I’d called Tony up to see if the holiday was getting to him, having to sit there twiddling his thumbs and all that and needing to escape. The schools broke up yesterday you see and teachers have too much spare time thrust upon them. Well, of course he was up for a hound session, as was Mike. I was up early with a bunch of reports to write up, having been running around so much of late and the weather slowly deteriorated into rain as things got closer. Tony pitched up just before nine which allowed coffee and me to run around getting stuff ready and then we were off. Sort of, I had to return to put the bins out but apart from that we were off.
Mike was there already and within a short space of time we were down on the beach and out to sea. The rain had gone and it was beautiful again; no wind, flat sea, clearish water, sunny with blue skies. A toasty day. The question of course was whether to stay here or hit Corton downtide. We stayed put, paddling uptide for ten minutes to a usually-productive mark and dropped anchor.
Within a few minutes Tony’s shoe was floating downtide.
He unclipped his anchor and set off in hot pursuit to my amusement, returning soon after with the offending article of clothing.
The tide was running hard again and once again mother nature came to say hi, with a seal this time.
I got bored. I called Paul to see if he fancied a river session to try and find ruffe and bream. It was while leaving a message that I got a nice bite which amounted to nothing. Damn. A second one didn’t come. Ten minutes later and my spririts were lifted when Mike called over to say he was in and sure enough a hound was on the end of his line; only a pup but a start.
Twenty yards to my side I spied movement, I turned and there was a porpoise broaching! I called to Tony – he looked offshore. I called again as it broached again; no, he’d not seen it. “Ahead of you!” and once again it broke surface, thirty, forty yards downtide of him. His first sighting of one and a great view of it too, close and well exposed.
…but you can’t eat porpoises (well, you probably can but that’s not the point). So we carried on trying to tempt a fish…
Trying and failing. The occasional single bite that didn’t develop including one superb wallop that had me sure a decent fish had hooked itself. I was so bored by now even a lovely wooden yacht was a gratefully received diversion.
Mind you, it wasn’t like my baits were completely hopeless – they were in the right area and attractive but the third whelk was really getting to be enough!
Mike called up that he was heading in just before slack water and came to give me a mackerel as bait in case of need. He threw it, I fumbled it and it sank away for a seal/porpoise/whelk to eat…
That did it. We headed in as well, thinking to try for bass if the water was clear by the harbour but alas it wasn’t and without any enthusiasm left and the feeling that it was too hot for pike Tony and I sat in the garden eating chili burgers and drinking coke floats. Sometimes even my enthusiasm wanes.
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