Not In My Back Yard…04/09/2013

Not In My Back Yard…04/09/2013 Nah, not here. They’re southerners. And westerners too. Not easterners, not good old Anglians. Nope. Well, on occasion, rarely, accidentally, apparently. Never seen a picture or a real one from less than an hour’s drive away. Doesn’t mean I can’t pull one out like a rabbit from a hat though does it? Besides, there’s something else that’s known to have come from there in the past and something else that could well do. I’m talking about that most beautiful of species, well, a few species of it, that barely edible pest with the big crunchy teeth, the rockfish of Victorian times. You know the one. Been maybe five years since I’ve had one and that was way down south. I’m ahead of myself. Didn’t need to be super dad today, Eloise was off to her first day at high school – her last day of childhood being filled with upside down high-g and extreme suspension at the local theme park – and Abigail was off to spend the day at the friends. I was due back on shift so would need to be in bed early, this gave a window of a couple of hours or so. I dropped Abigail, stopped at Angling Mad which I visit far too infrequently as I rarely use fresh worm. Great service, great chat and he broke the rules and only sold me ten lug which was more than enough – thank you! Home. Yak off the car and onto the trolley, walk down to the beach, launch and paddle and drift with hokkais. Nothing. Kiddies corner coming up, the ebb has begun, gentle for now. That’s where I’m going, those rocks that form the breakwater. Drop anchor, release line, get in nice and close. 6 small hokkais, bait the bottom two with a pinch of lug, drop down, cross fingers, cast the second rod out with a 6bb float, a size 12 and a pinch of lug while I try to get some live prawn in the drop net. I’m in 6-8ft of water, it’s quite calm and quite clear. There’s a bit in no time, then snagged, then it comes free with another bite, up it comes: Surprise pout and even more surprisingly my hoped-for rarity – wrasse! I look at it, no black smudge in front of the tail but the back of the eye does have a darker patch. I’m thinking ballan but I’m not certain, could be corkwing; it’s a wrasse anyway, new species locally and point 29 in the comp, level with Cam again…down to four behind mark. Drop down again, a few minutes pass…bite and up… Black smudge, definite corkwing! Maybe number 30, maybe not, I’ll go on the consensus for the first one here…I’m chuffed anyway. Hmm, float is looking funny, let’s take a peek…oh yes, something here, what is it? Aha! Looks like a baby wolf fish but it’s not that, it’s some kind of blenny, a tompot? No. Yarrels? No. Common? Yes – common blenny also known as shanny…a definite number thirty and my first ever. Some serious gnashers on this fella! Tide starts to flow some more and the sea picks up slightly, I start to lsoe hooks. Paul texts me, I tell him what I’ve had and that I’m running out of hooks; he’ll bring some down and fish from the pier – sweet! Great mate to have is Paul! Another corkwing. Someone shouts my name from the pier and waves, he’s just arriving to fish. I wave back – haven’t a clue who it is from this distance but he must know me and I him! Paul arrives, gives me hooks. I paddle in then change my position, get nothing more, down to my last worm, move again and I flick it backwards in the hope of rockling or sole, had no prawns in the net. Paul gives up. I have a velvet on the float fished pinch of lug. Okay, I’ve done what I came for, never fished here before but will be back for slack in a couple of days to see what moves out from cover if the sea’s right. I paddle home grinning, what a result for a playful dabble! I head back in past the groyne and go home.

The Tench-ion…03/09/13

The Tench-ion…03/09/13 “Paul” “Okay” “Half hour” All day at the theme park with four today, super-hero-dad time again. Dinner for seven, made excuses and got excused. Didn’t make paste, went over to the darkside – Paul had bought boilies. We were glad it was dark and no-one would see us. He didn’t buy them locally either, travelled to thus avoid the shame. Down to slater’s again. This time? Commons and Tench, both required, had neither rin the UK and tench never. Covered carp before, as for tench, what did Walton say? [i]”The Tench, the Physician of Fishes, is observed to love Ponds better than Rivers, and to love pits better than either.”[/i] Yeah yeah, this is a pit. Yeah. Doctor Tench loves it. [i]”He will bite at a Paste made of brown bread and honey, or at a Marsh-worm, or a Lob-worm, he inclines very much to any paste with which Tar is mixt, and he will bite also at a smaller worm, with his head nipp’d off, and a Cod-worm put on the hook before that worm; and I doubt not but that he will also in the three hot months (for in the nine colder he stirs not much) bite at a Flag-worm, or at a green Gentle, but can positively say no more of the Tench, he being a Fish that I have not often Angled for; but I wish my honest Scholar may, and be ever fortunate when he fishes.”[/i] Or a boilie. Or corn. Gentles are maggots so that was covered though they were rubbish maggots. I’d dug four worms but I’d fed them to my fish. In my tank there is a hook to put prawn on – that’s what I usually feed with – and I instead put a medium worm on it. I had a chub one side, a minnow the other. It was damned funny! The minnow snaffled two thirds, was chased around with a piece hanging out of its mouth while it kept gulping. I got changed. By the time I was changed he’d swallowed it (it was the male) and now looked highly pregnant. The chub both kept coming and bumping him, maybe to make it throw it back out but this failed. Then every now and then it would do a runner – this was the source of my mirth because, my heavier than normal minnow, would dash away up in the water then sink like a stoen to the bottom; as the chub caught up he’d dash up and away again, then sink. That’s why I was so long in leaving, a marvellous spectacle! To explain briefly my tank has two small chub and two minnows, all caught the same day in the same water when Paul put me onto my first minnows. All are two-three inches long and have really done well in the tank, I’m sure they’re happy. Where was I…yeah, I had no worms. So off I went, met up with Paul and he rigged me up with these foul balls of disaster. Shocking pink, shocking tactic. Usual Slater’s evening, banter and failure. Managed a few bites, some decent ones, on pieces of float fished boilie, corn, maggot but not once did the hook set. Heard carp rolling here and there. Both gave up after a few hours. Can’t believe I’ve got to return AGAIN. Damn this competition.

An Eeling Comedy…02/09/13

An Eeling Comedy…02/09/13 Back to Slater’s. Desperation it was. I’d had both my girls plus looked after two more kids all day, after finishing four shifts, and carried this onto to dinner for another plus me and my wife…super hero dad time. It was late by the time I could escape, had to be close, had to try for the tench and carp known to be in and seen in Slater’s pit where I’ve never had a fish… “Paul, I’m going to Slater’s. You coming?” Of course he was. I know nothing about carp fishing. I’m not ashamed to say that. I turned to izaak Walton: [i]”And my first direction is, that if you will Fish for a Carp, you must put on a very large measure of patience; … But first you are to know, that it must be either early or late; and let me tell you, that in hot weather (for he will seldom bite in cold) you cannot be too early or too late at it.”[/i] Patience. I haven’t got that. Lateness. I have got that. What bait izaak? [i]”The Carp bites either at worms or at paste, and of worms I think the blewish Marsh or Meadow worm is best, but possibly another worm not too big may do as well, and so may a green Gentle; And as for pastes, there are almost as many sorts as there are Medicines for the Toothach, but doubtless sweet pastes are best; I mean, pastes made with honey or with sugar: which, that you may the better beguile this crafty Fish, should be thrown into the Pond or place in which you fish for him some hours before you undertake your tryal of skill with the Angle-rod: and doubtless if it be thrown into the water a day or two before, at several times and in small pellets, you are the likelier when you fish for the Carp to obtain your desired sport: or in a large Pond to draw them to any certain place, that they may the better and with more hope be fished for, you are to throw into it in some certain place, either Grains or Bloud mixt with Cow-dung, or with Bran; or any Garbage, as Chickens guts or the like, and then some of your small sweet pellets with which you purpose to angle: and these small pellets being a few of them also thrown in as you are Angling.”[/i] I’m out of cow-dung and chickens guts and I can’t wind the clock back Izaak…anything else? [i]”And your paste must be thus made: Take the flesh of a Rabbet or Cat cut small, and Bean-flowre, and if that may not be easily got, get other flowre, and then mix these together, and put to them either Sugar, or Honey, which I think better, and then beat these together in a Mortar, or sometimes work them in your hands (your hands being very clean) and then make it into a Ball, or two, or three, as you like best for your use: but you must work or pound it so long in the Mortar, as to make it so tough as to hang upon your hook without washing from it, yet not too hard: or that you may the better keep it on your hook, you may knead with your paste a little (and not much) white or yellowish wool.”[/i] Damn, out of rabbits and the cat would annoy the rest of the family…what is bean-flower? Okay, OTHER flower. Plain flour. Honey, yeah, I have that. Bugger the wool. I made some honey and flour paste, whizzed some breadcrumbs up in the Kenwood too, stuck a bit of excess honey paste in too. Groundbait. And went. Paul was there, we unloaded, tackled up, went down to the pit and started to fish. I threw in the groundbait, cast in my paste and missed a couple of bites. A bit late, a bit dark, but biting now and again, great. Restricted to fishing spots as another guy had just arrived for a carp too. His alarm sounded, out came a seven pounder, his dog barked, paul went with the camera to try and get a snap for the report. I called him back, I’d seen movement, put on a couple of maggots and cast to it, I had a good pull and now had something lodged in a snag…they both came over; it had tail-wrapped a branch or something. Finally it let go and it wasn’t a tench. Felt good on my angle-rod though! Finally I’d had something out of this place. I returned to the honey paste and had more bites. Paul had none on corn, I had none trying hat either. The maggots failed to attract any fish. We nattered and laughed and failed to get any more joy and, falling sleep, I went home. Will I add those points?

Flying High…29/08/2013

Flying High…29/08/2013 Charter boat fishing is a whole different ball game. Though we often fish amongst the local skippers, catch the same fish, use similar tactics, rigs and baits and some of us are on first name terms with them the tactics and feel of the fish are different and it provides both a level of comfort and access to deeper, further, faster marks and species we don’t otherwise see around here. With Garry holding the space from my skydive raffle for High Flyer and the fine summer weather, good tides and tope around at the end of the summer holidays it was perfect timing for a trip to be put together for us yakkers to go and have a play and learn a bit more. Originally hoping to fill three boats, the nine wanting to go who were available would all fit on Jon Old’s Offshore 105 High Flyer out of Gorleston and with the clearer water and Marty and Jon’s recent tope catches to the north of Great Yarmouth the booking was made and Jon planned to give us a day to really get our teeth into…and not just OUR teeth! I had to work a shift afterwards so an earlier start and return were requested and Jon was brilliant, it was no bother and so we left around seven for a four o’ clock return. It turned out perfectly like that as it happened as we caught the tides right and with us all parked nearby for free (though there was sufficient parking by the boat as it turned out) we said our hellos and wandered down to the berth, clambering down the ladder and making ourselves at home. A safety brief and outline of the initial plan followed and as soon as the shipping entering the harbour was clear we headed out into a brightening morning on a flat sea which showed all the swirls and eddies of banks and wrecks as we steamed north past the Scroby Sands windfarm for the first mark, a bank of 20-30ft by a drop off to a hundred! It was a 45 minute journey and in those conditions was very comfortable indeed with a multitude of harbour porpoise being spotted, the first for many of the party. Beautiful creatures which have been a common sight for me this year, seeing them in the progressively clearer water was even better. Surprisingly we didn’t spot any seals at all this time but we did keep away from the sands themselves. The first mark was somewhere off Winterton and with the boat sitting at anchor the ten of us onboard dropped down our baits, a mixture of supplied squid, hardback crab, mackerel and sandeel and sat back to wait. There was a pot running for the largest fish of the day and a pot for the most fish (mackerel not included as we wouldn’t all be able to fish for them and the larger stuff at the same time and if we hit a shoal counting would be a nightmare). A quid a time was enough to be fun and to give a 20% discount off the trip cost for the winners without being an expensive burden for those who missed out. My tope rod was rigged and ready to rock! Nigel’s son was along and although a carp fisherman primarily he knew how to fish…a rattle after quarter of an hour and he was in. It was the first time any of us apart from Jon had seen a brill and what a beautiful looking flattie it was, a couple of pound or so of prime dinner that I think we were all quite jealous of! Wonderful markings on it and superb camouflage for the sand and shingle. That was it though, a bit too quiet for Jon’s liking, seeing as we were where we were…he hauled anchor after half an hour or so and dropped us again a short way downtide so that we could fish into the drop off. Fresh baits on and we sat and waited. Another half an hour maybe and with suntans coming on a treat the excitement was getting dulled…though to be fair most of us were fishing big baits for big fish…then a couple of small taps on Garry’s rod and he struck. Kind of a whiting sized bite. Some whiting; the line straightened while the rod bent over and the drum of the reel started revolving in the wrong direction! TOPE! So this is what we were waiting for…all lines in because this was a good fish and the previous day two had been lost so we weren’t taking any chances. 8/0 hooks, 80lb mono and small baits on long flowing traces were the order of the day, the tidal flow strong enough that spinning into the line and cutting it were unlikely. As Garry fought the head-thumping, running, diving fish the rest of us enjoyed the show, willing him on and taking the mickey in equal measure. It started to come closer. I pranced around with the video camera to record the struggled and passed my rod with the other camera attached to Tim who stuck it under the water to get some footage from that angle – I love my waterproof Olympus compacts! It got closer and we swapped over; Andy was standing up on the seating so I passed mine up for an overhead view and took the other from Tim and continued to film; a fish like this was worth covering from every angle! Closer, closer, close, nearly…and it’s in the net! And it’s out of the net! Dives, shakes, thumps, comes back up and it’s close again. The net, as large as it is, is too small. The leader is grabbed and Jon gets under the rail, leans right out like someone being seasick and tries to grab hold of the pectoral fin while avoiding those teeth…it messes him about a bit and we start asking each other who can drive a boat, who knows how to haul the anchor and so on if he goes swimming…he grabs it, , scuttles back like a crab and gets Garry’s tope up and over the rail and into the boat! Neatly hooked in the scissors it’s a female and a decent one at that; we’re all thinking thirty and Jon goes to get the scales. It goes twenty five; the word ‘only’ does not figure, a fish like that scraps hard, there’s no ‘only’ with a tope! Weighed, photographed, kissed and released and it swims away and down strongly. Congratulations all-round and the lines go back down in nanoseconds, no time to waste, we all want some of that! Squid and crab did the trick. I want fresh mackerel head and shoulders – and not to make my bald head sprout renewed growth – and with the tide easing I grab a feather rod and start to jig on the bottom for my bait and maybe some lunch for tomorrow. I love everything about mackerel. Besides, I’ve not caught anything yet. Nothing on the bottom, the mackerel are in short supply this summer. I give it twenty minutes with no joy then decide to try further up in the water column in case. Bang! Straight in. Only one but big enough for four baits. I unhook it, drop down halfway and hand the rod to Nigel, bat the fish on the head and do some surgery. It’s on the hook and out before Jon comes back from the bow where he’s just scampered with three more; fresh bait all around and the leftovers get chopped up small and chummed in the hope of more fish. Then he gets a weever and shows us it in case we ever catch one and inadvertently grab it: It stays quiet. Half an hour on and the tide is really dropping away, Jon offers to take us over to a wreck he likes for a bit of cod-jigging if we want. We’re all easy; someone asks for a decision! I suggest that we’ve just put some chum down, had one tope and have all caught cod before (well Andy hasn’t as yet but he will) so we elect to stay for a bit longer. Then Paul is in with a mackerel, he keeps it to do it justice with a pike or two come winter. Half an hour goes by but nothing happens so Jon asks again as we’ve only got a window long enough for a few drifts and at least we should get some fish on the boat though the wrecking has been sporadic of late. We reel in, he hauls anchor and we head towards the wreck of the Dutch-Flagged Montferland, sunk on 27th June 1941 by German aircraft with no loss of lives and lying pretty much intact between sandwaves. Wreck number 10549 WGS 84 position: Latitude = 52°47'.192 n longitude = 001°50'.347 e Depth: 20,6 m Water depth : 31 m Length: 128 m Tonnage: 6790 gross Cargo: sugar, meat, steel, wool, milk powder Built in 1921 by Swan Hunter & Wigham Richardson ltd and owned Voortzetting van den Kon. Five boilers, two turbines on single shaft. 1066 hp. Machinery by Vickers Electrical Co ltd. On passage from Mackay to London. Cargo 4700 tons sugar, 1755 tons meat, 1389 tons steel, 774 tons wool and 20 tons milk powder. Foundered after attack by german aircraft. First and last surveying details: 2/7/41 swept in 52 47 13 N, 01 50 19 E. Fouled at 20ft in gen depth 49ft by e/s. Lies 305/125degs. (HMS Franklin, 2/7/41). 22/05/95 located in 52 47 09.8 N, 01 50 27.4E using DGPS. Examined 14/4/95. Swept clear at 20.6mtrs, foul at 20.9mtrs. Least depth 22.8mtrs in general depth 31mtrs by e/s. No scour. DCS3 ht 3mtrs. Length 160mtrs, width 40mtrs. Lies 130/310degs. Strong magnetometer deflection. Lies between sandwaves. Shaun Zoka’s dive video here, he has quite a few wreck dives locally on his channel: [video]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=to_3hPxC6fE[/video] Jon set’s us up for the first drift; I’m using a Fladen Portland eel, the leadheaded red one on a dropper rig with 20lb fluorocarbon and a ball lead. I’ve watched it just below the surface and it looks irresistible to the fish! Glenn up in the northeast has recommended them and I’ve rigged it how he says. On the 40lb braid I can feel every bump and wriggle as Iift a foot and drop down, jig, jig, jig, trying to keep it tight, jig, snatch, jig, rattle, jig, snag…slack for half a second and snatch and it’s clear; jig jig rattle pout! Next drift: jig, jig, rattle, jig, snatch pull…pull…pull snagged! The rod bends over and I can’t release it and I have to straight line it. Snap. Another drift; I get species number three but only the second to count for the pot; I’m ahead of Top Gun Garry though! He’s on tope and sandeel – the sublime to the ridiculous! Carefully, with pliers and forceps, I unhook and return it, showing mercy on the scary little monster! Then Garry gets his mackerel, kisses it, but it doesn’t count… There are a couple of codling on board, two pounders but not for me. Keiron and Jon Damn. I tie on a Fladen 3 Hook Deep Sea 1/0 luminous sandeel type rig and drop it down on the next drift. Bump, bump, bump, rattle, pull, fish on! Up it comes, fighting, a pout that felt bigger from that depth and with that lead, it looks okay and is popped back in but takes a while to go down; no gulls around thankfully. Tim gets his: I drop down again, we’re off the wreck and wind in. Nigel has had a cod, Matty a pout; father and son doing the business! Next drop and it’s another pout, around a pound so a decent one. This one’s blown so it’s set aside for bait. Some of the guys are using bait on a commercial trace Jon has shown us – a dropper rig with a 2/0 and a chunk of squid, mackerel or sandeel. I persist with the artificals. Tony’s had one hell of a pout, going on for two pound by the look of it; he guts and gills it straight away in the hope that it may be an eater; it’s blown so isn’t going back down anyway. Tim lands a large edible crab; he’s happy but we’re still over the wreck so no time for pictures just yet and I forget later. Next drift and the rig is gone; I tie on some pink Fladen Hokkis…down it goes, I feel some jiggling but it’s not anything much, I continue until we’re off the wreck and then reel up; I have another weever, badly hooked with torn guts; I put it out of its misery and throw it back. Tony gets a brace of pout. The tide starts up again and though we drift a few more times the fish are staying down. We all lose a rig or two during this time so at least we can have a break from retying and won’t bankrupt Jon! We steam to another bank to try for tope, roker and hounds again. Time for hand washing: Down go the baits and I wait; I’m ahead but only just…the uptider (I have one nominated rod while bait fishing, the uptider, which changes to the other when wrecking and I’m only using one rod). I get a bit of movement but I’m not sure if it’s a bite. I leave it thinking it’s the lead shifting. Every now and then it jiggles again. Eventually I bring it in and it’s number four, a decent dogfish. It’s slow though and no-one else is getting any knocks. Nigel doesn’t get a knock. I’m not sure what he’s doing but he’s left his rod. Loose drag and on the clicker though. ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TOPE! He grabs it, pulls intot he fish and against a strengthening low sets to work for ten minutes or more. Jon gets the tailer ready, not going to use the net this time and doesn’t fancy dangling again. A long, hard scrap with plenty of nodding from the fish and then finally it’s coming up and closer. It sees us and runs again, stripping line and a few more minutes follow. I’m over the side with the camera and the leader in my hand, Jon’s over the side because the tailer is proving impossible in the flow. He grabs it and wrestles again and Nigel’s tope comes aboard, another good fish though a smaller male of around 18lb. he’s not romantic enough hough, an air kiss and after weighing and photos he goes back and swims off none the worse for his experience. The tope that is. A renewed air of optimism, fresh baits and the lines go back down. Only Andy and Terry (who’s joined the kayaker’s party for the day) are still to catch; I’m hoping they get something but I want a tope! But it’s not to be for the three of us…but Matty is another story and the same rod as last time goes and he’s on it! An epic battle in this tide, it’s ripping through and he’s hanging on as it strips line, thumps against him, dives, rises, shakes and pulls and quarter of an hour pass before Jon again leans over the side and does his shark wrangling act! A bit bigger this one, another male of 20lb this time and Matty is made up. Far more romantic than his dead he goes in for the kiss but rubs it with his cheek instead…what? First shave and he uses a shark? He relents, kisses it and back he goes! We carry on for another half an hour and then we have to go. None of us really want to, it’s a glorious day and we’ve had some serious fish but it’s been a long day too, it’s time and we’ve an hour’s plus steam back to port and the tide’s going full bore now so unlikely to throw up any more fish until it starts to slow again. Up comes the anchor and we’re away. Cups are gathered, bits are picked up, rubbish is centralised, the decks are swabbed, the boards are scrubbed and a reel is relined on the way back. We run through the turbines on Scroby, quite a sight up close and personal and go into harbour behind a windfarm cat for the short run up to the berth and off the boat to the cars. We were still in at five but no matter, coffee would see me through my shift so no complaints from me; or the others, we all had a whale of a time trying new things and seeing some good fish boated. Maybe the first time we’ve collectively turned our backs on the yaks but certainly not the last! Jon did us proud!