It’s all too easy to fish the same mark from the same beach time and again; find the fish once and they’re likely to be there again and again and again and the temptation is so great to just return and have a bit of sport and get some dinner. Part of this may be down to the practical launch sites where access to parking and the beach are to be had, after all, why paddle past known marks on the hunt for others? I’ve tried all the launch sites between Kessingland and Yarmouth South Beach numerous times over the years with varying degrees of success but there’s one that doesn’t really get used for fishing all that much these days and that’s the one at the end of my road, 300 yards from my door. Why? Because there’s little to be had without covering some distance.
Summer time…usually this is my bass lure-fishing season. Since last year’s smut run in late August I’ve returned to bait fishing in these months as well and this has opened up the possibilities. The thornies have started to come knocking, the smuts have picked up the squid on the deck, the bigger bass have even appeared with the occasional cod too. I dare say I’d find a sole or two if I went for it too but there’s one target I’ve never had, never even tried for and that I’d really like to catch locally and that, our most obliging summer resident and an excellent eating and bait fish, is the undeservedly humble mackerel.
By 5am it was clear that the forecast was going to be pretty accurate for once. The sky was looking alright, the trees were barely moving and the clouds were high. So, two choices available once my shift finished; thornie or Macky? That left open three marks…North of Scroby, East of Hopton or south of Lowestoft. Tides allowed for a drift each way on the first and last with anchoring being the option for the other. Hmm. Did I feel like driving or did I want to find mackerel close to home? I plumped for that choice and wondered home an hour later after sitting drinking coffee and nattering with the next shift; it was Sunday after all, chill time!
Breakfast. Homemade hot and sour chicken soup, that’d do me and it was sitting in the fridge ready to go. I’d bloat myself if I had chilli con carne again for breakfast, really didn’t want anything too heavy this morning. A quick call to the girls, happily ensconced in France and then I pulled on my underfleece, Sidewinders and Kolas. Out to the van, Scupper off, onto the C-Tug. Humminbird plugged in, mackerel and tope rods leashed, Nordkapp clicked together, Symbian Tour slung in the seatwell with the Icom and the Olympus batteries checked and it’s a quick walk to the beach…let’s rock!
Flat. Slight breeze. South easterly. Clear sky. Loads of boats out there. Two hours to high water, three to slack. Tug in the hatch, arse in the seat and I’m away. Water’s not too murky, should clear, should be okay once I’m deep and it’s clear and the sand drops out; I draw past the end of the bay, clear the south pier, it colours up, the sand hammering down from the banks to the north. OK, more what I expected for now, keep going, break out past it, I know there’s deeper water out here, just got to keep going. Maybe it’ll clear once I hit the Stanford Channel. Hmm, High Flyer will be out, but which side of Yarmouth? I call Jon up, have you got clear water? How far? He’s north of Scroby and four miles out and it’s not so clear but he expects it will be. North of Scroby. He doesn’t hold out much hope for my side.
Or do I, now. It doesn’t clear at Stanford. Out past the South Holm buoy. Keep paddling. I’m past the buoys now, passing boats, I’m on the horizon now; Lowestoft is a line in the sand. I call up Yarmouth, let them know I’m out here and setting a drift down towards Southwold; Reception is clear as a bell and at least anyone watching channel 16 will have heard my initial call. Looks like Lead Us are out but I can’t quite make out if it’s them or not, certainly looks like it from here. The water’s not clear here but slightly less murky; I carry on another half a mile then drop down and start to jig. I’m around the three-mile mark. It’s 80ft. Why didn’t I bring any bait?
I drift south, charts and sonar running, split screened. I’ll pass to the east of that wreck there, am doing just under 2mph. My wreck book, put together by divers, has got the reported position marked, not on the spot pinpointed on my paper chart, but hang about, I’m crossing a wreck now! Is this the true position, is it large wreck or is there another one not recorded? I mark it, grab a screenshot and pass on by.
I passed Kirkley and Pakefield, was coming up to Kessingland; a tug steamed out towards me, on course to run me down, clearly checking me out. A slight alteration to its course and it would pass ahead and offshore by a hundred yards; rod stowed, paddle in hand to move or brace, there’s a hell of a wash coming off this. Good move, I turn head on and I’m going up and down in short three footers for 30 seconds! I enjoyed that!
I’m coming past the Barnard Buoy now, where I cut off my anchor trolley eighteen months ago. I’d have passed over the Tunisiana and the others had the south easterly not been slowly pushing me inshore…here comes someone else to check me out! Looks like Cleveland Princess, do I raise the paddle to make sure they’ve seen me? No, they’ve seen me and are coming to say hi by the look of things.
“caught anything?”
“No, waiting for the water to clear, only brought feathers. Should have brought some squid, this is not happening! How are you doing?”
“Couple of dogs, we’re off to another mark. Want some squid?”
“Bloody hell, YES PLEASE!”
Blimey, a couple would have done me, just to bait the feathers with small strips but these fellas are lovely and a kilo falls into my lap! Manna from heaven? Who knows…
We have a chat and I decide to pop down to their pub for a beer next time I have a night off. They head off and I cut some strips for the tinsels and whack my 10/0 tope hook through a whole squid…with the hope of an idiot; me or the fish? You decide!).
Drift continues, still being blown slowly inshore. The Princess is stopped now, looks like it’s on my original planned line where some interesting features lie. I wonder if the water’s cleared there but decide to stay put for now, it’s either going to clear or it’s not but it’s not going to be Bombay Sapphire today that’s for sure; besides I caught on the drift out here last time I passed through. Hmm, and I’m quite a way out…
Not today though. Nothing’s feeding on my offerings! The tide’s slowed right down, I’m just about on slack, the only movement being inshore slowly from the breeze; it’s building as forecast. I’m off Benacre sluice now, a couple of miles off still. The sea is starting to change, subtly at first. I check things; straight line about 5.5 miles home. It’s gone 2pm, I need to be in bed in 3 hours before my next shift. Right, best to start heading back even if the tide hasn’t started turning yet. It’s not cleared and it ain’t going to. I stow the rod and start to paddle, not making much speed, 3mph max…bloody fool, I knew I should have brought my sail. I did consider it but with the slim hope of tope I decided to leave it out of the way. The wind direction was perfect for me to have a good long run back and I could maybe outrun the chop coming from behind as wind was now over tide. Perhaps it’d help tracking too, I’m paddling right-sided predominantly, the Scupper weather-cocking to the offshore side; a rudder would really have benefited this trip, no amount of leaning, edging or offsetting the paddle was going to help in this crosswind with a following sea. Bloody pain in the arse it was!
There’s nothing showing on the finder all the way back other than the bottom, at times only 6ft as I bounce over the banks and through the overfalls. I like that. I start to make a bit more headway as the current picks up slowly; maintaining 4-5mph is easy, I put some effort in and reach 7 but decide I can’t be arsed and have time anyway, may as well enjoy the trip for its own sake and I slow down again. It’s a long way anyway and quite rough.
I finally hit the beach after 3. I’ve covered over fifteen miles, been around three miles out, found eighty feet of water and broadened my horizons, reached it even. For nothing. Hahaha.
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