I arrived a minute or two before Piscator who was up from Sussex and once we’d tackled up we headed down to the beach. I took a couple of pictures to show the huge difference SOLAS tape makes when illuminated.
A beautiful morning with vivid colours in the sky as the sun approached the horizon and virtually no swell or surf either. The weather window was open!
We launched and paddled out to the mark. I positioned myself, dropped my anchor, and ended up ninety-eight feet the wrong side of it, the current being a lot stronger than expected. Oh well, I didn’t have much time so I figured there was still rough ground here. Having missed loads of small bites a few days before I rigged up 2/0 wishbones and dropped the first one down, a frozen black lug on each hook, then started to bait the second. I was putting a worm on the second hook of the second rod when I got the first bite. A little pull, then another, then another. I continued pushing the bait on meaning to cast it and then retrieve the rod for what no doubt would have been small fish pecking away when suddenly the rod arched over and started pulling the RAM tube down! I’ve never had that before and I grabbed the rod, wound down and felt something odd. There wasn’t the heavy pull of a cod, it certainly was bigger than a whiting but maybe it was a cod that had its mouth closed? I started bringing it up but my reel was making hard work of this – I rarely use fixed spool reels and this reminded me why.
It broke surface and I swore. It had fins. It had rays in those fins. It had a green-tinged silvery head. BASS! I NEVER get bass in open sea here and I never get them bigger than 6 inches long here. Well, apart from the one I caught, unhooked, photographed, then watched disappear over the side last Easter weekend. It was thrashing and pulling a few feet away and I played it on the surface for a few minutes wandering how to get it alongside against this current - it was 5lb+ going on cod sizing and I was getting really quite excited and then...the fucking hook pulled!
If there’s one thing I really hate it’s seeing a fish get confused on the surface because it’s no longer attached to a line then flick its tail up in an ‘Up Yours pal’ kind of gesture before heading back down towards a long line or net that someone else will put in its way I n the future.
I swore, believe me I swore. And I cried. And I kept talking about it all day.
I had a whiting later but very few bites. Piscator, a hundred yards away) thoroughly outfished me with constant bites (which was great as he’d travelled to fish here) and we had a smooth landing after a short session (both of us had things to do afterwards). The wind had picked up by the time we landed and continued to build all day. I’d write more but I just can’t get over that bloody bass. What is it with me and Easter bass?
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