I reckoned I could be there just after nine. I’ve blown my yellow van up you see, that means the yak is now on my wife’s car and I have to drop them all at school first. So I arranged for 9:30 at Hopton and got there just after Mike. I was hoping to see Mel after his night session but he’d already left.
The sea was up, pretty much on high water; it looked pleasant out there and the launch looked fine, with timing. That was the key as the odd set would roll in at quite a crotch-soaking size.
Mike went first and I followed, paddling out against a still-running tide and anchoring up slap-bang on my mark.
Down went the anchor and what the hell? There was a couple of knots running. Come on, it was high water, slack was just around the corner, half an hour away, maybe a bit more…but this was good and I dropped down.
Straight into bites. Whiting rattles converted into fish every time, some decent ones and a few small ones but mostly reasonable, average fish. I was returning most though, just retaining a few big ones for the next day’s lunch and a couple that were deeper hooked. I was after cod.
So, whole squid on spreader wishbone pennels…were the cod here? It’d worked last week a mile or two to the south, not an option today for rebounding swell…then the first of my three dabs jumped onto the hook…a 4/0 hook. I’d considered fishing smaller hooks for these beforehand but really wanted to get some bulk for smoking and loading into a fish pie. I love dabs you see. But I didn’t fish for them so I’ll change the subject.
I’d had loads of fish by now and then spotted Tim on his way down the ramp. First time we’d been on the water together in a long, long time. Out he came and anchored up next door though the bites were starting to slow now and by the time Ian pitched up the tide had slowed and was thinking about starting to turn.
I pulled up and rebaited, sitting around doing nothing for a while as we turned, I didn’t want four decent baits ripped to shreds being pulled along the bottom. I waited and as I finally swung around and the warp tightened up I dropped down again. Got a few bites but was now further north than I wanted to be. I pulled up and went back to my mark, reset the anchor and dropped down. With the second baits descending I got ready to pick up the first rod; double shot, unhooked, back down as the other rods starts going; double shot, unhooked, back down and pick up the other rod; double shot…squid is being used too quickly, I need it for cod, I fillet a deep-hooked whiting and pop some strip baits out, this should slow stuff, it’s never been much of a bait but cod eat them…and the tip starts rattling and I carry on hauling whiting and chucking hem back. Mike has gone in at slack, Ian is a ways off and Tim is not getting bites. It’s going absolutely mental here, it’s manic.
Like a manic depressive it stops. Complete reversal. Nothing. Twenty minutes of hell breaking loose then nothing. No bites. Squid, blacks, strip bait. Ten minutes pass, little twitch, nothing there. Ten minutes pass, another, nothing there. Where is the tide? The ebb is just trickling north, no strength, no power, a knot max even coming up to mid tide. Ah well, I’ve been up since 11:30 last night and am going out on the town with some colleagues tonight, best I go home and try to get at least one hour’s sleep…
The flood had been spectacular from the sea, with 3ft swells crashing larger against the sea defences and spraying fifteen feet in the air but it was nicer now and we scooted in nice and gentle to the beach. I felt bad; I assumed the others had been catching at the rate I had but they hadn’t. Ian at least had enough for tea so I gave Tim all my whiting. I could have filled his boot.
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