Beached

We had to squeeze in another trip to the beach before the arrival of autumn and an obsession with Pike, that first time had been so much fun, we had all loved it.  But as we got closer to the arranged date the forecast made it look like the weather might intervene with a monsoon.  We’re beginners and not equipped to survive on the beach in rough weather and with twenty four hours to go it looked like we might have to call off.  In fact I was so sure we wouldn’t be going I didn’t bother to pick up any ragworm.  But on the Thursday evening the forecast looked a bit more manageable and as Rich had an old and very battered umbrella we thought we could handle showers so the trip was back on, although we’d have to rely on frozen bait.

We were due to fish from early afternoon on a rising tide then stay on into darkness for as long as we were enjoying ourselves.  Here at home, twenty miles from the coast it rained most of the morning and this continued on the journey east but by the time we met at the allotted car park the clouds were breaking and the sky was as bright as my mood.  Rich, Giles and I loaded up then trudged across the shingle towards the grey expanse of salty stuff.  There were already three anglers in situ so we decided to walk on past them and give them a wide birth.  They looked like they knew what they were doing and we didn’t want to embarrass ourselves.  This part of the world could be described as bleak; flat as a witch’s tit with a few blasted buildings and sparse vegetation.  And stones.  Miles upon miles of pebbles dumped by the tides.  It’s a world away from a shady, lily fringed pool yet still impressive in a different way.

We three set about tackling up with unfamiliar tackle, I’d got adventurous and brought a second rod with me.  This was a 1980’s vintage Daiwa carp rod that had originally been brown but at some point I’d painted it matt black so it looked cool.  This is another piece of old tackle that is full of memories but hasn’t been used for a very long time.  I put on a rarely used Shimano reel of a more recent vintage and on this rod I fished a running leger with a 3oz flat lead, a long trace and a size 2 Aberdeen, just up from the hook I’d attached a large buoyant bead because it seemed like a good idea.  As we had no live worms I decided to try one made of rubber and plopped this out only about twenty yards.  On my other rod I was going more adventurous and fished a whole squid on a 2/0 Pennell rig.  Once again I used a running rig with a long trace but the lead was a 6ozs breakaway and I hurled this as far as the ancient Intrepid could manage.  The floating bead and rubber worm had been my idea but for the rest I was simply fishing as the friendly bait digger had recommended.  Giles and Rich were doing it a bit different, using paternoster rigs and a variety of baits; squid, sprats and fillets of bluey.

Last time we’d fished we had bites from the start but not so tonight, the tips remained motionless, the sea was so calm not even the waves could make them nod.  We settled in to wait, chatting and chilling out, staring out to sea and cautiously behind us to check what weather was blowing our way.  There was lightning and threatening clouds to both the north and the south of us but these seemed to be following the course of estuaries and we were fishing on an island of sunshine and calm.  For most of the afternoon we sat in tea shirts and sunburn seemed more likely than a drenching.  But still the tips remained motionless.  Should I take off the silly rubber worm?  As none of the fishy baits were being touched, (apart from the starfish which had attached itself to Giles’ sprat…)  I decided to stick with it.

A couple of hours passed, the tide was creeping higher up the shingle but although the odd movement on the tips had us leaping from the chairs there were no definite bites.  We’d stayed dry so far but the weather looked like it was closing in on us.  The rising tide meant we had to move our camp higher up the beach and thought it sensible to put the brolly up when we did so.  The move was barely completed before a heavy shower hit us and had the three of us huddling under the small brolly, hoping we didn’t get a bite just then.  After ten minutes or so the worst of the rain had passed over, we were damp but not cold and uncomfortable.  The shower moved out to sea but the clouds had brought a cool breeze with them and we went from tea shirts to layers in no time.  I decided the rubber worm was a terrible idea so switched it over to a small piece of squid.

We settled back into chatter whilst staring up at the hypnotic rod tips but suddenly the calm was shattered by Rich leaping to his feet and shouting “Shark!”  I wasn’t sure if this was Richard’s sense of humour surfacing but he seemed convinced and as we stared out to sea we all saw a triangular fin breach followed by a dark back slipping beneath the calm sea.  It wasn’t a shark but a porpoise of some sort, possibly more than one showing regularly as it/they moved purposefully southwards.  This perked the evening up no end and seemed it might change our fortunes as the tips started to rattle irregularly.  For a while we all had tremors, not definite bites but movements out of synch with what had gone on before.  Had the Porpoise(s) moved some fish into our area?  By this time we’d fished for over four hours without anything other than Giles’ starfish and a crab which had clung on determinedly to Richard’s bait.  But as the light began to fade these occurrences had lifted our spirits.

We were joined by another old friend that I don't see often enough.  I’ve known Kev for forty years and he is excellent company but as he is a carp angler so we rarely spend fishing time together.  He brought a chair and Cooper the amphibious Retriever (dog) and settled down to see what this sea fishing lark was all about.  We told him our tale of woe, brightened by the porpoise sighting and tried to remain upbeat about our chances though it was looking like a blank was on the cards.  Just one fish between us would save the day.  We managed a succession of miscasts which saw us passing rods underneath each other in an attempt to unknit our lines, disasters were mostly avoided.  We all got bored of throwing the ball long before Cooper was tired of chasing after it.  The porpoise(s) returned briefly to prove to Kev that we hadn’t hallucinated and once again this seemed to stir some fish up.  Still no strike-able bites but as darkness fell we were getting definite taps and rattles.

Then around eight o clock Rich yelled once more and I looked up to see my close range rod bent right over as something tried to pull it into the sea.  The next thing I remember I was standing up, holding the rod and pulling back, I’d actually hooked something substantial and on the light gear I could feel it running up tide as a trudged down the beach.  Even with the carp rod the fight was one sided and I soon saw something glowing in the surf, I grabbed the trace and dragged a Bass up onto the shingle, its silver flanks shined in our head torches and it looked fantastic.  This was far bigger than any of the Bass I’d caught last time and would easily have fed two people but I was delighted just to catch it and taking it home t didn’t feel necessary so it was released to grow bigger.

That one fish had made the evening but also gave us renewed hope, where there’s one there are very likely to be more.  The wind had dropped by now and the temperature seemed to have risen, Kev remarked that it was far more pleasant than when he’d first arrived.  The tips were being lit by a strong torch beam and four headtorches and we couldn’t keep our eyes off them, darkness had brought the fish on and squid baits fished at close range were producing bites to all of us.  However for some reason the rattles on Rich and Giles rods didn’t develop whereas the ones on my rod developed into proper pulls that I was able to strike at.  My next proper bite produced another species, a small Whiting the first I’d caught since the early eighties and shortly after this I had a second which was slightly larger.  These were of a similar size to the Bass I’d caught a month ago but were much more fun on the lighter gear and definitely big enough to make me smile broadly.  My close in rod was doing the trick, it could have been the light running lead and long hooklength was working better than the paternosters on the day.  It could just be all down to luck.  For the next hour or so the fishing was engrossing and we were all rapt but we couldn’t hit anything.

Someone looked at a watch, it was gone ten o clock and we knew we better think about packing up but another good bite on my rod slowed this up.  The culprit was soon winched onto the shingle and was being dragged up when it unhooked itself and rolled down the slope, back into the surf and away.  It had looked silvery in the torch light so could have been a Bass but was a similar size to the Whiting so that was what it most likely was.  Still the plucks and rattles came and every now and then a longer pull that might have produced a fish had any of us been quicker.  All of the action had been on the close range rods, the big baits on longer casts remained untouched.  We dragged ourselves off the beach around eleven o clock, had we stayed longer I’m sure we’d have had more bites and possibly more fish but we were all knackered and had homes to go to.

My memories of beach fishing from childhood are of being fat with knitted layers, huddling around the warmth of a Tilly lamp on a cold, dark night in autumn or winter.  We’d be hoping for Cod but would settle for Whiting and in reality mostly caught nothing.  But despite this I loved it and couldn’t wait to go again.  When I discovered coarse fishing this was something I could do on my own whenever I pleased and I forgot about sea fishing.  Nowadays the fishing on the Suffolk beaches is vastly different; the Whiting are small and Cod are infrequent visitors.  Whereas beach fishing was a cold weather sport nowadays the summer fishing is much more interesting with a variety of species possible, far more than the handful we’ve been lucky enough to catch. 

Even ignoring the obvious this has been an unusual fishing summer for many reasons.  After the predictable but glorious failure to catch a Tench or Carp at the Valley in spring I decided I needed a change.  I’ve unconsciously found myself fishing how I did as a kid and despite not catching a Gudgeon I’ve enjoyed wandering along the river and following a stick float down but my local river can’t hold my attention for long.  It seems I have a choice of either travelling further for my summer fishing or just chasing Carp like every other fucker.  Perhaps I’m particularly grumpy today but I look at coarse fishing in my area and it all seems artificial and boring or it requires a level of effort that I can’t put in.  Worst of all the air of unknown is no longer there, any mystery there might once have been has vanished and many local myths are sadly just that alone. But thanks to a social afternoon on the beach a month ago I seem to have found something that might motivate me in summers to come, the fish don’t have pet names and in theory you could catch literally anything.  I probably won’t have time for another session this summer but I’ll definitely be back on the beach next spring.