Digging In…31/12/2012

I had to get out to finish the year but what a shit run of weather! High winds, rain, cold, huge seas…looked great. I was soooo tempted. To stay at home. But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. I thought about going for a sail on the broad but it was too gusty. I figured I may as well try not to kill myself on the RRRapido for a while. As it turned out this was the only option, I had half an hour while I waited for the potatoes to cool before frying them so I went out for a battering. I got to the end of the road and looked at the sea. It was mental. Large and messy. The strong south easterly wind was making things worse too, being next to impossible to paddle against. Well, there wasn’t a great deal of point going in but…I was dressed and here now. I wandered down to the inside of the groyne and watched the way the waves were coming and how…I wasn’t certain I’d get out through them to be honest, they were big and heavy and dumping badly. And then it looks slightly less terrifying and I pull the RRRapido up to me and jump aboard; I’m half-cocked, the thigh strap is under me and throwing me off balance, not good either where I am or in these waves but I shift my body around and keep my balance as I dig in and start flinging myself up and over and down and up again and take water over me everywhere, the camera getting knocked out of position but I keep going, get out of the danger zone and past the end of the groyne and then try to put the thigh straps on – I’ve only gone and pulled the screw and it’s flapping loosely. Well done, best I sort something and quick before I go swimming… …legs over the side, straps lengthened and I kind of clip the strap to the seat strap behind me – it’s tricky but I make something that might work; the wind has sent me fifty yards down from the groyne now though, the best shaped of the poorly-shaped waves are up there and I think about paddling back up but…if I do that, following the line I’d come in on, I’d go slap bang into the biggest and snarliest, gnarliest bitch-dump ever. Not clever. No, I’ll hold position here, if I can, and wait for something I can ride. It’s just peaks and troughs and lumps here and there, all so close together, stacked up behind each other, nothing wide enough for a proper ride and I’m pretty sure I’m going to get bruised so I may as well wait it out, wait for a wall of shit to come pounding in. I wait a good ten minutes, burning off Christmas fat and then a larger lump comes and I paddle for it…but it comes to nothing, not curling yet and it rolls under me. Bugger. I try the following one, it disappears into itself so I wait. Another five minutes pass and I hold myself in position, closer in…and there it is, something that will do. Not a surf wave, not a great wave, just a big lump of moving water. I dig deep and paddle for it, catch it, the nose drops and I scoot down and turn along it, running what there is until it breaks into a tumbling washing machine of foam with me on the edge, sliding in sideways, rapidly, onto the stony remnants of the beach, one eye open for the position of the digger working sand and shingle onto the shoreline from further up by the pier. It’s okay, he’s seen me – been watching me maybe - and I come crashing into England just down the beach from him. A quick wave and I haul myself and my RRRapido up the bank and over onto the promenade to get those chips in the fryer along with the yak-caught cod I’d filleted the other week when the weather had been just that bit more suitable for kayaking.

Christmas Crackers…25/12/2012

There are two things just about guaranteed to make me smile and the most regular of these is paddling. Now, I’ve long had a desire to paddle on Christmas Day, mostly for the pleasure of doin’ ma thang and partly for the clearing away of residual beer fumes from the French Christmas we always throw the night before and this was no exception other than my having the perfect alibi…you see, every year since we’ve had our own place I’ve wandered down to the beach for the Christmas Swim and for the last few years Eloise has come with. Perhaps she, too, would like to see it from the water? She didn’t need asking a second time, didn’t need persuading. It was like offering cider to a wino – no question! I guess I should have made sure we had everything and it was to hand the day before but we’d been over to the Coastguard station to take some tins of sweets for the Christmas shifts and drink their coffee and just ran out of time. So there was I scrabbling around looking for bits we could use as her boots and buoyancy aids were not visible; hell I’m not even sure they’re here! Never mind, with much exertion we got her long hair through the neck seal of the drysuit, zipped her up, tightened one of my PFD’s around her, stuck my beach shoes on her feet and, with my RRRapido on my shoulder we took an end each of Abigail’s Kea and walked down to the beach. In Beardheads. The promenade was starting to fill, the beach too as this is quite a popular event. We headed left to the other ramp due to space though this is a trickier launch. It was rough. I briefly considered turning around and going home but, with a guinea pig to hand, figured we’d soon be able to tell. Besides, she has as much courage and little sense as I so we waded into the water. Within seconds Eloise was on her arse with my shoes floating away. Too rough to stand then, might as well get onboard; she hopped on and with a shove and the words ‘just keep straight and keep paddling’ she hauled herself through the dumping three-footers. I followed and bar a good soaking all was well as we headed out past the groynes and the large and lumpy beaten zone. Now, we had to head south, against the ebb tide and south easterly wind. And the swell. Young Whippersnapper hadn’t been out for months, not since the summertime when we’d had a crack at the bass and to be fair I expected her to struggle. Did she hell! She always amazes me, it was a grotty morning, the roughest sea she’s been in, perhaps the windiest too, and she just grinned and paddled against it all and kept asking when she could jump in for a swim! I mean, we had broken water everywhere and the lifeguards started surfing once they paddled out a short while later! Well, it started to rain. It started to hail too. The swimmers started to arrive and so did the Lifeboat, taking up station near to us; we were sharing the best spot to watch the festivities. I surfed a couple of waves and, ignoring my instructions not to so did Eloise! It was all a giggle and we were both feeling quite revived by now. It would be quite nice to see the swimmers run into the water from this angle, though we’d move in for a closer look. Except, as Eloise pointed out, they were already in! Bugger. (That's us in the Daily Mail out near the lifeboat) They didn’t stay in long, unsurprisingly. There were santas and bikinis and all manner of clothing and as much joy as they always muster at this event; I love it as a starter for the day. Then, with the crowds dispersing, it was time to play and I started catching waves. I don’t like wiping out in front of thousands but it was unavoidable and my beard got soaked. Damn it. Then Eloise came in, a bit too steep and she nose-dived and kneeled in the shallows with a Kea for a hat. Not quite as planned. Abigail had turned up with her grandfather now and so we hurried things up as they were getting soaked in the rain; Eloise went and floated around in the waves, body surfing and drifting while I caught a couple more and then, way before we’d had enough, we walked off the beach and back to a more refined Christmas. With sand in our ears.

Times Like These...21/12/2012

There are times when there is no other option than to go paddling. This was one of them. I'd had a long and hard day on the water paddling and fishing, culminating in a fast surf landing and decided that I couldn't not go and ride some waves. I couldn't get in the house anyway so grabbed my RRRapido even though I only had my cranked Nordkapp available; at 215cm it's around 20cm longer than my usual surfing shaft but times are hard... Back at the beach I watched. It wasn't all that big yet, 3-4ft, but the waves were clean and the sets were coming regularly. I'd have no problem riding these and they shouldn't have even been there judging by the wind direction. I wandered over to the rip inside the groyne and paddled out. I got past the groyne, turned and waited a minute before catching my first wave, the first of a set. It was fast! One of the fastest waves I've caught here I went screaming down the face, carved along and then pulled up and over. I was grinning! I went back out, caught a second, did the same, turned to paddle out and got knocked off three times in succession before it flattened out a bit for a few minutes. No camera but I like pictures so here’s a stock one: I caught a few more, wiped out three times trying to do a 360 flat spin (managed a couple of decent 180's and got 3/4 round on a third attempt) and then pulled into a good position once again. A larger one came rolling in and I went for it even though I knew I’d be dropping in too late; Down I went, the nose pearling and it spun sideways, underneath foam and water. I was knocked from my seat, grabbed a thigh strap and with my feet over the other side and my arse just about on the rail facing the wave I got crucified for the first time ever - from above I’d look like a cross as I bombed in, the wave pressure forcing a few pints of cold North Sea into my drysuit under the neoprene. Liberating it was and then, somehow, I pulled a John Wayne and threw my arse back into the seat, spun myself upright and paddled out of the foam. Don't ask me how, I really doubt I could do it again! I rode a bunch more, very fast runs that were tricky to turn and carve with at first, some quite long ones when I managed it and some 180 flat spins. I caught another that went kind of wrong, buried the nose, spun and was inadvertently travelling backwards from the start, turning side-on and bongoing in when it broke. I liked that one! Then, as time was getting on and it was starting to darken, I caught a lovely wave. The paddle, causing me problems with being so long, got lifted into the air and I controlled my run along the face by pulling on thigh straps and putting pressure with alternate arse cheeks to keep my line and this really, really worked! Longest ride of the afternoon. I decided to do that again, caught a couple more, swam again and then took my last wave. I had to wait for it but when it came I took off, fast, ran in straight, then carved as it started to break, then turned ahead again as the remnant rolled under me, the following one running me onto the beach. Class! I walked up the ramp. I stood there, at the top and just looked. The beginnings of dusk gave great light onto the clean waves rolling in and I just watched. The world was supposed to end today. It can end every day if it's going to be that great.

Hardly The End Of The World...21/12/2012

A busy week, I've hardly stopped. I'd been off Friday and Saturday night, crashed out early on Sunday and, following my shift, hit the ground running on my return home. I'd hoped to get out on Thursday but the weather was shocking - big seas that might have been fun to play but it was pouring down and I hate that. I was gutted, I'd been able to hear the surf crashing onto the beach from the moment I’d got up and every time I'd gone outside at work. My day got filled anyway and that left Friday...and the forecast was good. A quick text out to see if the others fancy a session followed a coffee with Marty who had popped in randomly with the day off and was going out with Jon. Well...I knocked off, and set off for home to be met with the news that my wife was using the car...that restricted things somewhat; I’d have to launch at the end of the road. Okay, still ebbing, I could launch, head past the harbour and fish Dogger. I'd be on my own. Marty called, said I’d best check the conditions before I got too excited, said the beach looked as rough as guts. He’d dropped anchor off Corton, four or five miles to the north. It was coming up to low water though so I knew the beach would be okay to launch from, it just might be a tad nasty once out to sea. Still, the world was due to end in a couple of hours anyway so I may as well enjoy myself! Things went wrong from the start - I got to the beach and realised I’d left my camera by the front door. Damn. No video either. Fair enough, not the end of the world - yet - but I had no time to go back with tides how they were if I wanted to head north and I’d decided to pay Marty a visit. The sea was down a long way and a few bigger waves were rolling in - and I get a soaking. My bait box flew open and my lucky codding hat got soaked so my head would be cold, fishing would be affected and everything would defrost. a few hundred yards of hard paddling and the sea was still the same, 5ft lumps passing under me and I still had the bank to cross and the harbour approaches to deal with not to mention the shallow rough ground to the north. The flow was weak too and I had to make more effort than I felt like but things carried on as they do and I headed north a good half mile out to avoid the rebound of the swells that were still around from the days before. Passing Ness point I spied a boat off Corton but it wasn't Marty. I carried on and on, my vhf stuck on 14 after speaking to harbour control as I’d forgot to switch back to 8. I changed back moments before I heard Marty call me up but couldn't raise him on 8 or 16 and that boat definitely wasn't him...then I spotted him, finally, a little white dot. I passed the other boat, a beauty with 6 cod and a labrador aboard with the skipper...okay, so it was fishing then. I pulled up to my mates and heard there were 4 cod aboard before paddling back uptide and dropping anchor, coming to rest alongside and around fifty yards offshore. 4/0 pennels with blacks and squid went down and I sat there for the remains of the ebb. Nothing. One twitch in a couple of hours, a dab by the look of the bite. Marty was pulling the odd fish up, Jon managed a couple of whiting and I took the piss a bit even though I was doing worse. Slowly we started to swing; I snagged and had to cut off, rebaited and kept the baits out of the water for a while. Then I started to move backwards...Jon had caught my anchor warp. It made a change for him to catch a yak on rod and line rather than in a net! 11:12 passed and we were all still alive, my plan to catch one last wave when the world ended in a tsunami (hopefully, compared to less enjoyable varieties of armageddon) having proved to be unnecessary. So I baited up again. Poor old Jon, I’d given him one of my lovely, lucky 4/0 spreader wishbone pennels via Marty and finally he got a hook up with a cod. the rod was arched over nicely as he played it up to the boat, looked good, 5-6lb from where I sat...'he hasn't got it aboard yet' shouted Marty...and then he snapped it off bringing it over the back. I could feel the venom when I shouted across that I'd wait for Colin or Brian to get the hook back!!! Bang! My rod started to buck and I reeled into a cod, bringing it up, knocking all the way against a strong flow. No problems landing it but it was only a couple of pound. I had to hold it up for a photograph which took a good few minutes as they couldn't keep me in the frame with big swells rolling beneath us. Still, I kept a smile on my face as I watched them both steady themselves against the gunwhales without noticing their rods banging away behind them... I was cold now, getting bored too as there just weren't any bites here and they were catching steadily. The sea was picking up, the wind freshening and the swells growing. I couldn't keep my baits on the bottom, even with 12oz down. I had a couple more bites that didn't develop and then decided enough was enough when the sky turned black and hauled anchor. I knew that the longer I left it the worse the landing would be; waving goodbye I slung everything, fish, bait, hat, weights, anchor and reel and broken-down rods into the bow hatch and headed for home. Wind against tide, big swells, shortening, following sea; 12ft spray flying up from the shore. I actually had a touch of nerves for the first time in a long time knowing just how bad it'd be north of the harbour; I gave it a wide berth. Turning in, a mile offshore, I caught a few waves, riding them briefly. It wasn't that pleasant but at least I could maintain some semblance of control. I crossed the banks, that was fun and then headed closer in. As I suspected, a surf landing. I looked back, saw a good few feet of water rolling in behind me and it was time to PLF. I caught the second of the set and screamed in the last hundred yards, running straight then carving away from the breaking section, broadsiding as the wave closed out and bongo slid all the way to the beach, soaked and grinning. Marvellous! I let the others know and they told me they were up to fourteen cod now... I dragged my Scupper up the beach and walked home, figuring on a coffee and then grabbing my RRRapido. I had to forego the coffee though, I was locked out...but that's another story. Maybe not the best success from a cold, lumpy ten mile trip but it was hardly the end of the world.

Pre-Christmas Sails…18/12/12

I woke up to wet ground and fog, the bright sunshine of the day before being long gone. It didn’t inspire all that much but I’d suggested we do something to Mike and he was free so I took the girls to school and went over to the cliff to take a look. The sea was flat. A light northerly wind was felt and it looked like an easy fish but I wasn’t convinced I wanted to sit at anchor in case the mist got worse and I’d also need a bit of time to get my gear together as my van no longer exists. I called Mike and asked if he fancied trying his sail out at long last being as it’d be an easy entry into the world of Pacific Action! We arranged to meet… …postponed on my return when I was reminded that someone was coming over for a meeting and I ought to be there. Poor Mike, he pitched up at the later time and I was a headless chicken as it’d overrun. No matter, we loaded my yak and gear onto his van and headed for Gorleston. There were a bunch of anglers spread along the beach as we trolleyed down, keeping tight to the groyne so as to not disturb them as we paddled out past the Swan, the disturbance of the water marking it clearly. The tide was flooding but the wind seemed to have dropped. Up went the sails. Sort of. Modifications. First time with Mikes sail, it wasn’t being pulled taut so the front bungee was tightened and retied. Far better but…the spread wasn’t there, the right pole bending over at the joint. There was nothing we could do for a proper fix but some fiddling with straps and a cut piece of bungee kind of made a fix for a downwind sail gave a sufficient amount of use. It’s just that the wind was missing now. They say you should never whistle at sea, it whistles up the wind. I tried some Beethoven but things didn’t improve bar the odd gust so we kind of sailed along at the same speed as the tide, running at the same speed as the wind. Hardly the gentle learning curve, more a benign curve-ball. Ah well… Down we went past Corton, passing a couple of boats; word over the radio from the boats on the South Corton was one or two small whiting, no cod, not much happening. The tide was minimal, the complete opposite to last week’s screaming bitch we’d tried to fish in! It was a perfect day to be anchored to be fair but hearing how poor the fishing was my guilt at forcing Mike to sail on a still day was assuaged slightly. We passed Tramps, came down past Dogger and picked up some slightly bumpier water off Ness Point and the harbour mouth, radioing in for permission to cross the approaches, turning in to the beach and finally finding a bit of wind! Bloody typical! Perhaps we should have dumped a car at Southwold and run that way. Too late now, we ran in for a smooth landing, grabbed a coffee and headed back to pick up Mike’s van. We may not have had the Fastnet experience but the sun had broken through and it’d been a pleasant enough chilled out trip to escape the ghost of Christmas coming.

You Have To love A Quickie…17/12/12

The plan was to meet someone in Beccles around midday but I’d be dropping the girls at school around 8:30 and there seemed little point in hanging around the house with the sun shining; I slung my drysuit in the boot and grabbed a couple of rods. Maybe the pike would be hungry? The river was dirty, a take looked unlikely but with a few hours to kill it’d be a pleasant paddle all the same. I unstrapped my Scupper and pulled my gear on, launching off the pontoon and drifting downstream with a couple of Rapalas out, wriggling along hopefully close enough to a lurking predator with an empty stomach. The water, being high, allowed me to travel without hooking up any weed but nothing was happening and I soon passed under the first bridge. I saw a splash on the lefthand bank, it looked wrong and then, on the right I saw the angler sit down again. He’d cast right across the river because there’s never any fish anywhere else, is there. There were a bunch of them on the bank so I decided to turn and head back upstream rather than dick about playing slalom and setting off bite alarms as I trolled past. Turning I realised quite how fast the flow was and had to dig a bit. The rods were twitching like crazy now, the acceleration of water in that direction really getting them to dance. Approaching the bridge the flow was even worse, it narrows here and the channelled flow was a good three knots, maybe more but it eased a bit once the river widened. Hell, my arse was getting cold though. The thing is, I’d not stuck my undersuit on as I wasn’t intending to be a Michelin Man all day. I should have known, I’ve done winter paddles in jeans and drysuit before. There’s little worse! Back upstream I went, back past the launch point and then it occurred to me that I really couldn’t be bothered. I reeled in and went off to McDonalds instead.

Time and Tide...12/12/12

Time and Tide...12/12/12 Having backed out on Saturday I felt obliged to go for the next window and, fortunately, the wait wasn't too long. With low westerlies and the swell dropping down from two days of rough water things looked promising - dirty water and a nice, smooth sea. So things were arranged with Mike and I went off to bed. The next shift moaned like hell at how cold it had been driving in at half seven. Okay. I wandered home and yeah, it was pretty cold. I ran the girls to school with a reading of minus three and a half and decided to text Mike and delay our launch by another half hour just to try and get a bit of warmth into the air when the sun came up. Which suggested it was now coffee o' clock. And cold. Mike pitched up and unloaded while I hauled myself into my drysuit before the short walk down to the beach. The difference from the day before when I’d been surfing was marked, smooth, bright and sunny with little wind. A lovely shaped wave that would have surfed really, really nicely had it been more than a foot tall ran down from the groyne and along to the left and we launched over a couple more for the mile run down south against the tide to the old hole off CEFAS that we used to fish years ago. Okay so it probably no longer existed, filled with the shifting sands that make up so much of the seabed here but it was somewhere to aim for and I knew the rough location. We stopped and fiddled under the pier - Mike had spotted a lovely new lead hanging from the centre of the structure, tantalisingly out of reach with the tide down as it was right now. Quite how it had got there we couldn't tell but we figured we could try again on the way back when the water was up. We carried on and started to head out as we approached. What a change. It had been an easy paddle inshore but out here a quarter of a mile it had picked up a lot and progress was slow. I decided to drop anchor short of the mark once I got bored and let out what I thought would be enough warp and felt myself pulled backwards as the stretch came out of it. WOAH! Feet over the side it is then. I rigged up, baited up and cast down. It took a hell of a lot of line to lay on the bottom and I never felt the lead hit. Fingers crossed. The lines appeared to be moving towards me as the flow around me started to ease a bit. Let's see - yep, I'm moving. Dragging through the soft sand below. I reeled in, let out more warp and cast again, waiting to stop. It took a while but then finally I did and, a few minutes later pulled up a nice, plump whiting. I figured things would start now but no, still an hour from mid-tide the extra drag of the whiting was enough to snap my weak link and set me off again. I reeled the other rod in, hauled anchor, re-attached a weak link and dropped down again. I still dragged for a but before it bit - Mike was way back having caught first time with the same anchor and same kayak so the reason was a mystery, especially with almost two hundred yards of warp out - maybe I was on a bank or gulley, I had no sounder on to check. Two rods down, four snoods, wishbone pennels with black lug and unwashed squid. Nothing except weed. A boat or three left harbour, the radio reported nothing but a very few whiting and a tide screaming through offshore. Mike's anchor dragged and he decided to haul up around the time that I came to the same decision - I was off the launch point by now with all the fannying around I’d done, about half a mile out. The anchor dragged again, briefly so I started to reel in and went broadside - right hand rod was snagged. I let line out and tried pulling by hand - no joy. Okay, try the other rod. Same thing, snagged and pulling me around broadside. Marvellous. Anchored by two traces...and unable to break them out. I got them as tight as I could and cut both free. What a waste. I pulled my reel to the bow and turned easily. Ready to go I started to haul it back to grab hold, release line and start the retrieve but ended up broadside once again with water coming over the gunwhales and the yak being pulled down - I’d snagged this now. I was starting to get a bit pissed off with this mark and scuttled forward to grab the reel and then got on with things. Hauling by hand and with the warp streaming out behind I paddle din across the tide, held back quite a bit, and surfed a lovely little wave in to the beach where Mike was waiting for me. A lovely wave that the Scupper picked up nicely but the streaming warp pulled me sideways to the right instead of running straight or to the left. Which is why I unloaded and had a play instead. It'd warmed up by now and was nice and bright. We caught a wave or three, once together when we managed to wedge ourselves together over the top of my headcam before I decided to wash the rotten green slime from inside my hull. Off came the front and centre hatches and I pulled the yak into the sea and started to flood it. A fish from last week floated past the centre hatch opening - what a waste. Strangely I’d eaten one last week that had tasted a bit strong. Things were explained now - I’d removed the correct number of fish but one had been there a week, from a session when I'd not been sure if I'd retrieved them all but could see no more. Clearly I have somewhere that whiting get jammed up. Well I wasn't eating this one though it was still reasonably preserved from the cold. Hell there was some crap in there. I paddled it around until it half sank then surfed it in with the arse submerged and the bow out of the water - surprisingly well. Mike went next. Then, with waves filling it to the brim and sucking water out as they retreated we sluiced it and I scrubbed with my hand and emptied it and refilled and generally freshened the inside a bit before wandering off for a coffee. A success? Well, as fish go, no. As enjoyment goes, yes.

A Quick Rinse…11.12.2012

Monday had a cracking forecast for surf, big swell and winds from the north / north east but there was just one problem for me and that was the tide times. My surf spot is at its best on the lead-up and onto to high water but with high being a couple of hours before I could get there I was kind of stuffed. I had to look though and so, an hour after on my way back from work I stopped for a look to see two boardies riding the last of the decent waves in the most glorious, vivid, wintery sunrise. It looked beautiful and I was envious in the extreme. But I was cold too; a day at home. Tuesday morning, high water an hour later, if I rushed I could be on the water for the remains…a smaller day than the previous one but what’s an hour of my life wasted if it’s no good? I rushed back from the school run, pulled on thermals and a drysuit – the 1.5 degrees outside scaring me away from my steamer wetsuit even if I could ride better with that – grabbed the headcam, my carbon Mystik and my waiting RRRapido, locked up and walked down to the beach. I could hear the waves from the beach and I’d already had a quick look. Not big and messier than yesterday - when I'd actually seen a truly beautiful wave run right along with three boardies on it as it started to get dark - but rideable just the same. A surfer I often bump into was then going onto the water too, he'd missed yesterday and hadn't enjoyed pulling himself into his wetsuit that was still damp from last time he'd been out. He made it out back before me and caught the one I had to pull over. Perfect start for him! I sat around for a bit and chatted when he came back out then, mid-sentences, turned and paddled catching my first wave. It was nice enough but they were running at a pronounced angle and halfway in I ran out of wave and just pulled myself up and paddled back out to catch some more. The next wave was a balls up, I nose-dived and flipped over from taking the steeper part of the wave from close to the groyne. Ah! Bloody ice cream head! A quick re-mount, paddle out and I picked up another, a bit late but pushed myself onto the top before dropping over the lip and down, turning and running along the face until that, too, disappeared and I went back out. A couple more surfers arrived and we shared the waves between us all. With the tide rapidly dropping rides became fewer and smaller and what looked to be a good wave coming in would just disappear between the bank and us; I paddled out to try and intercept them at the banks but it just didn't work. I came back in and grabbed another ride. I gave it a bit longer and then, after spending an hour or so in the water, I decided it was time to ride one in and go home. It took a while to find one and I gave it a go but it was weak now and I only got a short run before turning back for the beach and letting some foam from a follower wash me into the beach. Not a bad little play, maybe not an epic but my drysuit smells a lot better for it.

Snapper's Cold Snap...06/12/2012

Where are all the degrees? Eh? There ain’t any here, none at all…no, worse, we’re in debit by two and a half. Somebody has two and a half of my degrees and I have to walk home without them and then turn around half an hour later and run everyone to school….and go shopping…and take the bottles to the recycling…and pick up the new tyre…and do the washing up…hahahahahaha like I’m doing any of that shit, the wind has dropped and it ain’t raining so I’m fishing. As is my wont, I check the sea from the top of the cliffs – dumping at Dogger – and at the end of the road – nice shape for surfing but a couple of hours away from being rideable. Procrastinate fella…102 cod between ten boats on Sunday…surf likely to dissipate to piss me off…cod it is. Coffee and I’m away with a bag and a half of squid. I’m going light; no worm, no coolbox, 3 leads…bugger, no camera. Pull up, unload, park, walk back, tramp down the track at Tramp’s…oh. That’s going to be a giggle. The swell is quite decent but confused, umm, that shore dump is shitty...the waves are crashing onto the beach like two Mexicans. Four feet. It’s gonna be that timing thing again…get my shit stowed in the hatch or tied down, rods? Well, they’re staying up like usual. Anchor reel is clipped through the trolley carabiner. Watch, watch, watch, shuffle down, watch, watch, that’s him, last one, pull the yak forward and jump on as it reaches my hip and that big-ass Nordkapp blade digs deep, scooting me over and over and over and over and over and then I head north against the flood, slowly, we’re coming up to mid-tide as planned, that’s when the cod came on last time I was here but, dammit, it was slow progress to the rough mark but I didn’t know for sure where it was anyway so I went out far enough and long enough to hope and dropped down, scooting the trolley back as the anchor descended and I started the swing, locking the paddle under the keep and rotating the tubes forwards before I was facing downtide. Break off a squid, it's not defrosted yet. Just enough de-icing to keep it whole and with a bit longer in the saltwater in the footwells - which has dissolved the solid ice that was on when I launched - I can thread the bottom hook through the body from the top of the mantel. Top hook is a 2/0, bottom a 4/0 and there's a squid set on each of the pennels on this spreader wishbone. A breakaway is clipped onto the zip slider and I toss it out fifty yards and set to work on the second rod. Bloody cold it is. Did I mention the dusting of snow in the tankwell this morning? I'm wrapped up nicely and I keep my booted feet in the water to stop the windchill that is marginally worse. My big Russki Ushanka, two and a half rabbits worth, is keeping my head and neck toasty but as usual my hands are feeling it...especially when I start fiddling with frozen bait. I sit waiting for a while and then right-hand rod starts to twitch and I pick it up, wait to feel another twitch and strike, reeling in against the tide and wandering what I've got because it's not heavy enough for a cod and doesn't feel like a whiting...and up comes a nice dab. On whole squid. With a 4/0 in its chops. Go figure. Mind you, that's the fifth dab to take one of my 4/0's in a week. Next up is a whiting and a few more follow while I sit there until finally after a couple or three hours the tide drops away and the wind starts to turn me. I'm pretty damned cold here and a night watching old episodes of the A-Team has me hearing voices. My own voice to be fair, I’m talking to myself as usual. Every missed bite heralds a "Hey Sucka!" and every time I remember how cold I am I hear "Crazy Fool!” fair enough. I up-anchor and start heading in. I put my shoulders into it and get up a decent speed but...BA Baracus chimes in with I ain't gettin' on no plane!” Bugger. Well it's still as lumpy as bad custard, porridge-like in fact and the shore looks like it's going to become a scrapyard when I crash into it. I paddle as far as the last bit of unbroken water and hang there, maybe fifty yards off the shoreline, and watch. I've got a good few feet of water under my arse every four or five seconds and I watch and wait. My bay is clear, that's good, but there's an audience by the steps. That's a hex on me. I can divert north a bit maybe and try where it looks slightly less vicious but it might just be an illusion and I don't know what's submerged there. I've stowed my weights, bait, fish inside and I’ve clipped my anchor and reel on because, quite frankly, I know I’m going to come off. I've sat there considering cutting my rigs off, breaking my rods down, shuffling forwards and sticking them inside the front hatch with my c-tug and although I know I should it's kind of an admittance of defeat. I've come in through bigger plenty of times and sometimes I’ve remained upright too...yes, I should stash the rods but I really don't want to. So I hang there, watching, watching and wave after wave goes under me, then 4 biggies and the ones behind look smaller...I dig in and push, I’m on top of a smaller wave, coming in on its back, keeping up with it until it rears up and breaks, it pulls me down, the nose crashes into the sand where it shelves, the water foams over it, the kayak tilts to the right, the backdraft starts to suck me out again, the following wave rears up, crashes down, pushes my stern up and the nose further down but not forwards because I ain't going anywhere and with all the grace of a gutshot pig I give two fingers to Newton, observe gravity and have my kayak pass over the top of me, inverted. Hmm. Deja-vu. That'll teach me to refuse to stow the rods inside because I bet...yep. Snapped tip. Ah well, it's been a few years since I didn't get away with it and it'll clear some space. So it's farewell to the second of four 3 piece Shimanos...2 more to go and I can go shopping again. I whip everything out of the hull. The fish I kept, a lunch, are stinking, having got coated in the minging green slime that is coating the interior, the remnants of a summertime’s bassing so a quick rinse and it's time to call the Coastguard and let them know I’m in... "Yarmouth Coastguard, Yarmouth Coastguard, this is Kayak Snapper, Kayak Snapper" "Kayak Snapper this is Yarmouth Coastguard are you on your way in?" The temptation to answer "No, I've just washed up!"