I pull up at mine, Dav is already here. My neoprene shorts and I walk in, my barefeet now dry and sand-free – my dad told me my car was disgraceful and needed a clean, for once, bored, I’d decided to do something about it and given it a wash and a hoover. It was now, one launch on, full of sand and covered in dried seawater and sand. Marvellous idea. No matter, coffee to drink.
Coffee, peckish too. Burgers – just mince, no processing or junk in them – sprinkled with habanero tabasco go into the pan. Dav’s not eating. We drink, then open the door and run out into the garden; frying habanero is as toxic as nerve gas! Never mind, I plate them with a couple of egg yolks spare from Eloise making meringues and down it goes; delicious. Not relevant of course but it sets the scene, relevance beginning with me getting my leads, some squid and the rods and heading out to the car.
Straight down to Tramps and onto the beach. Garry isn’t heading this way now. We launch and I notice lots of naked people walking round. This is no longer a nudist beach but they seem to be blissfully unaware of this. Or in defiance. We paddle out as naturists strut around, arms folded across their chests as they have no pockets or stand there, hands on hips, thrusting themselves at the sun. Dammit, I’m going to hold up a smoothie and shout SHHHAAAARRRRRKKKKKK!!!!! When I come in. Still grinning I anchor up, we’re about four hundred yards out as usual.
We fish for a bit with no bites and then, as it starts to ease which is the usual time for the hounds a strange, fast bite occurs and I strike. Funny old feeling on the end of this, strange kind of pull. I wind up and it comes to the surface…EEL!!!
Now I’m over the moon. I’ve broken the run of (two) blanks and bagged a point for the competition that is somewhat of a rarity these days. It’s also a new personal best (another one!) at around a pound. It’s only the third I’ve had on the kayak since I started back in 2006 too and on a 2/0 pennel and whole squid it’s a surprise; those Maxximus hooks must be sharp! I unhook him and he releases himself backwards down a scupper hole with no obvious ill-effects. I’m chuffed to bits. Dav is biteless though.
A bit of time passes and then he calls over, he’s in now, had a smoothound pup. I’m pleased, but it turns out he already had one as a point so nothing for a meal or a big scrap there. Not like the one I get half an hour later…
…small bite, I strike but feel nothing. I leave it a minute and then wind in; the rod arches over and there’s a hound on the end, banging away. It runs, line peels off and I tighten the drag. Oh. This reel is running rough, it’s salted up. I have a bit of a job tightening the drag enough and getting the fish up but up it comes eventually and into the boat, a five pound male.
I put that rod down - that's my evening sorted, need to strip and clean the reels tonight ready to go out boat fishing tomorrow. It was bound to happen sooner or later though with the hammering I give them!
A while later it's time to land. I have a daughter to fetch and Dav has to get home. We come in, avoiding groynes and groins and with my hound going home with Dav for dinner I pose for a quick photograph, something that appeals to my strange sense of humour...
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