Early Autumn

The first freshwater fish I ever caught was a Rudd but over the years I’ve never paid them much attention outside of putting them in a bucket, although I’ve always acknowledged what lovely looking fish they are.  But in recent seasons I’ve caught a few from the broads that were a bit too big for purpose and this got me thinking.  The boat has needed a bit of attention this summer so whilst in Norfolk I’ve taken the opportunity to get out on the water after the work is done, to try and catch one by design so to speak.  So far I’ve caught plenty of Rudd on simple float fished corn but nothing as big as I’ve had when after the smaller fish.  I had another go early in the month and when I set off I had a good idea of where I wanted to fish, an area I’d caught decent Rudd a few years ago.  Unfortunately this spot was a disappointment, the wind made things tricky and the weed here is thick this year, unusually I didn’t get a bite. 

I moved into a sheltered spot, started loose feeding and after a while, things started to happen.  The normal pattern is loads of missed bites to begin with and I put this down to small fish but as time goes on, I hit more bites as bigger fish move in.  This was the case today but still nothing bigger than half a pound or so.  Then I hit a bite and the tip stayed nicely bent as a fish with weight plodded around.  Unfortunately a Bream popped up before I could get too excited.  I like the thought of catching a big broadland Rudd but in truth it will probably take more effort than I’m willing or able to put in but I’m sure I’ll have another go some time next year.

Since the drought broke and rain became normal again, I’ve felt the urge to spend some time on the rivers having not been near since the beginning of July. I found time to have a go early in the month, with Perch in mind.  This river is relatively close to home and the stretch I visited had produced one or two decent fish a couple of years ago.  I used maggots in the feeder and worm or maggot on the hook and wandered the stretch.  This has worked for me in the past but on this occasion I caught plenty of fish but not what I was after; small Chub, Dace and Bleak in numbers, a single Roach and just one Perch but it was one of few fish that needed a landing net.  In truth the river was pretty sluggish and still needs a bit more water in it so it will probably be a while before I return.

Then it was time for what has become an annual trip out west to the happy valley, one of the absolute highlights of any fishing year.  This time it was just me and Rich stuffed into the vintage Focus with camping gear and enough tackle and bait to last four and a half days.  The drive across was hampered by a closed road and diversions but as usual the further west we go, most of the traffic gets left behind and during the final miles the weight of the world just slips away.  We stopped for a pint and a pub dinner a couple of miles from our destination and then made our way to the friendly and familiar campsite to set up home.

By 1800 we were fishing at a stretch on the middle river, with just a few hours available we both picked swims we’d fished before and settled in to enjoy the sights and sounds.  My chosen swim had depth and pace on the near side as well as a row of overhanging bushes on the far.  For the next few days I’d be fishing mostly boilies or meat on the hair and feeding hemp and pellets by various means; PVA bags, plugged in a feeder or pulted/chucked out.  Today I was using a feeder arm attached to the chair as I was sitting on concrete, this worked okay but I can’t sit still and every movement had things wobbling.  The rod tips are rarely still on the river and I don’t always know what is causing this.  I had a few fast, sharp bangs that I put down to small Chub but interpreting other movements was not so easy.  Some I think are tiny fish pecking away, others probably liners but occasionally the lead moves, then there’s the effect of debris being carried…  All I know is I find myself hypnotised, can’t take my eyes of the rods and even a setting as glorious as this can go unnoticed for a while.

After an hour I noticed the light was fading, I had a message from Rich who was a way upstream, he’d had a Barbel, nice one!  I’d had an hour of wobbling tips but still hadn’t struck at anything, just one proper bite would do me.  Another hour had passed and it was fully dark before this happened.  It was the rod cast across the river, a sharp thump on the tip was followed by slackening line and I had to wind down to make contact.  I knew this was a Barbel pretty much straight away but I’d forgotten just how hard they fight and this one certainly wanted a scrap.  By the time I’d got the fish in the net I’d had several more reminders of what not to do next time.  The Barbel looked big to me, obviously not in the league of the east midlands fish but at 7-14 I’d only ever caught three bigger, my trip was made already. 

We gave it another hour then after a trip in town to pick up supplies, in this case bottles of HPA, we returned to the campsite to drink them and debrief.  Rich had added a Chub while I was doing battle and as we were due back on the same stretch the following morning we were feeling confident.

We didn’t set an alarm clock on any day, just let ourselves wake up naturally, cook breakfast on the stove, get tackle and bait ready without any hurry then set off, most mornings we were fishing by around 0900.  On this day I started off with high hopes of rattling rod tips but after a couple of hours without anything happening, I was running a stick float downstream instead.  I fed corn, a few grains at a time and after a while started getting bites, a few Dace but mostly small Chub, only one of which needed the landing net.  The day was hot and bright so I had an early afternoon siesta, boiled a kettle back at the car and filled the flask.  I topped up on bait and food then met up with Rich for a chat, he wasn’t doing any better than me.  Rich was sure the river was rising and there was certainly plenty of weed being carried.  I try to resist technology but had a look online and was amazed to find I was actually able to get on the government website, to find the river was indeed rising.  Only six inches or so but the difference in the river since the previous evening was noticeable.  We both looked forward to the evening, would the river come alive as it often does? 

I spent the rest of the day watching the tips, a couple of hours in a swim I’d previously only fished in high water and I spent the end of the day in one I’d fished a few years previously, it looked like it had barely been used since.  I had high hopes and had plenty of fishy tremors on the tips but the one bite I craved didn’t materialise.  We fished into darkness; Rich managed a couple of Chub but I hadn’t added to my score.  Not the best day fish wise and this part of the river isn’t as spectacular as some stretches but what it has is quiet, the only sounds coming from farm work on the hill behind us and the calls of all kinds of birds.  In the evening the Tawney Owls started up and scores of Rooks gathered to roost on the treelined slope in front.

The following day we were at a different stretch, a few miles upstream but very similar in character to the one we’d been fishing.  We also had a similar forecast, after a cloudy start the day should be sunny and bright again.  I hatched a plan to keep mobile and fish several swims but the reality is, with steep rocky banks to negotiate and a big river to cover in front of me there’s only so much I can do.  I fished a couple of swims during the morning without success, I’d chosen shady spots because I thought the fish would prefer cover and I certainly enjoyed the shade.  By noon this respite had gone and neither of us had seen a bite so made the sensible decision to adjourn to a pub for a couple of pints to wash down a plate of grub.

We were in no real hurry so the shadows were lengthening again by the time we got back to the river.  I settled into a rare type of swim, one which was comfortable, once I’d got down the slope at least.  On my near side there was a nice looking tree which hung over a boiling current, it looked good to me so I fed with hemp, corn and pellets and dropped my bait down there.  After an hour with just a couple of Chub rattles I decided to try the float rod again.  The trot down to the tree was easy even with my eyesight.  I caught a Dace on the first trot and had plenty of bites, catching more Dace to 8ozs and a few Chub including a couple that needed netting.  With the light beginning to fade it was time to go back on the tip, I knew there were plenty of fish about but were there any bigger ones?  I was entertained by the owls, judging by the calls there were at least four in my vicinity and one flew low overhead, crossed the river and settled in the trees opposite where it began to hoot. As the twilight deepened I had two bites; the first brought a Chub of a couple of pounds without any trouble.  The next was a heavier fish which dived towards the tree and got in before I realised what was going on, then broke the hooklength.  A classic Chub trick and I am definitely old enough to have known better.  We met back at the car an hour after dark, Richard’s day had been very similar to mine, a couple of Chub to show from a lot of effort.

Another day another piece of river, this time we were down in the gorge, my favourite part of the valley.  The steep slopes here are densely wooded, the river and its surroundings mostly rock which means the bed is snaggy.  For the only time this week we had a cloudy but humid day ahead of us and the river looked perfect.  Both of us had fished here a few times and had our favourite pools but ended up downstream of these, fishing an area we’d only previously tackled from the other bank.  Fishing a rocky river snagging is inevitable, so I set up with weak links on the lead or feeder and a two part hooklength. If I snag, I may lose a lead or hook (which can also occasionally get blunted) but I shouldn’t have to tackle up from scratch.  My first spot was on a narrow rocky ledge which I just about squeezed onto.  I had a couple of sharp Chub rattles but didn’t hook up and after a couple of hours I was aching.

 

After a little wander I realised what should have been obvious, I could pitch in far more comfort just upstream and still be covering the same water but would have to be careful on the slippery rocks.  Meanwhile, just upstream Rich had dropped onto fish and had two Barbel and several Chub under his belt already.  The move was a lucky one, I missed a decent bite within fifteen minutes, how I’ll never know but I didn’t have to long wait for another chance.  This time I felt a solid weight and the rod hooped over, a Barbel for sure but this one didn’t power off, it just plodded and circled so it was a surprise to see a good fish surface.  It woke up a little and went on a couple of short runs but it was in the net soon after.  It looked a good fish and every time I glanced at it, it seemed a little bigger but the weight of 8-12 was a pleasant surprise.  I waded out and held the fish in the stream for a couple of minutes, the novelty of catching a Barbel remains and to look down on this awesome creature before it powered off was a privilege.

An hour later the rod slammed over again, it looked like a Barbel bite but the resistance said ‘Chub’ and this one didn’t want to fight so I soon scooped up a very long, lean fish.  How big?  I can never tell with Chub, surely it had to be a big ‘four’ even with an empty belly.  Not quite but 4-05 was no way a disappointment.  After that, things fizzled out, I had another good Chub but I really should have moved and fished new water.  However the spot I was sitting in had gorgeous views up and down river and I was happy just being there, listening to the water tumbling over the rocks.  I had misplaced confidence that the fish would switch back on with the fading light levels but this didn’t happen and I didn’t really care.  Part of the reason I stayed was Rich, fishing just upstream had a hell of a day finishing with ten Chub which must have averaged about four pounds each with a couple almost touching five.  So it was two happy anglers that stopped at the pub for a celebratory pint and to toast a much missed friend.

We’d been counting the days for a while but now it was almost over, the last day had arrived.  After breakfast we packed up the camp, went back to the middle river and set off on a long walk.  This day was like most of the rest weather wise, a cloudy start but mostly clear and sunny thereafter. Rich dropped onto fish straight away and caught a couple of Barbel and a few Chub through the first part of the day. I kept moving and trying my luck here and there but I just couldn’t find any fish.  By late afternoon Rich had stopped catching and we both walked back towards the car before setting up again.  After having spent most of the day and a lot of the week perched precariously on sloping banks, I went lazy at the end and set up on a wide flat space I’d fished before.  Four and a bit days fishing like this in a rugged river valley had me with aches in parts I’d forgotten I had and I was knackered.  There was a bit of bait I didn’t want to take home so I piled it all in and sat back to see what would happen.  Things started well with a Chub of three pounds or so within a few minutes and there was plenty of small taps on the tip but as time passed and the light dimmed, these became fewer and further apart. 

Back at the cars, we reorganised everything by torchlight then pointed the car eastward and set off on the long drive home with plenty to talk about, (which was just as well with three closed road diversions).  We’d both had a great trip, memorable moments in beautiful places but also a slight downer knowing we won’t be back in the valley until next year.  I’m looking forward to this already because as much as I enjoyed this trip, I know I didn’t get things right at times and have learned from the experience.  Next time I’ll do things differently.  Next time…

 

End of summer

Late summer flew by, busy busy.  I helped my daughter move house which was tiring, we had a family wedding in London which was emotional and a few days camping in Dorset which was lovely. It was forty nine years since I was last in this part of the world which is memorable because on that family holiday I caught my first ever, totally unassisted fish.  I repeatedly cast a string of dayglo feathers as far as I could with nine year old arms then on one occasion the retrieve felt heavy and I wound in a Mackerel.  My Dad caught plenty, sometimes in twos and let me wind a few in but they didn’t really count.  I’m pretty sure we ate them all, my Mum fried them in a pan fresh from the sea, delicious!  On this trip I revisited the scene near West Bay and enjoyed a fantastic grilled plaice in the Bridport Arms, the beer was top class too, can’t remember the brewery but it might have been Palmers?  I took the rods down south but didn’t get round to actually fishing this time but I like the area and I’ll be back.

What fishing I did in late summer was mostly focused on Bass, in previous years the cauldron had fished well so it made sense to spend a bit of time here.  It’s a good bet for a Bass but with the occasional bonus fish as shown by my last visit here, apart from Hounds there’s always a chance of a Ray and if one turns up it’s usually a big one.  ‘Focused on Bass…’  Who am I kidding?  I really want to catch these ‘bonus fish’ but if they don’t show up, I’ll be content with Bass.

My first visit was in mid August on the day the drought finally broke, although by the afternoon it was a cloudy but warm day with a moderate westerly blowing off shore.  High tide was due just before 1600, after setting off late then the hike through the marsh it was 1500 before I was fishing, once again fishing three rods trying to cover all bases.  I had a Bass rod baited with ragworm dropped in close and two bigger baits fished at various distances on pulley rigs.  My first bite came after forty five minutes and produced a small Bass, no surprise there.    As the minutes ticked by and high tide approached I was able to cast the big baits a bit further.  It was bang on high tide when one of the heavier rods literally started rattling in the tripod, what the fuck?  After a second or two I realised the line was now pointing in a different direction, something was dragging a squid plus a six ounce lead and it wasn’t tide.  I wound into a good weight but it wasn’t doing much, just the occasional thump as I pumped it back so I was thinking ‘Ray’.  Then when it got in close it certainly woke up, running along the edge from left to right, either a Bass or…  Yes! A Hound, looking awesome, dorsal out of the water as it tried to get away!  In truth it wasn’t big enough to stand a chance against the tackle and I soon had it up the stones.  This time I did get a photo and on the scales, my second best.  I may have mentioned it before but I love these little sharks!

I hoped for more bites on the big baits but it didn’t happen and as the ebbing tide picked up again so these rods had to be fished closer in.  About an hour into the ebb I had a flurry of bites on the ragworm fished close and wound in two more Bass.  Another hour another spell a couple more Bass, it’s very often like this at this spot, the fish come and go but as more time passed it seemed like they’d just gone, just the odd rattle every now and then.  By 2100 I was tired and decided I’d had enough so started to tidy things up.  I looked up to see one of the heavy rods pulling over, a proper banging bite.  I pulled into a decent weight and a thumping rod tip, maybe another hound?  The thing I hauled onto the beach was the right colour but the wrong shape, is that a big Eel or a baby Conger?  I sent the picture to a couple of friends and we agreed it was the latter, another first and I think the seventeenth species caught from Suffolk beaches since 2020.

 

My next fishing opportunity came a couple of weeks later, after our south coast trip, the drought now a fading memory.  I couldn’t see past fishing the cauldron with the same three rod set up and the same tactics.  The distances I cast would depend on the pull of the tide but to begin with all three had to be fished fairly close as the tide was ripping through.  I’d arrived around 1315, two hours before high tide.  The forecast had threatened rain so I’d brought the shelter and although it was dry I was glad to have some respite from the fresh south west wind.  After an hour the tide had eased enough for me to put the pulley rigs out a bit further but it made no difference, ninety minutes in I still hadn’t had a bite.  This changed a few minutes before high tide with a good rattle on the Bass rod saw me winding in the first Bass of the night.  A brief spell of bites followed and I managed another Bass, slightly larger than the first.  All bar one of the Bass I’ve had this year have been between eight and twelve inches and this was another one of those.

While dealing with this fish I’d noticed a large bank of dark clouds to the south of me, somebody was getting wet so I reorganised the shelter and got well under but thankfully, bar a few minutes of drizzle, most of the wet stuff passed me by.  I stayed dry but the wind was gradually getting stronger and with wind against tide big waves rolled up the channel.  I’m told Bass like it bouncy but that wasn’t the case tonight, bites dried up on the ragworm and the bigger baits remained untouched.

Ninety minutes into the ebb the Bass rod started rattling again.  I had another small one and missed a couple more before the fish moved off again.  As I hadn’t had anything on the bigger baits, I tried something different.  A large and rancid mackerel fillet was mounted, tube shaped onto a Pennell and lobbed out.  I just left it there to soak, hoping something exceptional would be attracted but it didn’t happen.  I’d planned to fish into twilight but it wasn’t happening and I was knackered so called it a day around 1900.

The long dry summer has seen me mostly stay away from the low, lifeless rivers but I’m ready for a change now, before Pike time kicks in, so that will probably be my lot for beach fishing until the spring.  It’s been a very mixed season, a lot of it didn’t go at all to plan but when it was good, it was very good.

Parched

When will the hot weather end?  It’s beginning to feel like never but inevitably the earth spins, seasons change and before we know it, autumn will be here.  What will the cooler months have in store?  More extremes, more storms, biblical rain?  What mugs we are!  Anyway, hot weather doesn’t motivate me to fish any more than freezing cold.  I had one recent trip which was a short evening session on a rising tide at ‘Sandy lane’ with the purple queen as company.  We sat facing the sea, there was an off shore breeze and comfortable temperature.  It was a lovely evening in a glorious setting but the trouble with fishing on sand is everything gets covered in the stuff.  Conditions looked bang on for a Ray but it didn’t happen and I only had one bite all night.  Apart from that I’ve been to Norfolk a couple of times, mostly to do a few odd jobs on the boat and trailer but I’ve also taken to the water afterwards, armed with a float rod.  More on that another day, maybe…

I need to go fishing, it helps me to ground myself in this insane world but I tried to resist until things seemed a little more in my favour. It was still roasting hot when my next day’s off came around but I knew it would be cooler on the beach and with high tide due at 1542 I could fish the ‘Cauldron’ during the slack water period then have a chance of Bass when the tide started to run.  This all sounded fine in theory but this area is hard to predict and can be heaven and hell on the same day.  To give myself a good chance of actually catching something, ragworm would be a must, even so it was hard to feel confident.

I set off later than planned, the drive through the lanes is often eventful and usually pleasant but on this occasion I was struck by the signs of drought.  I’ve never, ever seen the county look this parched and where the local river splits above an old mill the water isn’t going over the weir on one of the courses.  At the coast the marshes were still pretty green but even here some plants are baked to the colour of ripe corn.  The hike in the heat was gruelling but at the shore a fresh southerly kept things comfortable.  I was fishing by 1425 and today I risked over complicating things by fishing three rods.  Two heavy set ups fishing pulley rigs and mostly squid were mounted on the tripod, I planned to vary the distances cast depending on the state of the tide and began fishing at medium range or what looks to me like two to three cricket pitches.  The other one was a Bass rod which I walked slightly uptide and cast into deep water close in.  This I walked back beneath the other two rods and propped it at an angle using an attachment I’d recently bodged.  If I hooked a fish on this I’d have to walk slightly left initially then back to the right, beneath the other lines.  It probably sounds complicated but actually worked in practice and I had the chance to chance to test it within half an hour.  A small Bass came skipping up the shingle and it was most welcome!

With the pace of the tide easing my casts on the heavy set ups kept getting a bit further and after an hour I was able to fish one rod as far out as I could chuck it.  Ironically it was the other rod fishing a bit closer in that was in the action next.  First up a Bass of about a pound or so on squid then half an hour later a proper relentless bite which really was impossible to miss.  There was a decent weight on the end and it thumped the rod over a few times but was in close very quickly.  I wasn’t sure what it was until a retreating wave left a good sized Thornback high and dry.  This was a cracking fish of six pounds, it didn’t look that big to begin but was really thick but I don’t know if this was all muscle or recent food.  This rod had barely settled on the tripod before the long range one started banging.  I hooked this one too and started to pull another decent weight back towards me, it was obviously a substantial fish but it felt different to the previous one.  With the fish in close it started running parallel to the shore, first to my left then back up past me to the right and with the fish in only inches of water I could see a Smoothound go past me, what a sight!  I managed to haul it onto the stones, then put the rod down to pick it up.  Before I could do so it had unhooked it self and wriggled back into the sea.  I’ d guess it was around four pounds or so and was a little disappointed not to get a photo.

I managed to hold bottom at range for a couple more casts but as the ebb grew stronger all three rods had to be fished in the first forty yards or so.  Things went quiet but I couldn’t care less, the trip had gone far better than I had hoped and I felt I was still in with a chance.  About ninety minutes into the ebb things started happening again.  I had a couple of rattles on the heavier rods but most of the action came on the Bass rod, fishing ragworm close in.  Every few minutes I’d get a rapid, banging bite, some hooked themselves, some didn’t and when I packed up a couple of hours later my total had reached nine but all were small, eight to twelve ounces.  I’ve caught a few bigger Bass at this spot but they didn’t show up tonight, even so I have no complaints.

After a few iffy weeks on the beaches it was good to have a confidence boost, everything went pretty much to plan for a change and hopefully there will be a few more chances to try again before the seasons change.  The trick will be staying patient and waiting for the right tide and favourable weather.

Heatwave

We used to call it global warming, for some reason nowadays we call it climate change, either way there are still people who refuse to believe it, saying it’s all a hoax.  Coincidentally many of these people believe in the trickle down economy and considering the amount of evidence they choose to ignore, presumably a flat earth too.  Whatever, I cannot remember such a run of high temperatures this early in the year and it’s been too hot for fishing really but I can’t resist going anyway.

After a Saturday shift finished I made my way to the river, I knew where I wanted to fish on a hot humid evening, the shade of the ‘squirrel bridge’ would be perfect.  However, when I got there I carried on walking towards the perfect pool at the far end of the stretch.  I’ve made this long walk a couple of times and the swim looks bang on but I’ve never had a bite there.  Tonight would be the night so I carried on in the oppressive heat, pushing through head high nettles and eventually made it to the pool, which didn’t look anything like as good as it had in my mind.  I gave it forty five minutes here without a bite then loaded up and done the hike again in reverse.  Back on familiar ground I realised how low the river was and this often prolific swim appeared lifeless.  Another three quarters of an hour without a bite confirmed this and I had to reflect on my decision making.

I had a few days off in early July, the plan was me and Rich would head out west for a couple of days but the closer we got, the worse the weather ahead looked.  It was too late to cancel the days off so we decided to carry on regardless, knowing full well it we would most likely struggle.  We reached the happy valley in the early afternoon and headed straight for a pub instead of the river.  After a welcome pint and a bite to eat we were refreshed and ready to go.  In the heat of the afternoon we found ourselves humping our gear along a stretch which is slowly becoming familiar.  The valley looked glorious, bathed in the brightest light. The afternoon was just as slow as we’d expected but I was confident the stretch would come alive as the light levels dropped.  This didn’t really happen but we managed a bite apiece and a Chub each, mine was a couple of pounds or so but in mint condition whilst Rich’s was an old warrior of over four pounds.

We pitched up at a picnic area and spent the night on bedchairs under brollies and had a surprisingly comfortable kip.  The following morning we made it back to the river on a cooler, murky morning and the river looked lovely.  The fish didn’t agree though as neither of us had a bite despite a covering a bit of water with a couple of moves.  By lunchtime I was back at the car where I spent a couple of hours having a siesta in the shade of my brolly then got everything sorted and ready for the evening.

For some reason I walked in the heat once more, to the upstream end of the stretch.  Over the next few hours I worked my way back downstream, catching up with Rich along the way.  Both of us had seen taps and tremors in the rod tips but neither of us had seen any proper bites.  With a couple of hours left we decided to pitch up side by side in a large swim I’d fished early morning.  I’d not had a touch then but this evening we started getting rattles straight away and the river really did come alive.  I had the first proper bite but missed it then on the recast the tip banged over and I found myself straight in a snag.  While I was clipping on a new hooklength and cursing, Rich had a Chub of a couple of pounds then followed this up with another that was a little smaller.  Then it was my turn again; thump thump on the tip, I found myself holding a rod in full bend with a tick, tick, tick on the clutch…  Barbel!  I started to gain line but it felt all wrong, I could feel something grating.  I hoped it was weed but no, the line parted on what was almost certainly a rock.

And that was our lot.  A day and a half of slogging in the heat then a couple of magical hours that were as eventful and exciting as fishing gets, the sense that anything could happen at any time.  I’d caught bugger all, lost a decent fish in a snag yet still I’d still loved it.

Back on home turf, my next trip came the following week, the heat was still suffocating the east and it was hard to get motivated to do any fishing but with an evening tide and half a pound of ragworm I fancied my chances of a Bass and maybe a Ray at the shallow beach.  The fresher air at the coast was as tempting as the fishing and was enough to convince Giles and daughter to join me.  It was a lovely evening on the beach but a north easterly had picked up and any chance of a Ray was gone, and as it turned out the Bass weren’t too keen either.  I managed three small ones but Giles had the fish of the night with a Sole, a species we rarely see.

2026 started with what at the time felt like endless days of rain making rivers unapproachable for weeks.  Now we’re stuck in this spell of oppressive heat but looking at the forecast it appears we’ll get a few days of cooler weather, or perhaps less roasting is a better description?  What we really need is rain but judging by the forecast this is unlikely until the end of the month at least so I don’t know when I’ll get the rods out next, I’m sure the urge will come at some point not too far away.

Dodgy June

 

Everything looked good for a trip to the shallow beach, an off shore breeze and a late evening high tide and as I hadn’t been there for a while, I couldn’t resist.  My target fish tonight would be Rays, for some reason I don’t catch many Hounds here but I always hope.  Whilst setting up I noticed someone in a gin palace had got it wrong on the way into the estuary, they were stuck on a sand bar for hours.  I didn’t notice them leave, just looked over and saw the boat had gone but by then it was almost dark.

I had a proper bite on my first cast and had a hell of a job hauling the fish back towards me, obviously a Ray but a much smaller fish than I expected appeared in the edge.  I hoped for more Rays but had a quiet couple of hours before the Dogfish started banging the rod tip.  I had three in no time then it went quiet and after a couple of retrieves brought back untouched baits I called it a night.

On a Saturday evening I had just enough time for my first trip on a river since the season had opened.  I was well into my journey before I realised I’d left the landing net in the shed.  I’ve been in this predicament before and knew one spot I could get in the river, should I hook a fish.  If this spot was taken…

Thankfully this was not the case and I settled into the ‘squirrel bridge’ around 1840.  This had been a consistent spot in the past two summers but the nature of the swim has changed lately.  I didn’t have much choice but fish here so didn’t pay it much attention; there was still a slightly deeper pool below me, screened by nettles.  I fed a few grains of corn every now and then as I got set up then swung a feeder rig baited with corn downstream and the tip started knocking from the off.  I missed two decent bites before I connected and a nice Chub plodded around in front of me.  I slid down the bank and into the water then took my time, letting the fish go upstream and eventually guided the fish onto the mat which I’d half submerged just in case.  It actually worked quite well.  I needed forceps to remove the hook, I wasn’t going to miss that bite!  Then slipped a fish of three pounds or so back into the river.  I didn’t get anymore bites after that but carried on for another hour, with nowhere else I could feel safe fishing without the net I decided to call it a day.

It might just be me but I’ve found late June has always been dodgy on the beaches, inconsistent at best and at worst a waste of time.  My motivation to give it a go are the Smoothounds, just one bite from one of these would make it worthwhile.

Two weeks had passed since my last try so I went back to the beach I’d caught from then, by now we were at the beginning of the roasting, record breaking heatwave but I knew it would be more tolerable by the sea.  I fished the usual methods; crab or squid cast varying distances which has been good for a few bites all spring.  But not on this occasion.  My one nibble of the evening came an hour after high tide and I thought I had a small Hound hanging on the end but on closer inspection this was different.  It wasn’t quite a foot long but was much more plump towards the head and the mouth was more forward, as opposed to underneath like a hound.  Also the mouth was lined with tiny needle teeth so I think it must have been a tiny Tope, my first ever.     

I’d hoped the ebb tide would be productive but this was not the case and the England match on the radio didn’t enliven anything so I got away earlier than planned.  I tried once more a week later but fished five hours and didn’t get a rattle.  I’ll probably do better fishing for Bass for a few weeks but before that the rivers are calling.

Kaleidoscope skies

I pitched up once more, three hours before high tide on a grey breezy morning that threatened rain. Not a nice summer day but conditions I welcomed as I hoped it would keep the beach quiet.  Despite the weather there were already four anglers fishing before me but all were spread out and I managed to set up pretty much where I’d intended, with space enough to be the anti social git that I am.  I was fishing by 1020, exactly three hours before high tide was due, starting off with two rods both fishing pulley rigs, baited with crab or squid.  The sea in front of me was grey and lumpy with noisy waves rolling in, not too rough for Rays or so I hoped but far different to my last visit.  For once I’d brought a third rod with me on which I intended to leger the leftover ragworm from my previous go for Bass.  I’d bodged an attachment onto the tripod on which I could prop the rod but realised I could clip on a bell and lean it on the shelter which would space the lines out more.  I delayed casting this rod as the flood tide was carrying a lot of weed which threatened to be a problem on the two rods I was already using.  As it turned out the weed wasn’t as troublesome as it looked and disappeared completely after a couple of hours.

I wasn’t expecting to catch much early on as most action had been coming on the ebb at this location.  I’d got here early so I’d have choice of where to set up and I used the time to get a load of rigs baited up and bound with elastic, some of these were put in a tub and back in the cool bag in case things got hectic later.  I wondered if doing this might jinx things.  I gave the first few casts a long soak and the baits came back nibbled/crabbed but with enough meat left to tempt a fish. There was movement on the rod tips but nothing overtly fishy and I put it mostly down to tide and wind.  A few minutes before midday I looked south and could see dark clouds approaching.  I watched a band of rain flattened water getting ever closer and had time to layer up and get organised before the first of a few short sharp showers arrived.

My first bite came on squid at 1235, forty five minutes before high tide.  I wound into something solid that took a bit of hauling to get it to come towards the shore.  Whatever was on the end felt heavy and I hoped for a Hound but this fish wasn’t running and sure enough a Ray of a couple of pounds slid up the slope.  I like catching Rays but when I’m hoping for a Hound they come as a bit of an anti climax, which is bloody daft really.  This fish had behaved as a lot of Rays do, it hung in the water with its nose pointing upwards so it would resemble a kite on a string.  They feel twice the weight when you have to drag them in like that but when in close often pop up on the surface so you’re quick they can be winched in quickly.  This fish amazed a couple that were hiking along the beach but was soon back beneath the waves wondering what the hell had just happened.

High tide came and went but ten minutes after, another bite on squid produced a good sized Dogfish and shortly afterwards a bite on Ragworm had me winding in a small Bass.  The rods baited with squid were rattling every now and then but the next bite I was able to strike came on ragworm.  I thought I’d missed it but there was a tiny Eel on the end, thankfully lip hooked it was soon back in the sea.  Four fish, four different species.  Ten minutes later I had another good bite on squid and pulled into a familiar heavy resistance.  Pumping these fish back to the beach is all the workout I need ta very much, it was no surprise to see another similar sized Ray revealed by a retreating wave.  I’d barely got this rod back out when the other ‘big rod’ was bending and I was in another, similar scrap.  This fish definitely didn’t want to come in and I began to think I was attached to a big Ray.  When it eventually appeared it was bigger than the first two but not by a lot!

That was my last action of note and I sat on the beach for a couple more hours.  After the first blank hour had passed I figured it unlikely I’d catch much else but I stayed put to let the traffic die down a bit.  When I looked inland there were filthy grey storm clouds travelling south to north, somebody was obviously getting a soaking.  Time to pack up but once the shelter was down I realised the wind was now coming from a more westerly direction and those ominous clouds might come too close for comfort.  Everything else got packed away and humped across the beach in record time and I was safely on the road before any substantial rain fell.  On the drive home it became apparent just how much rain had been dropped, just a few miles inland I was driving through big puddles and later had to crawl through flooded rods but when I reached home it looked like they’d barely seen a raindrop.

After a restless, agitated morning I loaded the car and head east then endured a slow, frustrating drive but once on the last leg and deep into green country I was able to relax. I was settled in the beach shelter behind the tripod by 1525, three hours before high tide.  At the moment my fishing is repetitive in a way, I arrive early to give myself a good choice of where to set up and time to get organised before things hopefully get hectic.  My methods remain the same too, pulley rigs baited with squid or crab thrown varying distances from the beach.  The day had been a mixture of sunshine and sharp showers and this continued into the evening.  There was a fresh westerly wind but pitched up below the last ridge I was sheltered and the sea looked surprisingly flat, the waves breaking weren’t too big.  It actually looked like better conditions for a Ray than last week when I’d managed to catch three but just like last week what I really wanted was to catch a Smoothound.

The afternoon passed with weather more spectacular than the fishing, a couple of storms saw me sitting deep in the shelter, these cleared away to bright sunshine and kaleidoscope skies.  As high tide neared I started to see short pulls and rattles on the rod tips but nothing I could strike.  At 1830, just after hightide I had a banging bite on squid and pulled into something with a bit of weight and a lot of spirit.  The closer it got the more I began to think it might be… and when it ran parallel to the shore line I was pretty sure.  Sure enough I pulled a Hound up the beach and it was my biggest of the year so far!  Like the others this thing didn’t stop wriggling making it difficult to snap a decent photo but I got one in the end.  I was well happy with that and didn’t care if I caught another fish all evening but as the minutes passed I dared to wish for another.

An hour passed then the same rod, this time baited with crab, was banging again, a proper bite which you can’t mis and this time I didn’t.  The fish felt similar to the first and I had to follow this one along the surf, yes another Smoothound, slightly bigger than the first.  Most of the Hounds I’ve caught have stars along their backs but this was one of the few that don’t.  Apparently these are different species but the grow to roughly the same size and look identical, apart from the stars.  I tried a self take for a change which didn’t come out bad but they’re still hard to hang on to.

Dare I hope for a hat trick?  Of course I did but it didn’t come off.  I fished on until dusk watching colourful clouds above off shore storms travelling roughly north.  I had a few more bites and caught three Dogfish which on the one hand are very similar to Smoothounds but on the other, nothing like.  Well I know what I mean.  The tips were still showing the occasional rattle but by 2200 I was knackered and decided to get myself home at an almost reasonable time for a change.  All was going to plan but I’ve had a few annoying return journeys lately and they don’t come much more infuriating than a fucking flat tyre.  Didn’t spoil my day though.