Tiny Versus Tiny…13/12/13

Tiny Versus Tiny…13/12/13 Oooh, Friday Thirteenth…oooh the horror, the horror…random connection here that I thought of as I wrote it, that bit I just said is a quote from the ending of Heart of Darkness, the novella that Apocalypse Now was loosely based on. Two connections actually, the first is that it involves the Congo where my maternal side spent quite a large part of this century but mainly that it was written by Joseph Conrad. There’s a new pub in town called the Joseph Conrad, named after him as he’d docked here once when he was a seaman. Last week, in the floods, it was under three feet of water. Anyway, that pads out the opening paragraph – pay it no more mind. Gary was due up here to learn anchoring, self-rescue, launching and landing and hopefully to catch a cod. The problem was the forecast was the same conditions as the day before, which was not pleasant, with the added bonus of rain and dull skies. I laid it out and he cancelled which I thought was, disappointingly, for the best. A 3-4 hour drive from Kent really needs a better window. Still, I’d have an hour or so to sleep and recover before Shaun and Paul turned up… Again I woke after ten minutes. Great. I got myself sorted and opened the door for my mates who were five minutes early to discover it wasn’t them. Police? RSPCA? Bailiffs? Assuming it was related to next door who just got evicted, not me. No, it was workmen to alter some furniture that was delivered badly made. “We’re here to fix the wardrobe”. “I’m going fishing.” I poured a coffee instead and made another for Shaun. The three of us sat around talking for a while instead and then went, Paul having to postpone. Down the end of the road, 200 yards, fish light and small for dabs, that’s the plan. Brisk tide and wind but a reasonably flat sea. Small hooks, small pinches of worm, small slivers of squid and those small reels again, tiny tiny tiny tiny…anchor down and baits down and I wait. I wait minutes…the first rattle, a strike, nothing there. Again. Then Shaun calls over, he’s got a six inch pin whiting. It’s good to see Shaun again, it’s been a couple of months or so. I can’t see him all the time though… I keep missing bites but at least there’s some movement unlike Corton recently; I drop down the bait size and keep trying, start holding the rod after the first bite to get the second and finally I’m quick enough and have my first fish, a monster whiting! This could be useful. I fillet it and start using small pieces to keep the hook point clear. I catch a couple more and watch a seal watching us close in. rarely see them from the beach here, and I mean rarely, but sit in a kayak for half an hour and you’ll have one pitch up. I don’t know where they come out of the water but I’m sure they don’t travel from too far. A couple of twitches, a couple of strikes and my luck changes as I pull in a double shot. Nice…unhooked and back over but where are the dabs? Shaun’s had a couple, one keeper and one too small to bother about. There’s no minimum size on dabs but there’s a minimum size that’s worth taking home to eat. They’re excellent tope bait of course but with those fish a good six months off there’s no telling how well a dab will perform after that length in the freezer scent-wise and it’s hardly going to give off any vibrations! Finally! I get my own. It goes back but at least I’ve got my target. We give it a couple of hours and then head in as the bites slow down. We have a date, long overdue, with a nice cod lunch. I’d invited Shaun before he last went offshore but he couldn’t make it so this time, being so close, the situation was ideal for us to tuck into the fillets sitting in the fridge the last three days and with a bottle of Wychwood mixed in with salt and self-raising flour standing all morning my batter was ready. Peas? Yes, I had a tin and some mint sauce to mix with them but no potatoes, no frozen chips either so out come the lah-di-dah potato croquets and they go in the fryer straight after while the fish drains. Ketchup and onion vinegar (reserved from the last jar of pickled onions) and the job’s a good’un. Delicious, sweet, bled and matured beer-battered fillets…it doesn’t get better than this.