A Quick Rinse…11.12.2012

Monday had a cracking forecast for surf, big swell and winds from the north / north east but there was just one problem for me and that was the tide times. My surf spot is at its best on the lead-up and onto to high water but with high being a couple of hours before I could get there I was kind of stuffed. I had to look though and so, an hour after on my way back from work I stopped for a look to see two boardies riding the last of the decent waves in the most glorious, vivid, wintery sunrise. It looked beautiful and I was envious in the extreme. But I was cold too; a day at home. Tuesday morning, high water an hour later, if I rushed I could be on the water for the remains…a smaller day than the previous one but what’s an hour of my life wasted if it’s no good? I rushed back from the school run, pulled on thermals and a drysuit – the 1.5 degrees outside scaring me away from my steamer wetsuit even if I could ride better with that – grabbed the headcam, my carbon Mystik and my waiting RRRapido, locked up and walked down to the beach. I could hear the waves from the beach and I’d already had a quick look. Not big and messier than yesterday - when I'd actually seen a truly beautiful wave run right along with three boardies on it as it started to get dark - but rideable just the same. A surfer I often bump into was then going onto the water too, he'd missed yesterday and hadn't enjoyed pulling himself into his wetsuit that was still damp from last time he'd been out. He made it out back before me and caught the one I had to pull over. Perfect start for him! I sat around for a bit and chatted when he came back out then, mid-sentences, turned and paddled catching my first wave. It was nice enough but they were running at a pronounced angle and halfway in I ran out of wave and just pulled myself up and paddled back out to catch some more. The next wave was a balls up, I nose-dived and flipped over from taking the steeper part of the wave from close to the groyne. Ah! Bloody ice cream head! A quick re-mount, paddle out and I picked up another, a bit late but pushed myself onto the top before dropping over the lip and down, turning and running along the face until that, too, disappeared and I went back out. A couple more surfers arrived and we shared the waves between us all. With the tide rapidly dropping rides became fewer and smaller and what looked to be a good wave coming in would just disappear between the bank and us; I paddled out to try and intercept them at the banks but it just didn't work. I came back in and grabbed another ride. I gave it a bit longer and then, after spending an hour or so in the water, I decided it was time to ride one in and go home. It took a while to find one and I gave it a go but it was weak now and I only got a short run before turning back for the beach and letting some foam from a follower wash me into the beach. Not a bad little play, maybe not an epic but my drysuit smells a lot better for it.

Snapper's Cold Snap...06/12/2012

Where are all the degrees? Eh? There ain’t any here, none at all…no, worse, we’re in debit by two and a half. Somebody has two and a half of my degrees and I have to walk home without them and then turn around half an hour later and run everyone to school….and go shopping…and take the bottles to the recycling…and pick up the new tyre…and do the washing up…hahahahahaha like I’m doing any of that shit, the wind has dropped and it ain’t raining so I’m fishing. As is my wont, I check the sea from the top of the cliffs – dumping at Dogger – and at the end of the road – nice shape for surfing but a couple of hours away from being rideable. Procrastinate fella…102 cod between ten boats on Sunday…surf likely to dissipate to piss me off…cod it is. Coffee and I’m away with a bag and a half of squid. I’m going light; no worm, no coolbox, 3 leads…bugger, no camera. Pull up, unload, park, walk back, tramp down the track at Tramp’s…oh. That’s going to be a giggle. The swell is quite decent but confused, umm, that shore dump is shitty...the waves are crashing onto the beach like two Mexicans. Four feet. It’s gonna be that timing thing again…get my shit stowed in the hatch or tied down, rods? Well, they’re staying up like usual. Anchor reel is clipped through the trolley carabiner. Watch, watch, watch, shuffle down, watch, watch, that’s him, last one, pull the yak forward and jump on as it reaches my hip and that big-ass Nordkapp blade digs deep, scooting me over and over and over and over and over and then I head north against the flood, slowly, we’re coming up to mid-tide as planned, that’s when the cod came on last time I was here but, dammit, it was slow progress to the rough mark but I didn’t know for sure where it was anyway so I went out far enough and long enough to hope and dropped down, scooting the trolley back as the anchor descended and I started the swing, locking the paddle under the keep and rotating the tubes forwards before I was facing downtide. Break off a squid, it's not defrosted yet. Just enough de-icing to keep it whole and with a bit longer in the saltwater in the footwells - which has dissolved the solid ice that was on when I launched - I can thread the bottom hook through the body from the top of the mantel. Top hook is a 2/0, bottom a 4/0 and there's a squid set on each of the pennels on this spreader wishbone. A breakaway is clipped onto the zip slider and I toss it out fifty yards and set to work on the second rod. Bloody cold it is. Did I mention the dusting of snow in the tankwell this morning? I'm wrapped up nicely and I keep my booted feet in the water to stop the windchill that is marginally worse. My big Russki Ushanka, two and a half rabbits worth, is keeping my head and neck toasty but as usual my hands are feeling it...especially when I start fiddling with frozen bait. I sit waiting for a while and then right-hand rod starts to twitch and I pick it up, wait to feel another twitch and strike, reeling in against the tide and wandering what I've got because it's not heavy enough for a cod and doesn't feel like a whiting...and up comes a nice dab. On whole squid. With a 4/0 in its chops. Go figure. Mind you, that's the fifth dab to take one of my 4/0's in a week. Next up is a whiting and a few more follow while I sit there until finally after a couple or three hours the tide drops away and the wind starts to turn me. I'm pretty damned cold here and a night watching old episodes of the A-Team has me hearing voices. My own voice to be fair, I’m talking to myself as usual. Every missed bite heralds a "Hey Sucka!" and every time I remember how cold I am I hear "Crazy Fool!” fair enough. I up-anchor and start heading in. I put my shoulders into it and get up a decent speed but...BA Baracus chimes in with I ain't gettin' on no plane!” Bugger. Well it's still as lumpy as bad custard, porridge-like in fact and the shore looks like it's going to become a scrapyard when I crash into it. I paddle as far as the last bit of unbroken water and hang there, maybe fifty yards off the shoreline, and watch. I've got a good few feet of water under my arse every four or five seconds and I watch and wait. My bay is clear, that's good, but there's an audience by the steps. That's a hex on me. I can divert north a bit maybe and try where it looks slightly less vicious but it might just be an illusion and I don't know what's submerged there. I've stowed my weights, bait, fish inside and I’ve clipped my anchor and reel on because, quite frankly, I know I’m going to come off. I've sat there considering cutting my rigs off, breaking my rods down, shuffling forwards and sticking them inside the front hatch with my c-tug and although I know I should it's kind of an admittance of defeat. I've come in through bigger plenty of times and sometimes I’ve remained upright too...yes, I should stash the rods but I really don't want to. So I hang there, watching, watching and wave after wave goes under me, then 4 biggies and the ones behind look smaller...I dig in and push, I’m on top of a smaller wave, coming in on its back, keeping up with it until it rears up and breaks, it pulls me down, the nose crashes into the sand where it shelves, the water foams over it, the kayak tilts to the right, the backdraft starts to suck me out again, the following wave rears up, crashes down, pushes my stern up and the nose further down but not forwards because I ain't going anywhere and with all the grace of a gutshot pig I give two fingers to Newton, observe gravity and have my kayak pass over the top of me, inverted. Hmm. Deja-vu. That'll teach me to refuse to stow the rods inside because I bet...yep. Snapped tip. Ah well, it's been a few years since I didn't get away with it and it'll clear some space. So it's farewell to the second of four 3 piece Shimanos...2 more to go and I can go shopping again. I whip everything out of the hull. The fish I kept, a lunch, are stinking, having got coated in the minging green slime that is coating the interior, the remnants of a summertime’s bassing so a quick rinse and it's time to call the Coastguard and let them know I’m in... "Yarmouth Coastguard, Yarmouth Coastguard, this is Kayak Snapper, Kayak Snapper" "Kayak Snapper this is Yarmouth Coastguard are you on your way in?" The temptation to answer "No, I've just washed up!"

Strange Days…30/11/2012

I reckoned I could be there just after nine. I’ve blown my yellow van up you see, that means the yak is now on my wife’s car and I have to drop them all at school first. So I arranged for 9:30 at Hopton and got there just after Mike. I was hoping to see Mel after his night session but he’d already left. The sea was up, pretty much on high water; it looked pleasant out there and the launch looked fine, with timing. That was the key as the odd set would roll in at quite a crotch-soaking size. Mike went first and I followed, paddling out against a still-running tide and anchoring up slap-bang on my mark. Down went the anchor and what the hell? There was a couple of knots running. Come on, it was high water, slack was just around the corner, half an hour away, maybe a bit more…but this was good and I dropped down. Straight into bites. Whiting rattles converted into fish every time, some decent ones and a few small ones but mostly reasonable, average fish. I was returning most though, just retaining a few big ones for the next day’s lunch and a couple that were deeper hooked. I was after cod. So, whole squid on spreader wishbone pennels…were the cod here? It’d worked last week a mile or two to the south, not an option today for rebounding swell…then the first of my three dabs jumped onto the hook…a 4/0 hook. I’d considered fishing smaller hooks for these beforehand but really wanted to get some bulk for smoking and loading into a fish pie. I love dabs you see. But I didn’t fish for them so I’ll change the subject. I’d had loads of fish by now and then spotted Tim on his way down the ramp. First time we’d been on the water together in a long, long time. Out he came and anchored up next door though the bites were starting to slow now and by the time Ian pitched up the tide had slowed and was thinking about starting to turn. I pulled up and rebaited, sitting around doing nothing for a while as we turned, I didn’t want four decent baits ripped to shreds being pulled along the bottom. I waited and as I finally swung around and the warp tightened up I dropped down again. Got a few bites but was now further north than I wanted to be. I pulled up and went back to my mark, reset the anchor and dropped down. With the second baits descending I got ready to pick up the first rod; double shot, unhooked, back down as the other rods starts going; double shot, unhooked, back down and pick up the other rod; double shot…squid is being used too quickly, I need it for cod, I fillet a deep-hooked whiting and pop some strip baits out, this should slow stuff, it’s never been much of a bait but cod eat them…and the tip starts rattling and I carry on hauling whiting and chucking hem back. Mike has gone in at slack, Ian is a ways off and Tim is not getting bites. It’s going absolutely mental here, it’s manic. Like a manic depressive it stops. Complete reversal. Nothing. Twenty minutes of hell breaking loose then nothing. No bites. Squid, blacks, strip bait. Ten minutes pass, little twitch, nothing there. Ten minutes pass, another, nothing there. Where is the tide? The ebb is just trickling north, no strength, no power, a knot max even coming up to mid tide. Ah well, I’ve been up since 11:30 last night and am going out on the town with some colleagues tonight, best I go home and try to get at least one hour’s sleep… The flood had been spectacular from the sea, with 3ft swells crashing larger against the sea defences and spraying fifteen feet in the air but it was nicer now and we scooted in nice and gentle to the beach. I felt bad; I assumed the others had been catching at the rate I had but they hadn’t. Ian at least had enough for tea so I gave Tim all my whiting. I could have filled his boot.

The Lull Before…24/11/2012

I was nonplussed. I really had no idea what to expect from the day. I’d got a Friday night off which meant a Saturday session was possible which coincided with Si not being at work and having not fished together since he’d started at the new place months ago there was no question of not going. The trouble was, I had to be back to get the girls off to swimming which meant leaving home at 2…but low water was 12:30, the ebb would continue to run for another 30-40 minutes at least and then there was the paddle back and loading up. It couldn’t be done as I was so delightfully informed by she whose car I’d be using, having blown my van’s engine earlier in the week, covering half the retail park and filling PC World, Carpet Right and the brand new Morrison with thick white smoke in the five minutes that my engine ran away with itself en-route to shaking itself to bits. So in some convoluted literary way my plans were fucked. So, following the argument I lost I sent Si a text to give him the great news that instead of fishing the last of the ebb and up-anchoring in slack water we’d be getting up early, in the dark and hauling anchor mid-tide. He was overjoyed as you can imagine. Now, this could go either way; I rarely fish the start of a tide as I get so bored during slack I come home. Nah, give me the end of the ebb or end of the flood at a push. Next problem was the timing. High water was 05:43; add in half an hour or so until slack and another half hour for the flow to switch direction and we’d already be missing the initial stages which I’ve previously found seems to trigger feeding; cod first, whiting next and then the whole lot dying off as the tide builds towards mid-flow. So we’d be late and hobbled. And we’d have to come back against the flow…unless…one vehicle at Hopton and one at Tramps where we were launching? That’d be another half hour wasted at least. No. Bugger that. Last minute change of plan and we head straight out and slightly south from the ramp at Tramps hoping we can find a decent patch on the finder. Well, luck started to sort of smile here and there, both good and bad. Though it was now 7 by the time we were on the water the flood was still running though just about on its last legs. Out I went, 300-400 yards or so and maybe the same south of the ramp but, damn it, corrosion had snapped off a pin from my power socket on the fishfinder so no marks and no sonar; fish blind and look for the needle in the haystack. Well, I found a patch of sea that was just the same as any other from where I was sitting and dropped anchor. It was flat calm, the sky was lightening and it felt far warmer than the just-above-freezing due to the almost complete lack of wind. Sweet! A nice big frozen black slid up between the two 4/0 Vikings on my pennel and then an small unwashed loligo squid hooked at the side, one through the top of the mantle and one through the bottom and then back on itself and through the eyes. First bait down and a second made up and sent to the bottom. Yep, the depth seemed okay at least. Si dropped down and sat a bit behind and inshore of me, just enough to shout at each other. There he sat while my rods didn’t so much as twitch for the next hour; three whiting and I’d not had a bite, this could get embarrassing. Still no current though, in fact it wasn’t until 07:45, two hours after high, that the ebb actually started and pulled the lines taught. Another half an hour and then I started getting little knocks, taps and rattles. Still, sunrise was nice enough. I missed them all. They were irregular and few and far between. A quick tap and then off the fish went, not taking a second bite. Strikes missed. Pins? Dabs? Nah, bastards! It took the best part of an hour before finally I got a hook-up and what a nice whiting to be going on with, a pound or so in weight and a nice account given of itself. Then I missed a few more. The tide started picking up quite quickly once it started running and my fourth whiting, only a little one, was enough to snap the thin cable tie I’d used as a weak link on the anchor and, with it reversed, I started to drift fairly quickly. It was now mid-tide which usually doesn’t produce much for me. Up came the anchor and I stuck two ties on, dropping down again. I’d moved maybe quarter of a mile in this time. I was still a good quarter mile south of the charter boats who’d set up; Cleveland Princess and Lead Us had both come past on their way out just after slack, High Flyer running down from the north soon after. They’d since been joined by Katie Louise and another; cod season clearly building with plenty of anglers spread between them. Here comes Brian… …and there’s Colin A securite announcement came over the radio; force 7 gusting gale 9 and force 8 gusting storm 10 were on their way. We really had been sitting in a lull and though we had no more than a four, absolute max, by the time we went in, it had still built considerably from what it’d been at launch and it continued; by mid-afternoon when I drove over the bridge it looked gnarly through the harbour mouth and by five when I went to bed the wind was keeping me awake. I started to get the odd whiting soon after I’d settled again and then, once the water started to colour up at last, bang. A lower case bang that didn’t result in a hook-up but that was a cod bang. Five minutes later a bigger cod bang that again didn’t see me hook-up. Another five and less of a bang and more of a rattle and I was into a codling. Now, an under 2lb codling is no monster but in full flow with a wide-open gob it requires rather more effort than you’d expect. Most enjoyable! I called up Si to let him know the cod were switched on now, being cheeky as much as anything else, seeing as how he’d been hammering me earlier though I did also let him know they were hitting double squid and weren’t at all interested in worm; before he answered I had some banter from ‘an unnamed mate’ to the north :-) So, following another missed bite and second cod, a 3lb’er this time, said unnamed-mate got called up and asked to carry on chumming the fish for me as they were getting bigger. Haha. I figured bragging rights were in order! It tickled me, anyway. However, numbers three and four would have been cruel so I kept quiet, just hauled them in, knocked them on the head and stuffed them down the hatch into the hull. Providence was clearly smiling on me for once when the anchor tripped. I decided I fancied a walk and, surprisingly, I had a companion volunteer to accompany…most unexpected as I figured they’d have moved off by now. Such a little sweetie. I’d told my wife I was still stuck because of the tide and would be late (payback) but as the current began to ease the whiting came back and I loaded up with the last of my squid for a last cast in case there was still some cod lurking around; four whiting said no and so I called up Si and we headed in, landing on the beach just in time to watch ‘unnamed friend’ motor south and anchor up where I’d been…that tickled me something rotten! (Though to be fair he’s put me onto fish before). I hope he had the luck I came across though, for that’s all that caught me those fish really. It wasn’t a mark I’d have headed for if I’d launched when intended originally, I’d got no electronics to find promising ground and I’d only ended up there after breaking out an anchor.. Still, with over 10lb of fresh codling to fillet and smoke I’ll be tucking into the fish pie I’ve been waiting for for a few weeks with great delight and getting my arse back on the water as soon as there’s another window amongst the high winds and big seas that are going to batter the east coast for the foreseeable…and with the charters all catching cod for their customers too this ain’t the time to be hanging about on land. If you want to get ahead get afloat.

Ignoring the Hint…16/11/2012

I woke up okay but I didn’t much fancy leaving my bed. It took a while and in the end I had only forty minutes until Wilmy pitched up. That’s why, half an hour later, my hurried ascent of the stairs knocked out any immediate impetus. It was that chilli I’d made the night before. Wilmy pitched up as I came back down the stairs. So we began with a coffee to see if things would settle and, appearing to, we set off. Ian’s day had started badly too, the angling shop not yet open due to illness leaving him devoid of bait, weight and traces. No matter, the freezer was raided and off we set, doing a lap first while I went to fetch a spare anchor reel…it was going well. The traffic through town was atrocious and all the time the tide was running out. Still, we got through and turned onto Beach Road and, when he moved to the side, passed the man standing in the middle of the track. Incredibly fast as he was to tell us when coming and taking my registration number, speeding no less (though he didn’t know what the speed limit would be here. Built up area? Any guesses? If you can do thirty down there you certainly ain’t in my van). There’s kids down there you see, presumably truanting as it was the middle of a school day but as we didn’t see any and he couldn’t answer that we just took his word for it. Anyway, I regretted my cheery good morning to him before he started with his grumbling and let him get on with his threats of reporting me to the police who would be jailing me in due course. Clearly they don’t prosecute people for wasting police time then but I didn’t ask him that, merely for his name and address as he had my details and it was surely only fair. He declined, once he became un-stumped for words. Anyway, the silly old cunt wandered off in self-righteous indignation and a badge-studded hat with his false accusations and we wandered down to a flat sea, so full of positive energy by now that we couldn’t fail to hit the jackpot! I dropped anchor with the tide still running quite hard and stuck out two rods, both with 4/0 penneled black lug and squid and watched as Wilmy pottered about for a bit before dropping down nearby. I sat and waited. For quite a while. Half an hour or so in fact before the rod finally dipped down into a missed bite. It took a bit longer before I got my first; back it went, I have plenty for now and was on up for large ones today. It was so slow! Tiny bites that didn’t connect…finally though a keeper, a good whiting that gave a good account of itself. It stayed aboard, to be joined a while later by a decent dab. It was a bit nippy out here and with only a dozen or so fish at most (the majority caught on blacks with whole squid) of which I kept three, and very few decent bites there seemed little point staying past slack and so we headed in, landing easily by a beach angler who’d not had much either. Had it not been better than the alternative of doing nothing it’d have been a waste of time and effort…

In the Lap of the Cods…12/11/12

I could smell them coming, from the east, carried on the winds. Few in recent times have seen these cods, many disbelieve but where there is faith there is hope. And where there is hope there is cod. Mind you, I’d have to get through the whiting first but that’s no bother, I enjoy the constant rattles and the taste that results. It was a calm sea, a mild day and only the lightest of breezes and with a couple of hours before low water I figured on three hours of fishing the optimum end of the ebb. So there I was, on the beach at Hopton looking out at a dinghy anchored on my intended spot, one I’d scanned but only fished once; no matter, I chose another spot, further north in line with my usual mark and further offshore. I dropped anchor and settled down. Bites from the off, good bites too that resulted in hook-ups. I was landing fish at a steady rate. I could hear the radio chatter on 8 and the charter to my south was also on the whiting but had seen no cod as yet, another about to join him and drop anchor. My first fish went back down as a livebait, liphooked on a 6/0. The second went back, the third fooled me into thinking cod…it was a good fish but no, still a whiting. But then the tide started to ease and the whiting disappeared. It was time, perhaps, to make the best baits up and leave them to tempt their larger kin. Tempt their kin it did. A 4/0 pennel with black lug and a whole unwashed squid side-hooked did the business as the rod thumped towards the ending of a telephone conversation. Poor Si, stuck inland, at work, as I strike into a codling, my first of the season. Heavier than its weight I thought I had a three-pounder but no, it was probably half that but a good few centimetres in-size. Times are hard! Home it came. There wasn’t a great deal more going on over the next half-hour but then, a tremble that I kept ignoring finally yielded a skinny dab of maybe 6 inches, darker and spottier than normal, on a 4/0 pennel and a huge bait. It didn’t look at all dab-like, more like a baby halibut I decided but sadly the rough skin and curved lateral line denied me that as a species. On slack I up-anchored and headed ashore, landing a few minutes behind the dinghy. The pair of them had managed only whiting. As for the charters? The first had gone in an hour before slack with only whiting and the one dropping anchor had only had the one. I reckon I did alright.

Dull and Pointless Piking…09/11/2012

I had to nip to Beccles for a doctor’s appointment so it seemed like a good idea to do a bit of piking while I was there. It was a mild morning, a bit windy but quite bright so the lures should get seen with a bit of luck. The water was up quite high too so I could use a greater range, the bottom being 6-8ft or so down for much of the route I’d be taking normally with weed down their too so the extra foot or two clearance would help. The only thing I didn’t like was the speed of the water; the river was in ebb and was moving through at a steady rate. I still had a pair of Magnums on from the other day so I started off with them, launching off the pontoon where some guys had set up for a spot of deadbaiting. I headed straight off through the town, running downriver with strokes every now and then to keep my track but there was nothing doing. I passed under the bridge and changed to a redhead J13 by the boatyard and cast it out. There was a fella in a boat just down from there on the corner and as I approached the J13 rod walloped down; I grabbed the rod and felt a couple of lunges before the line went slack. Damn, not good. Reeling in I noticed that the hooks had dulled from rust since I’d last used this one. My own fault I’d lost what felt like a reasonable fish. Still, maybe one of the multitude of pikers in the area might get it a bit later. I passed the bypass bridge and then turned, heading back up once more a lot slower, against the wind and flow now. The advantage here was a lot more movement in the lures. Passing under the bridge again the constricted flow was surprisingly fast, somewhere in the region of 3mph I’d guess. It was no real surprise that the fish weren’t too active! I passed the launch point, the guys on the bank reporting no fish, and carried on upstream. Then Marty called to see if I fancied a boat trip tomorrow but with too much on I had to decline. As we nattered I saw a swirl in the water ahead and aimed and passed over the spot; the J13 rod banged down again and, hanging up I pulled into the fish. More lunges, really strong ones that turned the boat around quickly and I passed the line over the bow to keep it from tangling the other. This really was a decent fish. But I didn’t see that one either. Those hooks would need sharpening, that’s for sure. I carried on up towards Barsham and, with the takes having both been on a redhead I swapped Firetiger J13 on the other rod for a redhead sliver and cast it out. I made around fifty yards and then the rod banged down again. This time the fish stayed on and after a spirited scrap I picked a 2lber out of the water. Something to photograph at last. I unhooked it and popped it back in, watching it shoot off swiftly. I continued past the pump house and then decided I wasn’t feeling all that interested and turned for home, the water running too quick for effective trolling as the lures weren’t moving much at the speed I was doing, even on the drift it was too quick. I followed a kingfisher for some of the way, sighting the fleeting blues as it took wing then chose another bankside tree to shelter until I once more came close. The guys at the launch were packing up as I arrived and had blanked so perhaps I had a lucky time of it after all, even if my main success had come on a dull and pointless lure…

Dredging Some Up...07/11/2012

It's my dad's 70th birthday and I’ve been up all night. That's a solid reason to go fishing I reckon. After a blustery and wet few days the sun is out and though fresh it's not as cold as it has been as I make my way home to get changed, drink yet another coffee and take the girls off to school, my wife having the day off; my only task today is to make muffins for dad when mum drags him over here as a surprise at half three. With an arranged 10am meet-up that's going to give me a fairly short but reasonable time on the water with Wilmy who's cherry failed to get popped last time we tried for pike. I'd originally planned to go to Beccles as normal but I’m starting to find it far too familiar. I'd gone right off Oulton Broad after the bastard Napoleons had ticketed my van having changed the parking rules (taken away the free winter parking on mud) and had not set foot there since last winter but a chance natter on the phone with Marty changed my mind; he was dredging there for a few days so a mid-session coffee was on offer. I'm fickle enough to base my fishing on such things. I pulled up and unloaded then went to park the van on a side road then called Ian; I couldn't see him and I'd not been quite specific enough, poor bugger had been waiting just up the road. No matter, he came round, unloaded and went to park up and then off we went, heading straight for the dead end. I was trolling a super shad rap and a jointed one as well; big lures that I thought might pull a beauty out. The wind was starting to build as I went around my favoured spot but nothing doing; I headed up the broad to find Marty, snagging just before I got to him. That’s when my phone rang... Ian was still in the dead end and had got one on, his first ever pike. I headed down to get it on film and give him a hand unhooking it. A respectable fish, 3lb or so but with its jaw stapled shut which complicated things somewhat but it was soon dealt with and after a quick grip and grin it went back into the water. Sweet! Coffee time...Marty had the Gold blend ready by the time we got up there and, tied off and basking in the sun we had a good natter before heading off again. Last time I’d seen him we were on his boat catching cod off Corton a couple of weeks back… I'd changed lures but was still having no joy...I crossed the mouth of the dyke and met up with Ian again who'd had another up to the side before it spat the hooks. Bastard. I headed through my hot spot, hit the bottom and jerked the rod to clear it of weed. Thanks to my Gemini quick link this resulted in a new Sliver disappearing, the swivel running up the link and off. I was not impressed and angry with myself as it wasn't the first time. I cut the links off and tied them before heading past the holiday village. The wind was strong now and with two J13's out I drifted down to the dead end again, nothing. I was resigned to a blank now but tried anyway, making a circuit before crossing the bay again, that’s when I saw he'd got another one! Another bit of film and another unhooking followed by a grip and grin, a longer, fatter fish in the region of 6lb he was made up. Not bad for a virgin, not bad at all! That was it, time to go and trying one last time with a couple of Magnum CD9's we crossed the broad, pulled up onto the pontoons and went to get the vans. I may have blanked but it was a great success to see Ian break his duck so well and on such a beautiful day too.

All Hail the RRRapido...27/10/2012

I was chomping at the bit. All night I was jumpy, waiting impatiently for the clock to hit 8 and release me to get changed and hit the beach. In fact, I was intending to leave early if at all possible but let down by a shift partner who didn't arrive and a replacement who was late in I had to leave on time. It had been cold when walking in that night, the northerly blowing right through me and it was cold now, too. I didn't go the direct way though, heading instead towards the beach to walk the promenade and cut back home. The sea was up, ten minutes off high water, and the spray was shooting up in the air as it hit the concrete at the north end of South Beach. It was looking promising as I approached. I walked south, my head cocked to the left as I stared at the water. Good swells, large; larger than yesterday. Waves were coming in constantly, mostly in the 6-8ft range, with not a lot of time between them though it was cleaner than yesterday. I was getting excited now! This was looking the best it had been in the year I'd owned my RRRapido! I picked up my pace, passed the watching boardies trying to decide what to do and got home with no further delay. No-one was up so I squeezed into my Psycho III wetsuit, bought from Shore Watersports especially for days like this, popped my Kolas on (to avoid waking my wife rummaging for my wetsuit boots) and went and said hello to my littlest, reading quietly in bed, and suggested she might want to come down later and watch the surfers. Out the back I went, picked up my RRRapido and the double torque Mystik and wandered up the alleyway to the beach, turning to look at the rainbow behind me. The sun was still climbing, dead ahead, as I approached the front. Boardies were milling around everywhere, only two suited up as yet, and I attached the ATC9K to the bow before descending to the sand. One boardie was on his way out, the first, and another followed me, leapfrogging ahead as I adjusted my thigh straps. The sea was pounding and I just couldn't see any gaps; launching was going to be interesting to say the least. Best I just suck it and see then! I entered the foam and, where I'd been knee deep the morning before I was now in up to my chest - the north-easterly swells had scoured so much of the beach away in the preceding twenty-four hours it was untrue. Likewise, the sand shipped in over the last few weeks was mostly gone too. I clambered on and started to paddle without time to put the thigh straps on, the paddle leash getting in the way (fitted due to the anticipated congestion this morning and the knowledge that I'd be in the water a fair bit). I got fifty yards, over the first couple of waves and then, in a wall of foam, got flipped backwards. Strike One! I washed up on the beach and headed back out...got fifty yards again and then got hit by more foam. Strike Two! Starting to feel silly now...try again...fifty yards, wall of water, Strike Three! Around Strike ten or twelve I decided to head up the beach away from the groyne and try and take the rip in the centre of the beach out. I made a couple of attempts here and, like the flotsam that I was, wandered back onto the promenade to try and locate somewhere I could get in...it didn't look any better before the pier. I got my breath back and decided to try along the edge of the groyne again. It just wasn't possible! The waves were relentless, no more than 5 or 6 seconds apart and no small sets. Time and again I got trashed, unable to duck dive like the boardies and without enough speed to combat the onrushing water and with the camera being ripped off the mount again, no longer attachable, I gave up and decided I had no option but to walk. I'd provided good entertainment for at least three-quarters of an hour after all...and there was no way I was going home until I'd got out back and ridden at least one wave! A quarter of a mile later and I was stood by the lifeguard post, the base of which was getting hammered by swirling water. Deflected further southwards by the harbour, the waves rolling in were a bit lower and a bit less powerful. I waited for the best moment and went for it, paddling out easily and heading south with the wind behind me, trying to pick up anything that looked rideable from where I was...I got assistance from a few but nothing that lasted and after another five minutes I approached the break. I stayed offshore from the boardies by around fifty yards and a similar distance southwards. There was no way I wanted to run anyone over and I wasn't convinced I’d be staying upright all that much! Besides, when I got my wave I wanted a clear run - it took long enough to get out here and I wasn't going to do it again! They weren't quite peaking where I was so I waited and waited, trying here and there but just running for a bit before being overtaken...and then...and then...eight foot up from the trough , running right along the full length of the groyne and beyond, stretching back a way from the rapidly-moving face came this wall of water, a huge wall of water, still growing, sucking up more from the trough ahead and starting to become more vertical as I ran ahead and it started to catch up...I could feel it picking me up and, moving with it the lip started to curl over beneath me...I was on top of the wave, right on the crest and I was stuck, I couldn't get onto the face with the wave moving so fast and then there was no bloody chance I'd even try as it disappeared beneath me, my arse on the wave and my feet overhanging the lip as I stared down to the bottom of the trough, seemingly a hundred feet below as I skidded around on the top and dropped off, paddling hard to clear the following wave and regain a position to take-off from. It was exhilarating, that's for sure. It reminded me of a time a couple of years before when the wave I was surfing reared up just before shore and looked like depositing me in a massive, bone-crunching dump before crumbling beneath and giving me a soft landing on foam...but I didn't think I'd have done any more than get battered and half-drowned from this one and I'd already had a gob-full of North Sea during the launches! I tried for a few more, being overtaken again after a couple of seconds and then the hail started. It had been dark for a while, and I mean dark, and as the squall passed through the hail hammered down painfully on my freshly-clippered head and the backs of my hands. It made one hell of a racket and stung as it hit. Some summer this is!!! I took another big wall, sat on top again as it left me hanging and moved on; it just wasn't happening for me today. I waited a bit longer for a wave, had a small run but hooked back over when it started to close out and then got hit by another, longer and harder hailstorm. This was getting silly now. Then, finally, one started to shape up nicely and I ran ahead of it, picking it up and shooting down, hooking into a bottom turn and running along the face; this was the one I’d waited for since getting out, the one that'd take me back into the beach, honour sort of semi-restored...I ran with it and then, coming out ahead I see a boardie...shit! No avoiding him in this track, no option but to pull off the wave. A pity but that's life and I was stuck where I was, getting back out was going to be doubtful so I did the next best thing and caught the following wave, scooting past and round the surfer and ending in a sideways slide onto the beach. I picked up the RRRapido and, after stopping to chat for a few minutes, headed home for a coffee to wake myself up and get some warmth back into my wet, shivering, battered arse!

Roughing it on the RRRapido…26/10/12

I rather fancied that forecast…north easterly, blowing hard and ramping up the waves. Hmm. The best time would be about 06:30 for an hour or two, after that the water level would drop and the swell would be absorbed by the banks. The trouble was, I wasn’t due to finish work until 8… I managed to leave ever so slightly early and went home, greeting the family briefly before deciding against my wetsuit and clambering into the drysuit to save time and give me a bit more comfort (even though it’s harder to perform in it). I untied my RRRapido, rigged up my replacement ATC9K onto the bow for filming and then wandered down the beach with it over my shoulder on a thigh strap. I recognised the van in the cul-de-sac, recognised the two people looking at the waves. I was surprised that they weren’t in the water; I was surprised that no-one was even though it was messy – messy, but big and rideable. I couldn’t waste time and in I went, paddling up the length of the groyne. I moved out past the end, the wind holding me against the current and waited all of a minute before paddling for shore in front of a wave that had ramped up nicely to around 4ft; I was away…15mph, 15 seconds of down and along and then I cut back and over. Sweet! I paddled back out, getting to my start position, paddled, leaned badly and was in, grabbing the thigh strap just before the first wave broke on me, propelling me into shore. I bobbed over the second and, as the third broke got set and threw myself back aboard as it passed. The next ride was going beautifully until I got cocky and tried for a 180, 8 seconds in. I swung her around but leaned badly while still at an angle, dug the arse in as the nose got foamed and went over. Never mind, I’ll get there when the waves are cleaner; I want to do it on camera though, having managed it a few times on smaller waves and I want to make it around to the full 360 but I need these surf days to happen! I am so out of practice it’s untrue, the RRRapido having cursed the swells here. Well, I was back out once more and here came a beauty…it’d make 5-6ft and I ran ahead, as it caught me up, still on the rise. Down the face, into a turn and I’m skimming along at 16.77mph; the crest is about to crumble and I shoot upwards, catch some clean water and run down again, impressing myself, and keep going before the waves breaks apart and I slide in towards the beach sideways in a pile of foam. Twenty seconds of a fantastic ride and then, as the bubbles dissipate beneath me I roll over in the shallows unable to get back from my leaning brace. I paddle back out. It’s getting messier now, some larger waves are coming through but most are getting smashed before they arrive with most of the rideable stuff closer in than I can be bothered with. I‘m flagging now though, after forty minutes of battling wind and waves to hold position and I start screwing up. I’m catching waves late and pearling, I’m leaning wrong and rolling, I’m all over the place and I’ve got an audience. I get the odd wave and ride it a bit before being flicked over. There’s water in the hull now too, not a lot but enough to affect my stability; worst of all it’s a battle to get out and three or four times I get almost to my start point when a biggie rolls in, breaks and trashes me, washing me backwards. I’m swearing. I get out again and see a beauty lining up, the biggest of the day, this will make 8ft…that’s very, very good for here and it’s nicely shaped too. The trouble is I’m too close in for it now, waiting for the sixes, and if I try to ride it I’m going to get trashed; I won’t get enough speed up, it’ll be a late drop in and it’ll take me too vertical. I’ll pearl and get hammered worse than the last wave that held me, with buoyancy aid and drysuit, under the water for a couple of seconds, tumbling. I have no choice but to bottle it and try to haul myself over it in time…I make it and regret it for the rest of the day. I catch a couple more that don’t throw me in and then have a bad run. I decide on one more good, long run and make my way out as a couple of boardies pitch up and paddle out. I chat briefly with one and head for my take-off spot, ignoring one wave because number 2 is paddling out and will be in my way. In fact, both of them are on my line for the next quarter of an hour and I have to ignore most of my waves, choosing lesser ones that have me in when the run is clear. Damn damn damn…just one more! I swim a couple of times and then, a smaller one of 4ft or so comes in, nice and wide and I decide what the hell and take it, scooting in past the boardies for a decent run, turn side-on and shoot up to the beach in the foam. That’s it, I’m knackered now and the best of the day has passed. Tomorrow’s looking even better…