Smelly fishy bits

Spring is here, allegedly.  You wouldn’t think so from the weather; overnight frosts, gale force north easterly winds along with rain, sleet, hail and snow.  If there’s any other form of precipitation we probably had that dumped on us too.  Friday was a non starter fishing wise and I didn’t fancy my chances for spring Carp or Tench when it all calmed down on Saturday.  In the end I spent a large chunk of my time off driving, firstly to Norwich on Friday to see my daughter and then on Saturday out west to Sudbury to drop my son off at a party.  There’s a strange vibe about this part of the county, I always expect to hear a banjo…  From here I backtracked and headed east towards the coast to get my fishing fix.  All this driving gave me plenty of opportunity to listen to music, old and new.  Frank Zappa has many fans but after half an hour of musical wanking (i.e. jazz with guitars) I decided I wasn’t one of them.  The latest Van Morrison record project was little better, badly produced with each song blending into the next becoming a boring procession but at least I made it to the end of the CD.

Eventually I reached the car park at the steep beach, the tide was all wrong but I didn’t care, I’d hurl some lumps of smelly fishy bits into the sea, relax and take what comes my way, if anything.  The afternoon was clear and bright, the north easterly had eased to become manageable even if I required the old oval brolly to ensure my comfort. The tide was all wrong, I’d be fishing it down for an hour or so then back up for as long as I could stay motivated.  As I sat slowly tackling up I wondered if I’d bitten off more than I could chew?  Soon I had remembered enough to get two baits out into the grey watery mass, my usual set ups; a running leger with a small bit of squid dropped in close and a whole squid on a pulley Pennell chucked out as far as I dared, which wasn’t that far as it turned out.  As I’d tackled up the big bait I thought I’d seen a rattle on the other and sure enough when I checked a small Whiting had hooked itself, my first cast of the spring had brought me a fish, result!

I was off and running, blank avoided so I settled back on my chair with a brew and tried to reacquaint myself with this beach fishing lark.  The late afternoon was pleasant and bright but I was glad I’d brought the oval because once outside the shelter the wind was cutting.  I’d like to say the bites came thick and fast but this was not the case, I had to get used to the quirks of sea fishing and the rhythm of the waves.  I may have had several bites but if this was so I didn’t spot them.  Two lads fishing to my right had no such trouble, by the look of things they were fishing short hooklengths on flapper rigs and were very active, casting often and striking regularly they were catching a few Whiting, while I wasn’t doing much at all.  I was sure I had a few plucks and rattles but few proper bites and when I struck it was either early or late.  I considered switching methods but in the end I just couldn’t be arsed, this frenetic fishing isn’t for me even if today it would have been more effective.

By 1900 the sea was creeping back up the beach and the sun was getting ready to set, also the wind had died away completely meaning I could tidy up the brolly and get it out of the way.  As the time passed I began to remember the little details that make a difference, my casting improved dramatically and I began to feel like I knew what I was doing again.  As the light fades I always feel confident and sure enough another proper bite materialised.  I picked the rod off the tripod and held it, when another shudder transmitted up the line I struck and I managed to winch another Whiting onto the beach.  With the rising tide the waves grew bigger even though the sea beyond the breakers was flat, I haven’t a clue about the subtleties of wind and tide and I probably never will.  I am definitely guilty of taking Pike fishing seriously, too much so at times but here on the beach I just want to fish and relax, I don’t feel the need to try too hard and the simplicity is part of the appeal.  I look at the lengths modern carpers go to and in some cases admire their effort but it’s definitely not for me.

Another hour passed and full darkness had descended, the horizon was lit by a row of ships heading south to Felixstowe and Harwich, the stars above were spectacular.  The roll and crash of the waves shifting tonnes of shingle seemed louder in the dark, it really is a surreal and wild environment on this stony coast.  But as the night time passed so the temperature dropped, by 2200 I’d added another Whiting but a frost was forming on my kit so I made my last casts.  Half an hour later I was back on country lanes, the stereo throbbed with Marley’s ‘Survival’ a classic that won’t disappoint.  My headlights picked out rabbits another positive and welcome sign of spring.  The fishing hadn’t been at all spectacular but it had ticked all the boxes.