You know how it is. When the fishing Gods conspire to be against you, you may as well be all philosophical about it, because what ever you do to try and make it right won’t make a scrap of difference.

Now normally they decide to take revenge after you have been patiently waiting all day for that magic moment when the bass are about to put in an appearance, but I don’t think they were around today so I should be grateful, but 4 casts and 3 complete losses of terminal tackle can be pretty frustrating. Coupled with some new line that decides today would be a great day to have a life all of its own… yep it was a great time to be all philosophical;  and I was only popping down for an hour!

In between re-tackling and sorting out line wrapped around the reel I did manage to get a bite a cast which was a bit of a surprise, and I even managed to catch a fish which was even more of a surprise! It was, I think a small scorpion fish which somehow managed to consume half a peeler and a large ragworm before impaling itself on a size 4/0.

For a moment I even thought about taking a picture before realising how daft that would be. However it felt good today, so much so that I think I will go again, but first I will need to check out at low tide, this devourer of all things tackle and then hope Sir Issac will look down on me a little more favourably for tomorrow.

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Summer Days

August 14, 2010

The sun was relentless, the wind from the north-west was blowing hard trying its best to push the sea from remaining calm. A small flock of birds too fast and too far away to be recognised appeared to be blown with the wind, until you realised they were traveling against the direction of the gusts.

Occasionally the change in wind direction saw the tops of the waves gently pluck the line into giving the sleeper rod a nod of approval. Meanwhile the mackerel head, this one being held, stubbornly refused to show any signs of life.

The tide grew in size and at times with it the strength of the wind. My two now tired of the seeming lack of action decided to down tools and look for excitement further afield. Off they went with an innocence of youth that will be leaving them very soon. I wonder how they will look back at the days of summer exploring pools and recently cast crab shells; with fond memories I hope.

Earlier they were excited about the thought of huge mackerel shoals that they could cast into with their recently acquired skills, but once again they were not visible along the hot shore line. Feebly I tried to explain that is what makes fishing so exciting, wouldn’t it be boring if we caught every time we went… That was when they decided to down tools.

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One last cast became the tenth, but I finally relented to the requests of, ‘can we go home now.’ The long walk back was full of tales of adventures not seen and of heroic deeds accomplished and of a dog that had the same name as ours. They weren’t bothered about the lack of fish caught or indeed my lack of success this summer, and in truth at that very moment nor was I.