The day began well, my holiday was approved at work which will give me most of the summer holidays free for the first time in years. Great stuff! So enamoured was I of my manager I decided to give her catch of the day! I was shattered though, having slept badly before work so on leaving I just went straight to bed for an hour.
I’d arranged to pick Paul up but arranged for Shaun to fetch him on the way through so I could have a coffee first. The pair arrived shortly after James who had just placed his order for his own black Tempo, joining the cool gang as he was feeling unhip in his brand spanking new last yellow Scupper Pro in the country – my spare, stored for a couple of years in a barn in deepest rural Norfolk! Which leaves one for Westie if he makes his mind up in time! Shaun’s arrived while he was offshore but as yet unrigged he brought his Flame Scupper, ex-Richi, for its last trip. Paul was in his old style Prowler 13.
James had left his trolley at home and I’ve lent my spare to someone (can’t recall who but I need it back as I’ve a shredded tyre on the one in the car) so we drove to the beach and carried the kayaks down before parking. Beautiful, clear water again, stronger wind than expected with a few white horses offshore and the tide was starting to run a bit. Which made for a nice paddle in excellent conditions. Enhanced by the sight and sound of a Spitfire cruising past half a mile out…great week now, a Mustang was in the same patch of sky on Sunday!
We began with a slow troll up the rock breakwater and then along the wall; I hooked up weed a couple of times which messed us all up as we were in extended line with good separation and nothing was caught; then, approaching the mouth a pilot boat came out necessitating a call in case anything larger was behind it; nothing, all clear to cross. A large patch of choppy, lumpy water was traversed and then away we went, crossing quickly and running up the other side. Shaun was now up front, James behind and Paul out to the side; I stopped to let him get ahead and then started again; a few yards later my inside Xtraflexx with the pink/silver Warbird Minnow 12 (again!) slammed down hard and James, behind saw a flash of silver as the bass took it near the surface and thrashed around up top as I paddled out from the rocks. A lively fight ensued and in it came, three pounds of fighting fit spiky silver.
James was of course hysterical again, poor you sexy little sea minx, his nerves shot to bits by once again being a bystander with a fast-developing inferiority complex. Oh well, I’d give the poor you sexy little sea minx a break and let him go ahead and round the woodwork first, behind Paul who’d missed all the commotion.
I turned around, got the lures set again and headed back up and around, through the water rushing past and turned back inshore; James was tangled up, which was Paul’s fault of course, so I left him to have a nervous breakdown while I went fishing. The water was clouded up here from the onshore wind-driven slop and nothing hit all the way up to the point where we sat and waited for James to reappear. As yet I was the only one to have had a hit. Then James came over the radio, he’d just had a schoolie which he’d popped back to fatten up a bit.
We chatted while we waited for him to reach the end and then set off again, back the way we’d come. All the way down to the wood, still nothing else, still coloured up and the lines had passed over numerous rocks with some weed becoming lodged on the hooks; very shallow here.
I rounded the wood. Paul was just ahead and suddenly he stopped and turned…or rather he was stopped and turned. Fish on! He was fishing a leadhead with paddle tail on his new Fladen Powerstick set up that he’d won in the monthly competition on the community pages of their website and a hungry bass had taken it. Great christening! Especially as it was his biggest bass ever. He was all smiles and happy as Larry.
I headed off after taking the photos and made it most of the way down and then, at the spot I had a good fish towards the end of last year, my inside rod hopped right over; this was a very good fish for sure! I grabbed the rod and this was confirmed…just before the rod tip sprung back up and it was off. I’d not set my drag and the trebles, damaged on rocks and hard-fighting fishing over the last few weeks couldn’t put up with the strain and the fish was gone. That’s life. The other lure, a Jointed Minnow 13 in gold and black had floated back up to the surface now. Where it was hit and dragged back down almost immediately by a fish that felt every bit as good and which may well have been the same one; just before the rod tip hit the water the braid, scraped over the rocks shortly before, parted and fish and lure were gone. Unbelievable, two good hits in under a minute and both gone! What excitement though and the trebles, small and thin, rusted a bit, would soon pop out.
I sat there a moment as I retied and then headed across the mouth and down the wall, chatted there with Paul and Shaun when they caught up while we waited for James to be clear; he didn’t arrive so I went to look for him and fish some more; time was getting on and I needed to get to bed soon. I rounded the corner, headed up to the woodwork and spotted to clear weed from one of my lures. And then, I heard a roar. An unmistakeable roar. A sweet, synchronised, seventy year old roar; I watched and waited a couple of seconds as, a couple of hundred yards away and low, low and fast, with that unmistakeable roar of a Merlin engine bouncing off the water between us and the metalwork behind, she rounded the bend…ML407, the Grace Spitfire, THE D-Day veteran Spitfire, came screaming around the bend, her invasion stripes picked out in the sunlight, her pilot as clear as day…
…and just the right day. 12th June. Seventy years to the day since John Allen, an eighteen year old relative of mine, was killed fighting in Normandy with 2nd Battalion the Essex Regiment having landed with the first wave on D-Day. And I had my own commemorative flypast over the sea by the Spitfire that was to down the first enemy aircraft over the beachhead on the day the invasion began.
I’ve pinched a stunning photograph of her from a couple of weeks ago from an old friend I’ve not seen in a while – message sent to ask permission to use it so finger’s crossed it can stay (and thank’s in advance Stewart!)
[url=https://flic.kr/p/nLKhw2]
[/url][url=https://flic.kr/p/nLKhw2]407-1[/url] by [url=https://www.flickr.com/people/60341068@N03/]Stewart Taylor (SMT Photography)[/url], on FlickrJames came around the corner behind her, thrilled too and we headed back to the beach together after I’d had a chat on the radio with Brian who was further out and bait fishing. Shaun and Paul had also seen the Spit and with Shaun having one last run we hung around the beach, James and Paul taking the Tempo for a spin; James pleasantly surprised by the difference in handling and the longer leg room and Paul also preferring it for the roomier seat.
With Shaun in too we loaded up and hit Kentucky for a huge bucket of chicken before I headed off to bed after another absolutely cracking session. Something to get our jaws around!
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