later. The whole squid kept banging away with whiting bites but I concentrated most of my efforts on the wishbone rod, tipping variously with mackerel, squid and sandeel as I was using up a frozen lump of assorted leftovers. Bites were constant, the whiting coming in were a good size, averaging around a pound or so; it was a struggle to get a smaller one for bait in all honesty but I finally managed. It’s rare that I want to get a smaller fish! A few double shots came aboard to the wishbone and one on the pennel but mostly it was singles. I had a couple of dabs too and one was a lovely specimen. Let’s hope they turn up in numbers soon, lovely to cook, serve and eat.
The tide started to slow an hour after low water but the bites continued to come until it stopped dead for around fifteen minutes as the tide turned. The flood started to pick up but the bites were far fewer than they’d been on the ebb. The wind had now turned to a north-westerly and was over the tide, the flow was faster and the sea had roughened up slightly. Not by much, but noticeably. The whole squid was getting constant bites but they were sporadic on the other rod. I listened to the chatter on the radio and it seemed that the charters were just getting started. I let High Flyer know what was happening inshore with me and, once he started, he let me know that they were incredibly getting mackerel! There were loads of herring shoals showing on his finder too. Meanwhile, Cleveland Princess were inshore at Corton and waiting for the tide to start running. They’d had a couple of codling a few days before so were hopeful.
As the tide speeded up I decided to head in. My tankwell had filled up nicely with fish and I hauled anchor. Halfway in I spotted a familiar vessel tearing along from the harbour. Five minutes earlier and it’d have been easier for me to hang around and chat to Marty who was also headed for Corton where he and Richard were going to catch a couple of codling and a few score of good whiting. Bloody hooligans.
I paddled in and landed smoothly, not losing a single fish out of the back. 31 fish for around 20lb, I had a bit of filleting to do when I got home, not including the half-dozen roasted on the bone with cherry tomatoes, celery and mushroom for lunch.
I do like the whiting shoals.
Thursday 4 October 2012
Two Nil…04/10/12
We’d done a bit of rigging a couple of days before, anchor trolleys only because the rivet gun decided to die on us before we could get to the rod holders, but Wilmy’s Scupper was looking good to go so two days later we decided we would.
It was quite a pleasant day, bright and reasonably warm but a bit windy for the sea. Wilmy fancied getting afloat though so we decided to head to the river and try for a toothy critter or two. So off to Beccles we went and dropped in by the pool to cover the town stretch for a couple of hours. The water was nice and clear but high up the bank; this should mean less weed being picked up and some deeper-running lures being trolled than usual but I find the lower levels to be more productive generally. No matter though, it is what it is and it’s a pleasant enough place to paddle.
I started off with a blue J13 on the bankside rod and an orange Super Shad Rap to cover the deeper part of the river. I left Wilmy at the launch point rooting around for another lure as the first he’d attached fell off somehow. Sadly it was his favourite too, the one he’d caught his first yak bass on. Being a sinker it was gone and I felt his pain, I hate that!
There wasn’t much happening on the rods but there were plenty of smaller fish topping as we paddled along. Weed wasn’t too bad either, with only the occasional stop to clear the rods when they stopped twitching. The usual spots remained quiet as we passed and, once we passed under the main road we turned and I hoped that perhaps the extra movement in the lure running against the current might trigger a bite. I changed the J13 over to a perch-patterned Super Shad Rap and headed back upstream.
Nope. Still nothing. We made it all the way up to the launch point again without so much as a twitch; may as well carry on upstream past the boathouses then, get a bit of open countryside and see if they’ve all gone off on holiday.
We passed through with nothing and then turned. I’d got maybe fifty yards when I got the shout; I turned and saw his rod hooped over as he played something decent! I reeled in, got the camera out and headed back upstream…had Wilmy broken his pike duck? A species he’d not yet had though he’s fished freshwater much of his life. It looked like a good scrap too.
Mind you, he wasn’t gaining any line! It dawned on him that perhaps he was now snagged and the disappointment was shared. It was stuck solid, no idea what it was hooked in for sure but probably a large, heavy branch. It had felt like a fish at first so perhaps the lure had run right into the fish’s lair and got snagged as the pike moved with it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t coming up and the line parted under the strain. He was now two lures down for no fish. One more pass then?
We passed the launch point again and I decided I couldn’t be arsed anymore. I figured I’d turn at the bridge and run back but then I got a text from Si: “There’s loads of police along your road.” Hmm. I figured I ought to go now. I’d intended dropping in on my brother after fishing too but that was out of the question now. Wilmy wasn’t averse to giving up either so we turned and went in. There’ll be other times though.
I started off with a blue J13 on the bankside rod and an orange Super Shad Rap to cover the deeper part of the river. I left Wilmy at the launch point rooting around for another lure as the first he’d attached fell off somehow. Sadly it was his favourite too, the one he’d caught his first yak bass on. Being a sinker it was gone and I felt his pain, I hate that!
There wasn’t much happening on the rods but there were plenty of smaller fish topping as we paddled along. Weed wasn’t too bad either, with only the occasional stop to clear the rods when they stopped twitching. The usual spots remained quiet as we passed and, once we passed under the main road we turned and I hoped that perhaps the extra movement in the lure running against the current might trigger a bite. I changed the J13 over to a perch-patterned Super Shad Rap and headed back upstream.
Nope. Still nothing. We made it all the way up to the launch point again without so much as a twitch; may as well carry on upstream past the boathouses then, get a bit of open countryside and see if they’ve all gone off on holiday.
We passed through with nothing and then turned. I’d got maybe fifty yards when I got the shout; I turned and saw his rod hooped over as he played something decent! I reeled in, got the camera out and headed back upstream…had Wilmy broken his pike duck? A species he’d not yet had though he’s fished freshwater much of his life. It looked like a good scrap too.
Mind you, he wasn’t gaining any line! It dawned on him that perhaps he was now snagged and the disappointment was shared. It was stuck solid, no idea what it was hooked in for sure but probably a large, heavy branch. It had felt like a fish at first so perhaps the lure had run right into the fish’s lair and got snagged as the pike moved with it. Whatever it was, it wasn’t coming up and the line parted under the strain. He was now two lures down for no fish. One more pass then?
We passed the launch point again and I decided I couldn’t be arsed anymore. I figured I’d turn at the bridge and run back but then I got a text from Si: “There’s loads of police along your road.” Hmm. I figured I ought to go now. I’d intended dropping in on my brother after fishing too but that was out of the question now. Wilmy wasn’t averse to giving up either so we turned and went in. There’ll be other times though.
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