My Favourite Rod

This is a reply to a great post on http://spotoffishing.blogspot.com/   – but for the life of me I can’t seem to update his site. I hope he gets the chance to read it here.

May I add mine to the growing rack?

A solid pale-green fibreglass homemade rod, of about 5ft in length, given to me as a present for Christmas some 40 years ago. I can still recall asking my Mum why Dad was working in the shed late at night on Christmas Eve. In fact when I opened the present, I was told not to touch the blank as the varnish was still tacky from the cold night in the shed.

The handle, assembled from a series of cork rings  had never seen the rough side of a sheet of sandpaper, which meant the ends were flat and at 90 degrees to the blank. It was teamed up with a Galeon fixed spool reel and together they were the best present I had ever received.

Before I could go fishing I had to learn to cast. Success was measured by clearing the shed at the bottom of the garden. The lead used for this initiation? 4 lego brick’s clicked to the end of the line!

Many thanks for dragging out some great memories, and I think I will be visiting the old shed very soon to see if my little green rod of magic is still there.

This Fool’s Reflections

A belated Happy New Year to everyone and their families and I hope that I find you all well.  It has been a strange Christmas for me, almost  melancholic due to work, job security and all the other things we tend to worry about. Which is not my way at all. Maybe this is why I have perhaps sub-consciously delayed updating.

The funny thing about blogs (have I used this phrase before?) when I started out I had grand idea’s that they will be eagerly read by all who share the same interest as me, but over time they have become more introspective and more of a personal record of events for me to look back on in the months and years ahead. And I have just done that now and already in the relatively short time of this blog it has brought back memories that I had shoved somewhere to the back of my mind.  It always amazes me that words just like smells can instantly bring back the feelings and emotions experienced, whether it be a great catch, an amazing storm or special moments with your loved ones.

Reflecting on last year it has been my best for the size of bass caught and a great confirmation that I am doing most things right.  When you start to experience a long spell of blank’s I for one start to doubt every action I make and read and re-read everything to see where I can improve – but as someone said to me, it could be simply that the bass are not there. Obvious I know, but when the tide and the conditions are spot-on you get that feeling that they must be out there somewhere and it is your failings that have prevented you from catching.

This year I am really looking forward to a slight change of tactics. I have read and consumed with relish, the thoughts and ideas behind LRF and feel that during the leaner times (which for me is most of the summer!) it could provide me with some excellent sport with schoolies and mackerel before returning to more traditional methods for hopefully, the larger bass later in the year. For this assault I have already acquired the necessary rod and am eagerly awaiting my birthday in the hope of some more goodies to join the growing arsenal required to attack this method of fishing.

I can see the blog entries already…  slowly I wade out into the smooth millpond sea trying my best not to disturb the almost church like tranquility.

Happy New Year everyone!

Thanks Dad

I don’t think of my Dad as much as I should do… not because he was a bad Dad (far from it) but I suppose it was just the type of relationship Father’s and Son’s had then. However there are occasions that I wish I could share my joy and the last few weeks have been some of them.

Up until a while ago I was about to write this year off with only a couple of late schoolies under my belt, but then I had a flourish! 8lbish, 3lb 4oz, 7lb 10oz and 4lb exactly. Who would have believed it, after all those years and all those hours I end up smashing my personal best I’d caught with my Dad over 30 years ago…

The 7lb was such an empty fish when compared to the 8lb’er it does makes me wonder what it could have weighed… and I will never know, but I could never have killed such an amazing specimen, that almost had a look of a schoolie due to its fatness. I appreciate all things are relative, but when I used the rod to propel the 7lb up the shore for unhooking, I had no problems what so ever.

A very empty 7lb 10oz bass

Same bass, taken directly above

So what has brought about this change in luck? Good advice, slight change in tactics and fishing when the bass were there.

My old Man would have been as proud as punch after teaching me all those years ago. So I’m dedicating this piece to him.

Thanks Dad

… like a school kid after his first playground kiss

I stood there in awe, in fact if anyone was watching they would then have seen me run around like a school kid having just received his first kiss in the play ground.

My last trip out was frustrating with 3 good bass runs missed. The first left a visible swirl the size of a dinner plate in the flat calm sea, the second took the line from left to right for about 3 metres but the resulting strike was empty, the third had the bait runner screaming as I lifted the rod to let a dog walker and his dog pass underneath (I kid you not!) before setting the baitrunner and watching the line tighten to the rod tip before striking once again into thin air. The last two missed bites were after I had thrown in all my left over bait before having just one more cast as well – that was an interesting walk back I can tell you.

The tide was coming to the end of its Spring set so I knew I had to take advantage while the bass were still around, so this morning I sent a text to my boss asking if I could work the morning and take the rest of the day off (well nothing ventured, nothing gained) and amazingly he said yes. So before I knew it  I was set up again in my favourite spot.

The weather had changed, gone were the late summer conditions and smooth rolling sea’s,  it had been replaced by a brisk freshening wind and an increasing threat of rain but I couldn’t care less.  With an hour or so before the ‘hot’ time I put the rod in the rest, put the baitrunner on and sat back in the chair and watched the tide roar in on the strengthening wind. The rod was being knocked into a steady pattern as the waves were pulling at the line but  two knocks out of sync and a screaming reel had me dashing out of the chair, I lifted into the fish and it was unbelievably, fish on.

From the start the bass made a purposeful run out to sea taking line from the tight clutch, steady pressure combined with the fighting curve of the rod soon stopped it in its tracks bringing it near to the surface and sending out a fabulous white flurry of sea spray which was quickly drowned by the heavy seas. Changing track it decided to make it way shore bound and I had trouble keeping up with it, until it decided with help from the kiting effect, to make a dash at amazing speed to the shore. Even with the  heavy seas the cut created by the line was amazing. Up until now I had yet to see the bass but when the next wave drew back the site that laid before me took my breath away – it was huge.

I was now in very new territory, normally I would use the next wave and the curve of the rod to spring it onto the shore but when I tried that the bass didn’t move, it just waited for the next undertow to resume its dogged battle. Thinking back this was when I started to panic, but I like to think in a controlled way! Every time I got it into a position for me to bring it ashore another wave would come crashing down to allow it to hang in the undertow,  so I took courage in both hands and on the next available wave without thought to the rod, line and hook hold pulled the bass to a point where I could drop the rod and quickly grasp the bass from under it gills and drag it to the shore. It looked bloody huge.

I have read that a large Perch looks massive but a large bass seems like a different species to me, I just stood there for a moment and laughed it just didn’t seem real. I then proceeded to run around like a school kid  in the play ground as I went through the process of unhooking, taking a picture and then trying to weigh it. The carrier bag as a sling was just farcical so I made a note of its length on my rod before returning it to its watery home.

I tried to hold it upright in the waves but as I was unable to grip the wrist of its tail properly due to its size,  it kept laying flat and was having trouble getting water through its gills. For a moment I thought that it wasn’t going to make it as a series of waves kept bringing it back to shore, but eventually it managed to smash through to deserved freedom.

I was one very happy man.

27" of amazing Bass

Sometimes it all goes right

The waves pound the shoreline creating a fine spray that is soon picked up by the blustery wind. In every direction you look there are dark, menacing clouds threatening to gather up a storm at any moment. Wrapped up more like winter than late summer I am loving every minute of it.

The rod, moving in time with the heavy waves suddenly receives some welcome fish attention. I have held the rod for over 2 hours and it is great to feel it suddenly come to life. Although I’m convinced its only a small pollack, I wait for the bite to develop and soon the rod starts to hoop over as a series of rattles becomes a lunge – fish on! Fishing near a set of boulders always give the fish something to run to and this one was no exception, in fact it tried so hard that in the process it nearly beached itself. The Bass (I was wrong) then moved out into slightly deeper water, twisting and turning in the surging waves. It’s fight was way beyond its size but soon it was brought ashore helped along by the next wave.

Somehow I had managed to foul hook it under the jaw which would explain the early kiting effect and the stronger fight than expected, but it was soon unhooked and returned in the hope of keeping up with the shoal. Quickly I sent out another mackerel fillet to the same spot and stood there with a silly contented grin on my face. Now this bass barely made a pound and a half and would normally be barely worthy of a mention, but it was my first one in nearly two years. I think lady luck must have smiled at me as the hook-hold was very unusual, perhaps I was really meant to catch that one.

I don’t think less than 10 minutes had passed when I had a series of heavy lunges that was almost impossible to miss, and I didn’t. This one kept deep and felt more purposeful, even managing to take line against a tightly set clutch as it tried to make its way to the rocks. However the curve of the rod soon had it under control as again I used the next wave to bring it ashore.

The picture,  rushed as it was now pouring with rain, doesn’t really do the larger one any justice as there is no sense of scale, however like the earlier one it was returned to a now calm sea.

Funny game this fishing lark I wait nearly two years for a bass and then two come at once!

Summer Holiday’s

Just back from a holiday in East Cornwall where we stayed in a delightful creek  in Forder near Saltash.  I hoped I may get a chance to do a little fishing while we were away,  but my daughter had other plans in the form of whooping-cough. Despite being inoculated against the virus when she was younger she managed to be hit for six with the illness.

In between visits back home and visits to Doctors and Hospitals she is finally starting to recover, but it is a painfully slow process. The Chinese call it the 100 day illness so she is still not out of the woods yet, but hopefully the worse is over.

I did manage to take some photo’s of the creek in Forder and was assured by the locals that at certain times of the year they have a run of good-sized mullet,  however the only ones I saw barely made 1/2 lb.  I would have loved to be around when the larger ones were about as nobody appeared to fish for them.

Forder

It was one of those places that you try to get all artistic with the camera, not sure about the results, but this one is my favourite

Just waiting to be taken

I also took some shots of Mevagissey when myself and Thomas managed to sneak away from the cottage  leaving Ambur with her Mum. Pure indulgence I know but I have included a couple for those who may be interested.

Tension and Purpose in the Air

‘You are really enjoying this aren’t you?’ I could tell by his tone that it wasn’t meant as encouragement. I was fishing  one of my favourite marks, the conditions were amazing, but I just couldn’t buy a bite. It was my son Thomas who made the comment,  he had come along with me more in duress than wanting to, and he wasn’t exactly having a great time.

‘How can you stand there for so long with nothing happening?’ If I am only fishing for an hour or so I like to hold the rod so there is less chance of me missing a bite, but for two hours despite using mackerel, crab, squid and even squid stuffed with peeler, not a bite. As we were packing up, leaving just one rod out, I jokingly said, ‘imagine the rod going now,’ and almost as if on command, the rod trembled in the rest.

As I rushed up to the rod Thomas started to tell me to stop messing around, but before he could finish, the rod trembled again. Thomas was by my side in an instant, and suddenly there was a real sense of tension and purpose in the air as we both stood still willing for the bite to develop.

A short while later we had packed up, and with disappointment we both made our way back home along the beach, the bite had come to nothing but at least it was sign that we had come close.

Time and tide waits for no Man…

I have had my eye on a spot for a while and decided that tonight would be a good chance to try it out. During low tide a small shingle strip is created infront of some large boulders, and my idea was to fish very close in as the tide turns and makes its way in on the flood.

Arrived to find that it was a lot more difficult to get me and the rod down to the newly formed shoreline than I thought, but I was soon installed in my new swim, and if I’m honest quite chuffed as it felt I was on virgin territory. Bait was to be mackerel head and guts from a recent trip, I say was to be as I discovered that I had left my cutting board and knife back in the shed when I was sorting out my stuff to go. I contemplated using the small scissors I use to hack away at the still frozen fish, before I discovered two frozen squid in the same bag – result!

Managing  to prize the two baits apart I dug my heel deep into the shingle by the water’s edge to form a small pool to help defrost the frozen squid. After placing it into the newly formed pool I turned to tidy away the rest of my gear before turning back to reclaim my bait, but to my frustration an incoming wave must have picked it up and sent it out into the sea. I was now down to one, so carefully I took my last offering down to the water’s edge and patiently waited for it to thaw. unfortunately the tide was making a lot quicker than I was expecting, and three major soaking’s later the squid was ready for a pennel hook-up. 

Already the strip I was meant to be fishing from was reduced to a patch barely the size of a large dining table so a quick underhand lob was required to get me started. It felt right, if there was a bass working along the shore line I felt that I was in the right place at the right time but as so often as late it was not to be. Time was against me as the tide was already tight against the rocks, so after 30 minutes or so, I had to make my way back – which was not as easy as it sounds.

A spot with real potential, definitely worth trying again.

Time and Shoal

This years rare summer sun beats down from the blue sky. The waves from a few days earlier are now barely managing a ripple as the smooth sea bulges in time with life. In the distance the sound of gulls spread across the scene as they commit their part of the whitebait cull by attacking from above. With luck a shoal of mackerel should appear as the tide grows stronger, and if it does then myself and Ambur are ready and armed to catch.

.

Time passes slowly as the tide grows,  but from the corner of my eye I notice the water to our left start to simmer, and then boil as a shoal of mackerel drive into the cornered whitebait. Quickly they move towards us, as we notice by our feet, a procession of mackerel running single file along the shore line as if moving around the shoal  to form a pincer movement. 

Time and shoal soon move on, but not before two hurried casts bring in 3 fresh mackerel. The sun, still high in the sky  is beating down as two happy fools leave the beach to return another day.

‘Oh Well’

Can I come Daddy? I was just about to leave for a quick session when I heard Ambur’s plea. I looked at the wife and the shrug of the shoulders said so much…(Go on, you’ve always wanted them to go fishing and when they ask, you don’t take them!)

Reasonably I explained that the tides were all wrong, it was raining and I was only trying out a new spot just to tick it off the list. But ‘oh well’ was the only response. With angel eyes I was also reasonably told that tomorrow was training day at the school (again!!) and she didn’t have to get up early in the morning.

With a daughters intuition she was already up the stairs grabbing  her coat and shoes before I was able to say ‘ come on then get your coat and shoes…’ and  soon we were  in the car heading towards my chosen mark. If I am being honest I was in two minds where to fish but in the end we chose the nearer of the two.

The wipers were on intermittent as we pulled up into the car park but we had to wait till the end of her favourite song on the radio before this intrepid duo set out on our mission. With excitement we rounded the corner only to discover the spot we wanted to fish was a floating raft of weed slowly rocking in the quiet motion of the waves waiting for the tide to turn. Undeterred we walk further along until we find a gap that would allowed us to fish close-in with our squid and crab baits.

On our way we stumbled across three dead smoothhounds that due to being close to a public slipway, I felt had been dumped after being caught further out at sea. What a bloody waste if that was the case. I read somewhere that the greatest gift you can give to an angler is to put back your catch for a chance of them to catch it again. I agree but it’s not only us anglers that would benefit from such a gift.

I digress. Soon we were fishing more in hope than expectation. The late evening had turned cold and the rain was getting heavier as the fading light slipped from the horizon. I happened to look across at Ambur just as she was pulling her hood further down over her forehead to stop the rain running down her face,  ‘You could have been all tucked up in bed now all nice and cosy’. ‘I know’ was her reply ‘ but I much prefer being here with you Daddy,’ before giving me a rain-soaked kiss and a hug.

It didn’t matter that we never got a bite apart from the three suicidal crabs that were determined to cling on to our baits, it also didn’t matter that the wind picked up and it certainly didn’t matter that the trip was shortened due to it getting colder than we had expected. Our walk back to the car was special, full of excited talk that I hope will never leave us both as we continue to grow older.

And to think I nearly let that moment pass me by.