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!"