Big waves pounding the shore, the heart beats faster as the line detects life. A lone mackerel who has yet to shoal hits one of my feathers and fights beyond it size. Later in a small quiet bay I’m captivated by 3 large mullet working an area that tomorrow morning will have a carefully laid trap. Until tomorrow…

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Distant memories re-visited

September 13, 2010

 

This report from 09 was from a mark that I used to be able to rely on for at least a bite or two. Not this year though! Looking out at the weather tonight I can hardly believe its the same month, the weather that day was really hot, not the best conditions for a bass but after a relatively successful summer I was hopeful none the less…


… and I would have been his hero. September 8, 2009
 
An old clipper boat was bobbing up and down in the Solent like a recently spent cork tossed into the sea, not a cloud over head to disrupt the blazing sun and even the seagulls were just lazily floating around; christ it was hot and not a breath of wind either. The waves from a day or to earlier were now barely managing to roll onto the beach as I cast a fresh mackerel into the making tide. According to some not the best conditions but I was hopeful none the less.
 
A day or two earlier I had manged to literally pull the bait from a taking bass that my son was fishing for in a local creek. He was holding the rod awkwardly so I helped him to get more comfortable just at the same time the lined pulled tight and a small vortex in the shallow water showed how close he had come to catching a good bass. Earlier we had both been watching two bass working the tide, one was about 4lb the other had to be over 6lb. A split second later and my actions would have been a strike and I would have been his hero, but try explaining that to a very disappointed son. Lady luck is a very fickle creature indeed…  

Talking of luck, after my recent loss I have replaced my line (which I should have done some time ago) and I have upgraded my carp rod to a slightly more beefier model.

The clipper had barely moved as a succession of mackerel chunks were cast into the smooth bulging sea. Now normally on this mark you can get a very good idea if there are any bass around by the amount of crab activity. I often imagine the bass moving in on the strengthening tide and the crabs keeping covered for fear of being the next meal. Today they were out in force so it wasn’t looking good.

Out of the blue a sudden knock on the rod brought me back to reality followed by a succession of rod lunges, a quick strike and it was bass on. Initially I thought it may have gone a bit bigger as it put up an excellent fight on the new gear tearing up and down the beach and staying deep which is normally a good sign.

A lean bass pulled from the edge of his domain was quickly unhooked and returned to fight another day

Distant memories re-visited

August 29, 2010


The Bass hit the rod like a bag of cement – August 29, 2009
 

The short cast was only visible for a split moment from the splash it made on entry. The wind soon whipped away any evidence and started to make music from the line now held tight to the lead. The night sky was incredibly clear revealing more stars than I have seen for a while – which is why it felt so bloody cold. I was wrapped up more for winter rather than an early morning session in August. Holding my rod I turned my back to the wind and watched the waves race across in front of me. The prime time would be in about an hour so for once I had plenty of time to be prepared, none of this dashing around for me this morning.

Standing alone in the dark I started to reflect on my year so far. It has not been my best with only a couple of bass for my efforts, but only last week I lost a fish that still upsets me now and I know will for a very, very long time. It hit the rod like a bag of cement and then tore off taking line from the clutch. Very rarely do you hit into a fish and feel that the tackle you are using is in-adequate, there was nothing I could do until the line parted. I’m not one to stamp and swear but normally I would have had a few words to myself, on this occasion however I just sat down on the beach muttering to myself what the hell was that over and over. It took an age for my hands to stop shaking before I could re-tackle.

The prime time had passed and so had the darkness. The light was starting to glow on the horizon and the wind had calmed down a touch. Suddenly there was a rattle on the rod and I watched the line dart across the waves in the strengthening light, a quick strike and nothing. Cursing my stupidity I reel in to see the line dart away for the second time, the bass must have moved towards me. After a spirited little battle a small schoolie of about a 1 1/2lb was beached.

I contemplated going home as the morning grew brighter but after a succession of last casts I hooked into another just slightly larger, roughly 2 lb. As the first I unhooked the bass and held it in the waves until it decided to make a dash on its side to freedom.

 

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waiting to be held in the waves...