Sunday morning, the Princess had grim news, my presence was required at a garden centre; “I need your input – we’ll just get what we want and come home…” on balance this particularly sadistic form of torture was marginally preferable to the grief I’d have got had I refused.
Things didn’t bode
well, the Princess was driving which is an experience I never enjoy but
something I’ve gotten used to over the years.
The outing went awry from the start, instead of turning left and going
to the garden centre a couple of miles down the road we turned right and headed
for another one which was several miles in the other direction. ‘Several’ miles became even more because the
Princess just cannot drive in a straight line.
Yes she keeps the car within the lines but hers is a meandering course
that likes to use the extremities of the lane.
The most direct route involved a single track country lane but ‘most
direct’ doesn’t necessarily mean quickest.
We arrived at the
dreaded garden centre to find the car park was rammed, in fact there were no
spaces left. There would have been plenty
of room had the other users managed to use a bit of common sense and at least
park straight. Had I been behind the
wheel I would have just driven away at this point but after a slow circuit and
a couple of seven point turns we found a space that must have been just
vacated, I’m not sure if I was pleased at this point? I suppose the alternative would have been to
drive to another fucking garden centre, at least when the car next started we would
be heading home. But before that blessed
relief we had the main ordeal itself to contend with.
We were squeezed
next to a crisp white sporty Range Rover thing.
These motors should not be clean and white, they are off road vehicles
for fuck sake, they should be dark green and mud splattered. Be real, that was Suffolk a lifetime ago,
nowadays these motors are bought to impress others and are usually driven by a
tiny, lone female. The next car over was
a vintage sports car of some description, I’m not sure what kind but its owner wore
a tee shirt that said ‘Jensen’ in big letters so if I was a gambling man… Either way it was an unsuitable vehicle to be
weighing down with bags of fertilizer which was what Mr Jensen is doing. But it was the first sunny Sunday of the year
so all the soft tops and big motorcycles were bound to be out.
Into the labyrinth
of rooms and spaces; (why are garden centres like this? Random collections of dilapidated barns
linked by rattling Perspex) there was very little here that I understood but it
was a subject I’d strived to avoid all my life.
Small clusters of slow moving elderly people created hazards in the rows
and reminded me of Pacman ghosts, I realised we were the youngest people in the
building. Despite the bursting car park
there didn’t seem to be that many people around, where were they all? Was there something fun going on somewhere in
one of these random buildings? Any
curiosity I had was stifled by reminding myself that this was a garden centre,
fun is not on the agenda, this was not a place where I belonged.
After a double
circuit of the warren we chanced upon the item we set out for and quickly
gathered it up. The Princess could read
the signs and knew it was time to steer me homeward before I done “something
inappropriate and embarrassing…” We
headed into the final building, the last bottleneck where they squeeze the cash
out of us before we are allowed to escape.
But there was no one behind the counter.
We waited. Then we waited some
more. The till area was unguarded as was
the office, door wide open with computers and a handbag in plain sight. I managed to resist the temptation for mischief. After a while a member of staff appeared with
an octogenarian customer in tow, while he flapped around the absentee returned
all apologies and we eventually made our escape.
The drive home was
on more country lanes, single track with passing spaces which can lead to some
questionable driving but it wasn’t so bad today. We passed a day ticket fishery, a couple of
acres of admittedly quite pretty farm pond but it’s full of horrible ghostly
carp and I could see anglers everywhere with another rammed car park. That is not angling, no way and if that was
all that was available I really wouldn’t bother.
My weekend plans to fish an evening tide had been thwarted
by strong winds so here I sat, early Monday morning, facing the rising sun in
calmer conditions. I was wondering if
two days of stormy weather would have stirred things up and the big Rays would
be on the feed? Despite the onshore
breeze the sea was fairly flat and with a bit of cloud stopping the day
becoming too bright everything looked about as good as it could get? I fished my normal heavy rod/light rod and
kept to the rigs I usually use. Both
sailed out nicely and gripped so the two rod tips had a nice curve. All I needed was a fish.
One hundred yards to the south was Mr K, an old mate of long standing and he started fast with a couple of small bass on ragworm. Shortly after that I heard a shout and looked up to see him standing up with a seriously bent rod, I picked up scales and camera and jogged down the beach in time to see a cracking big Ray of 7-12 flap up the slope. This was a new PB so Mr K was chuffed as nuts and a few minutes later he added a second Ray which was about half the size though still a decent fish.
Back behind my rods I was starting to have my doubts, time was passing and starting to speed up, so far I still hadn’t had so much as a rattle. I was using tried and tested methods on a beach I was familiar with, I expected to catch but it just wasn’t happening. At times like this we start to second guess ourselves and get weird ideas but I told myself I just had to stick to what I was doing and the fish would come. Another shout to my right, Mr K was dragging a third ray up the beach. With a mate catching fish and my tips static the weird ideas started to crowd my brain again! Around 0920 I wound in the light rod and was surprised to find a funny little flat fish had hooked itself on a strip of mackerel. This creature was brown on one side, white on the other and almost transparent which makes it a Dab I believe? Ah well, it had taken almost three hours but I’d caught a fish, the blank was avoided so now I could be happy sitting on a quiet beach on a pleasant morning watching my mate hammer the fish!
I hadn’t managed to recast the light rod before I looked up
to see the heavy rod had slackened off and I was on my feet at a speed that
surprised me. I had to wind down a fair
way before I felt the fish and for a few seconds I dragged a decent weight
towards the shore but then it all went solid and no amount of heavy hauling would
shift it. I slackened off and put the
rod back in the tripod for a few minutes.
The rod started to bend over and I thought this might have done the
trick but this may have just been the tide taking up the slack as it was still
solid. Eventually the leader gave way
and what was on the end I’ll never know although my money would be on a decent
ray…
Despite this setback I still felt confident, the bites had started right on cue, exactly when I’d predicted they would to Mr K and I was sure I’d get another chance. I switched the light rod to a bigger hook and a small whole squid and punched this out before retackling the heavy rod. At 1005 it was the light rod that yanked over and I was soon doing battle again. This time I kept the lump of fish moving, it didn’t get bogged down and after a tug of war in the surf I hauled a decent Ray onto the beach, greeted by a cheer from Mr K. I’d barely recast this rod before the heavy rod fell slack again and I was soon winching back another decent weight. It was no surprise to see a second, smaller ray come flapping onto the beach, that’s more like it!
In the next half an hour I had bites on both rods and landed three decent sized Dogfish and while that was going on Mr K beached a Whiting, a dog and two more Rays. Then the fish just switched off and it went quiet on all rods. Just after 1100 we met in the middle for a brief chat and decided ‘one more cast’ but still the rod tips remained still. I started to tidy up and wound in the light rod to find a crab had impaled itself. Around 1130 I had nothing left to tidy up so was forced to wind in the heavy rod and bugger me there was a decent weight on the end which I pumped all the way back to the breakers before it thumped once and came off. Maybe another Ray but then again…
The hike back to the cars is always taxing and had us
puffing, it was a relief to onload the kit then two broad grins broke out,
today was a Happy Monday.
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