Silver rather than gold in the end.

As I stood atop the bridge looking over the Avon I thought to myself this was either pure genius or total madness. It also occurred to me that if it did turn out to be pure genius, the attempting to fish the river when it was in such a bilious state could produce rewards not just big, but massive. It was that possibility of a huge, fat, late season barbel that drove me onto the submerged banks of Lucy's mill.

Now I've fished this section of the river on and off for close to fifteen years and in that time I've seen in it in all states, but this occasion this was the worst I'd actually attempted to fish it. I knew though that if I could access some of the slacker water between the two weirs, the chances were that some fish would have pushed in there to escape the savage flow.

The normal area most anglers fish from was a good two or even three feet under water and where the flow was diverted by forty-five degrees across onto the bank huge eddy had formed. This tempestuous bit of water looked as mean as they come. Fifty feet wide and constantly churning, it was full of branches of all sizes from those you'd throw for a dog to ones the size you'd throw for Godzilla. There were chunks of trees, old plastic drums and what looked like a section of a kids play house. Honestly, I would have not been surprised at all if a kraken emanated from the centre and grabbed one of the Japanese tourists that seemed obsessed with photographing it.

Happily though as I predicted there was a nice bit of slacker water on the far side of the river between the two weirs. The benches and ten foot wide concrete parade that were opposite the slack on my own bank were a bit under water and therefore I figured the safest place to fish was from behind one of the benches where I stood zero chance of slipping in. Although amusing at first the constant slew of comments about why I was fishing when the river was in flood grew very thin very quickly, until the point when I was ready to start throttling people whilst yelling "It's my last chance to fish that's why I am here you moron". The fishing though was actually easier than I expected! Most of the debris was drifting onto my own bank and under my rod. With my line cutting into the chocolatey water half way across the flow my tip remained motionless.

In an attempt to draw any fish downstream up I had been recasting every fifteen minutes to keep the message travelling down stream. Three hours passed with zero fishy attention to be seen on the rod tip. Really, when it's like this I was expecting the rod to instantly lurch over or all tension to spring off the rod tip. But in fact when some interest did begin to register it was more of a hint of a bite. That hint though kept coming again and again. On inspection of my paste wrapped pellet I noted lots of small chunks being bitten out of the paste. I reckon eels were the culprits and as I needed one for a few challenge points, I changed over to a lob worm hook bait.

The bites that ensued were lightning quick and I was struggling to register them on my barbel rod, so I swapped over to my Avon rod and hoped to hell I didn't suddenly find myself attached to a barbel on this much lighter outfit. The lighter tip turned a tap into a full on jerk and after missing three bites a blind man would have hit, I connected with something that was neither barbel nor eel...

What else can I say other than what better way to finish up the river season than with the last fish being a near mint condition 1.4lb roach caught in flood conditions. The only disappointment was that I couldn't catch any more even though I was convinced there were more in the swim. But anyway, I was more than happy with silver rather than gold to end the season on.

Burnham holiday village a carp session broken up.

I write this in some respects to put the record straight, as when I was researching this lake before going on holiday I found very little decent information and what I did find was misleading in many ways. So I hope that this true report regarding the fishing at Burnham holiday village lake (Haven) may help other anglers in the future if they are holidaying at this park.

When I first saw the Lake at Burnham holiday village I thought it looked nothing as I had expected it to. Firstly what the internet had lead believe was two lakes; a match lake and specimen lake, was actually now one lake since the owner had dug through the causeway the previous winter. The old match lake half looked pretty much as most commercial fisheries look with manicured banks, stages and oxygenating pumps. The old specimen lake though was intriguing with copious islands lined with rushes and reeds, open swathes of water and hidden bays. This could have been some quiet corner of a syndicate lake rather than a holiday park pool. Through several hours of searching I had learnt that the main target for most people and myself would be carp, which were touted to grow up to nearly thirty pounds. As for the other species present none of them seemed to exist in any numbers apart from eels which did offer me a second target.

Hour 1

After one of the most horrendous journeys down from the middle where the car window screen wipers could barley cope and after hastily unpacking I ventured out to have a mooch round the lakes to see if I could add any info to my already blurred picture of the place. Really I was hoping with it being June and all that I could spot a few fish moving round to give me some areas to target. The wind though had other ideas and ideas that would be around for most of the week. Two laps of the lake and a liberal soaking was nearly all I could take. After seeing naff all I was about to leave until I spotted a still slice of water in one corner of the lake. Watching it for a while in the rain got me totally soaked, but it was worth it to see what looked like a few bubblers mooching along the edge. Seeing this tiny snippet of a sign was all I needed to deposit thirty crab and krill baits loosely all along the bramble lined margin, with the intention of returning for a early foray in the morning.

Hour 2-4

The weather over night went from bad to worse. Ten hours in a caravan bouncing back and forth listening to the wind doing its best to tear up the copse of trees behind our tin holiday home was a test for the whole family, apart from young BB who slept quite well all things considered. After slipping on my slightly damp clothes I grabbed my kit and ventured out into the still howling wind. 

The lake was basically covered in large inland waves. The wind had swung ninety degrees and was now pushing onto the area I had baited the night before. Luckily a bit of bank side bramble at least afforded me a minimal amount of cover for the rods. Trying to keep things simple I threw out another thirty baits onto a slightly tighter area and swung out a PVA bag filled with chopped boilie and boilie crumb into the centre of the baited area. The second for this session was aimed towards eels rather than carp and was rigged up with a free running ledger boom and foot long armour braid hook link, size two hook and baited with two broken lob worms.

The wind was merciless and the only way I could fish in any way effectively was to dip the rod tips under the water, with my bobbins jammed tight up against the indicators. Quite soon the left hand rod which was the eel line kept sounding on the buzzer, but every strike was met by no resistance. This actually kept me busy for the whole session as I tried various baiting arrangements to try and connect with whatever was pulling my chain as the case may be. It wasn't until I threaded a half a lob on sea fishing style that I connected with a tiny eel... Already the reality of the situation was a lake paved with small eels. Not long after this realization the right hand rod which had been stewing away suddenly sprang to life with a subdued yet steady run. I don't think the fish realized that it was hooked in the churning waters until I lifted into it and drove the hook further home. I saw a golden flank roll in the murky water early on the fight which lead me to believe I wasn't playing anything more than a small carp. But the fight seemed to go on for ages in the shallow corner. After several runs and swimming straight through my second line I finally coaxed the fish towards the net and when it rolled over that one last time I spotted a huge mouth gaping back at me. In the net it seemed bigger as well and it turned out to be a really solid mid double that in another water could have been much bigger.

Hour 5-6

After a day of family fun I nabbed a few hours at dusk. Having re baited the same area with more freebies I went back to try my luck and have a proper go at the eels. In short it pissed it down again, my theory that the lake is rammed with small eels was confirmed, I used all my worms catching about twenty small eels, and the second rod was dead as a dodo. I did however spot several shows in a gap between two reed beds that indicated there was more than one carp in the lake.

Hour 7-8

After yet another rough night I went out to try and track down some fish. If the night before had showed me where the fish were, this morning was when the cat and mouse began. I went into a swim where I could see into a bay behind the reed bed where I'd seen the fish the night before. Early on three fish jumped tight to the far reed bed furthest away from me. The problem was with the wind and my under gunned 2.5lb Nash dwarf rods I had no chance of accurately casting to them. Hence the session descended into me watching fish out of range whilst hoping something unseen might find my PVA bag cast to closer reed beds.

Hours 9-10

A day later not a single fish was seen at all. The silver fish were now moving around and all over the lake I could see small roach and skimmers flipping out of the water. Having nothing to go on I targeted the end of the lake where I'd seen the carp jumping, but this time I fished tight to a very tight to a group of close in islands hoping something might move in between them and find one of baits surrounded by powdered boilies and pellets.

Hours 11-12

My final day on the lake and finally the weather had changed. The sun was now out and as my rods sat silently fishing into the big bay I watched a group of three or four carp rooting round under some snags in an out of bounds area behind the spit I was fishing from. At first I was fishing out to the reedy islands again, but after spotting these carp I theorised that the entrance to the out of bounds bay might be a better place to intercept any fish moving in and out of the area.

A quick move later and I had cast dangerously far into the out of bounds area from the only possible point to a margin with deep snags all along it. The other rod was position on the other side of the entrance in a shallow spot at the end of the wind. Time proved my enemy here and with only a small space of time available I don't think I had baits either in the water long enough or specifically on fish on this occasion. My time ran out all too soon, but on the way home for breakfast I did find a group of carp right tight to my own bank in a marginal reed bed. It seemed the combination of the wind and the warmth had pulled them into this reed bed. Thinking I might be able to get one last crack of the whip later that night I split the remaining bait I had left 70/30 and scattered the larger amount along the shallow corner.

Hour 13-14

What a blow out! I knew those fish would be in that area all day as I went about my business with the family and I was sure as hell I could get one or more of that spot. Now it's worth saying that all week there had been three or four anglers chasing carp around the lake who had all got quite friendly and a couple of guys targeting silvers on the stages on the smaller civilized half of the lake as well. But on my return a new group of chaps had turned up. I walked past their battery of rod pods and sprays of rods pointing to the sky as if they were defending their well worn peg from invasion. I was as I always am, polite, and bid them good afternoon as I walked past, only to get a grunt which I assume is hello in welsh as they seemed to be of that part of the world. Three pegs further round I tiptoed behind the weed bed and slipped into the only safe spot to fish the pre baited spot from. After dropping my gear next to a tree I took what was left of my bait and went to trickle it along the reeds. I'd gone no more than two steps when I saw a lead and leader drop lazily through the air and splodosh right into the reeds. Obviously unhappy with the cast three more attempts were made before the rod was settled into the rod battery and the line tightened so much any passing dragon flies were in danger of dismemberment. 

I really wanted to try and catch a fish rather than kick off. So with no other option I went off to spend my last session trying to track down the illusive carp, which I never did.

Conclusion

I find it hard to make a truthfully honest conclusion about the fishing at Burnham on sea holiday village as the time I spent on it was in exceptional weather conditions and that my time was split into very small pockets which is probably not the best way to get the feel for a water. But! My time and the other anglers fishing the lake combined helps see a better picture though. Of four of us actively fishing for carp only three fish were landed and two of those were under six pounds. I suppose the reality is that if there was even half the supposed fish the bailiff insists there are, between us we should have caught or at least seen more fish. Now I would never go as far as to comment on how big the carp grow in this pool as all I have seen is the one fish I caught, the few I watched in the margin, some jumpers and the few on the fishing shop slide show. And that would indicate low twenties in the lake possibly. There did seem to be a lot of small silver fish kicking around even though I never fished for them they were everywhere. Eels there were lots of though! After hearing from a caravan owner on the lake that the lake has some kind of connection to the river close by it explains the large population but would also indicate that once they want to shove of and breed that any sizeable ones probably head of to the Sargasso. So if I had to give a short conclusion to help other anglers it's this. Burnham Holiday Village Lake is not a runs water, it does contain some carp which could go up to twenty pounds, but there's not massive numbers of them. So if you're prepared to sit there all day everyday you have a chance you might get one, but be prepared to work hard for it. I am willing to bet you could catch a few small silvers float fishing and that sooner or later you will catch and eel. If eels are your thing then don't go there thinking you're going to catch a monster as there's tons of little ones that can get back out to see when they mature.

I hope any of this helps.

The Lake #31 Leading a double life

I've been a little preoccupied of late as this years campaign on the lake has coerced me into leading a double life as an angler. By day I am mild mannered Daniel Everitt tench angler, but by night I become an obsessive predator chaser that lingers round silently in the dark willing any of the three zander, two catfish or five eels that I know for sure are in the ninety acre lake to eat my bait.

God honest truth I am beginning to look like a carp angler I am I've spent so many fruitless nights on the bank. I've even got this short over night session down to a fine art! I finish work for the day, zip home, grab my gear and five minutes later I am on the bank. Within an hour of finding a peg I am set up, baited up and cast out...

 Within an hour and a half I am brewing tea whilst scoffing food...

The moment dark falls I am in the sleeping bag cuddling up to my sounder box...

Hell I even set my alarm for around one in the morning so I can get up have a tiddle and check I haven't missed anything, then recast to ensure fresh bait is on offer. After another five hours of kip it's up with the lark, cup of tea, pack of belvita and then break camp.

I strip away and pack everything away in a specific order leaving my rods and net till last. By half seven I am in the car on my way home, by nine I am bathed and ready for a day with the other half and the session is done.

This double life I know seems to be borderline compulsive behaviour, as frankly it is returning very little catch wise. But from what I have seen with carp anglers also partaking of this madness I haven't even scratched the surface. One chap I know has done thirty nights on Coombe and on the thirtieth night he landed three pure bred English commons with linage which likely goes back to the twelfth century. Now although I am not after these hens teeth thoroughbreds, I am angling after something just as rare. So I have asked myself, am I prepared to continue returning to the banks of the lake again and again enduring blank after blank just so as I can have the tiniest chance of a massive zander, an eel that could swallow a tennis ball or even a cat that had been filling up on bream for the last few years might eat my bait? The answer all ways comes back yes.

But! and there is always a but! I know that I have ignored the rivers for over two and a half months and it weighs heavy on my mind that I should not waste opportunity's to get on the river before the leaves fall from the trees. So I think I may have to try and restrain myself or at least change how I spend my fishing time before I begin regretting missed chances on other good weather venues and rue giving in to that one driving force that seems to power anglers...Obsession.

The Lake #30 Quick change.

With me spending so much time on the banks of the lake I had become oblivious in large to what was happening before my very eyes. It wasn't until I took a little break from my bank side lingering and stared at a couple of other bodies of water then came back, that I saw a noticeable change.

I was only away for a little over ten days, in which time I had grown bored of the repetitive playing of carp and annoyed with the incessant nibbling of silver fish on two heavily stocked venues. I needed to get back and feed my obsession once again. Dumbstruck is the only word I can use to describe how I felt when I returned for another night. To some the changes that had happened might seem inconsequential, but for me what I was seeing was of vital importance.

On my last visit the weed and algae that is to be blooming and using all the nitrates deposited during the floods, had formed a definite boundary at a particular snaggy tree. Now though, the weed had resumed its march across the water and patches of it not seem to be spreading out further into the main body of the lake. I don't believe the weed itself is necessarily a bad thing, but saying that, where the weed blossoms the water clarity increases and the fish have no love of this clear water with so many predators around.

The clear water now extended right into the area I had been fishing and visibly there was a serious lack of fish moving around in the gin clear water. After seeing this I took the time to track along the bank with my Polaroids on until I found a little colour. As soon as I found that wonderful tinge of brown I began seeing topping fish and other fishy signs, and I knew I was where I wanted to be.

Though the night ahead fishing would be given over to the pursuit of more predatory fish, I couldn't easily forget that last sessions tench and how they homed in on my bait. So I planned to try and replicate what I had done before. Once set up and ready to cast out soon as dusk fell, I mixed up a pungent stew of fishy fodder and deposited it onto a clear patch of silt about the size of a small car located close to my right hand margin. I then went about casting out two dumbbell rigs laden with massive writhing lob worms.

I'd had one bait out in position for a little while whilst I tweaked the second rig and just as I had the second rod held aloft ready to cast I had a strange stuttering run. I have to admit I was a little perplexed at what was going on and had to check that I hadn't done something stupid, like catch the line on my leg in the tight swim. It did turn out to be a run, but once again my strike contacted nothing.

In the end I finally got both rods cast out tangle free and bobbing nicely in the ripple. That's when I took the time to reapply more weapons grade strength mozzie replant, not that it did any good! The little buzzing bastards instead of targeting my repellent covered hands and face instead went for my legs and feet, through my trousers might I say! On one leg and foot alone I took nine bites. Worst of all I missed the very tip of my nose and that now has a healthy clown-like glow where something had bitten me.

The night again yielded nothing, though I did get another dropped run which added to the two others I have had in the last two sessions, which makes me think the rig I am using needs fine tuning. I am thinking that something is not liking the resistance on the rig and if I want to find out what that something is the rigs needs to be more free running.

Anyway, morning soon arrived and happily as the sun rose on a new week I was standing on the banks scratching my arse rather than fighting my way to work through the Monday morning traffic. And what a view I had.

As if to add some substance to my perfect Monday morning the tench too had shown up, and were happily rooting around on the bait I had deposited the night before as way of insurance should the nights fishing have been as bad as it was. Getting one of the dumbbell rigs out of the water proved to be a bit of a task, as the night before I had not given any thought to how I might retrieve three ounces of lead with a quite large poly ball contraption attached. There was no way I could leave it in the water as I knew any hooked fish would certainly cut thought the line as the line was actually going right alongside where the tench were feeding. In the end I had to set the reel in free spool and hold the rod as high as possible whilst traversing round to the next swim in order to remove the rig without dragging it through the fish. 

To say the water I was about to cast into was shallow would be a gross understatement. When I came to the edge and nestled down into the damp reeds I could actually see individual tail patterns swirling on the surface from up ended tench. It took less than ten minutes for me to slip the net under my first one and after quickly returning that a way away from the swim I was quickly cast out and into another. Those first two fish were fairly average ones of four or five pounds but I knew with them feeding so hard that I could probably root out a few more so I didn't bother taking pictures and wasting time.

The tench did seem to drift off the spot for a while after the second fish but soon enough they drifted back sending up plumes of muddy water and patches of fizz. Having kept a bait on the spot I sat waiting as they homed back onto the free food, and sure enough the float did its little dance and I struck into a better fish. Some of the tench the lake has produced the last month or so have been have been immaculate but this one could only be described as perfect.

The fun wasn't over either! As after seeing more tail patterns on the surface I cast back onto the still buzzing spot eager to get another. This time the float didn't dither or dally one bit, it just shot out of the water like a rocket. Before I'd even had chance to strike, the clutch of my reel was squealing like a stuck pig. At first I was chuckling thinking I had some insane little male tench trying to turn me over. So I put a bit of side strain on and lent into it and that's when I realised that this was no tench attached to the end of my line. After easing off as much as I dared I watched as my line cut diagonally off to my left and as the the line zipped away a huge trail of bubbles emanated in it's wake. With only four pound line connecting me to the fish there was little I could do to stop it and all I could hope was that I could just hold on. But that wasn't to be as the fish decided one of the large new beds of weed was it best option. I braked the spool as much as I dared but in the end the strain was to much on my delicate float gear and after after a violent jerk the line was suddenly floating disappointingly in the wind. Strangely though I hadn't actually been snapped off and it would seem that the hook had pulled from the mystery fish. It would have been nice to land that fish and seen what it was that had been drawn in along with the tench, especially as I know I could land just about most tench on that tackle. Which leads me to believe that I am sure it was a big old Coombe Abbey carp.

Old rivers.

Rivers by nature are reborn all the time. Courses change over time, the winter floods wipe them clean and change their features year on year. Though most places will look similar there are undoubtedly changes that can be seen if a lifetime is spent walking their banks. On the other hand there are places on most rivers that through time, stand still and hardly change at all. These spots that never seem to change have a strange feeling of age about them, and the stretch I had chosen for my very first trip to the river of the new season feels old, very old indeed!

Ask anyone who fishes Saxon mill and they will tell you that once you cross that bridge and step onto the ancient cobblestone path you undoubtedly feel as if you are stepping into history. The graffiti alone reveals just how long the weir has been channelling that water into the weir pool and just sitting next to it, the notion of how many other anglers for hundreds of years sat in exactly the same spot before me, doing just the same.

I don't know exactly what it is that causes that distinctive smell that weirs produce, but I do know that smell is food for the soul of the early morning angler. Later in the day it dies away as your senses become accustomed to it, but by then usually the mystery of the turbid waters takes hold and you become immersed in your surroundings as you try to fathom where, in such a complicated environment, might be best to drop your bait. 

I think it is mystery that draws us to weir pools. Its obvious what sort of fish we seek in what areas of them, but you can never rely on what you know with a weir pool. You might cast into a slack hoping for a carp and catch a tench, or run a float down slow water looking for a roach and catch trout. Either or any way you never quite know what will come next and this is the mystery that draws us to them.

It was that mystery that turned my head the other morning. I should have walked straight on by after looking from the bridge on my way to my intended spot, but I just could not do it as the lure of the weir was just to much. I just  had to have a go. Ask yourself, could you walk by when it looked this good...

'Just a quick cast then on I go' I told myself.  'You probably wont get a bite' I said in hushed tones trying to reassure myself I would move on as intended. Then moments after the lead found hard bottom; tap tap bang! A small chub engulfed my meat. That sealed the deal, I was staying a bit longer than one cast. The next one again found a lovely clear spot towards the tail end of the run. With tension on the line and the random patterns of flow tugging gently at my rod tip, I sat back to wait. 

It didn't take long for a single knock to indicate a little interest and sit me upright in my seat. Even knowing a fish was around, it still came as a shock as the rod buckled over and the spool began to spin. My strike met solid resistance and hooped violently over. I cannot and will not deny verbalising my thoughts out loud to myself that I had hooked a barbel. However the initial violence subsided and when no savage runs were forthcoming my hopes of a barbel, or a carp for that matter, faded.

Whatever it was, it was giving me some serious stick in the powerful water and I had no idea of its identity until it seemed to pull backwards. Cursing myself for forgetting, I remembered this had happened to me before many years ago on the first peg downstream of here; the same situation only on the first day of the season, and that day it turned out to be exactly what I now suspected this was. A big river eel.

Two casts into the Avon and I was going to get royally slimmed up. If it wasn't that I actually quite like catching eels I would of been livid. With my expectations adjusted I was very happy to see a thick green body spinning in the current attached to my line and this one, like the other, was no boot lace ether.

Self takes are not easy at the best of times and self takse holding small eels are impossible. Trust me I know from experience. But once they get above a certain size eels seem to behave not too badly on the bank, and this 2.7lb one was almost cordial as it lay in the folds of my net in the long grass. The hook was right in the centre of its bottom lip and once that was out it kept quite still as I gently lifted it up for a quick picture.

I don't know why I cast again. I know that normally where there is one there are others, hence my next cast ended much the same way only with a smaller eel on the hook and that one ruined my hook link irreparably. That did move me on.

My next intended port of call was the very first peg of the downstream section and the very place that I had been duped before. Even though I knew there was a chance the same might happen again I still ventured forth as other more special fish have grace my net in that spot. I had not though taken into consideration how much time might have changed this swim and after forcing my way through the head high nettles and cow slip, I was confronted with a much altered swim that seemed not to be a good option, with a large log only a few feet out and dead centre of the swim.

With little choice I carried on downstream using my seat like a shield to defend myself from nettles,  trying to limit my already growing collection of stings. The only real option for a cast was right at the bottom of the run where the river breaks hard left at forty five degrees, in a swim known as tramps corner. Its a bit of bleak place as its name implies. Most of the chancers and poachers that sneak a cheeky day here spend their day drinking Special brew or Tyskie under these trees. Apart from that its not a half bad swim; carp and tench often can be seen in the shallow slack on the opposite side of the river where lily pads grow out of the flow.

My first job was to scatter a liberal amount of pellets into that slack to hopefully get any passing fish to stop and have a feed. Whilst that brewed away I amused myself by fishing worms for perch just off the flow. In the past I have had some decent perch from this swim but I don't think I, or anyone else, has ever seen the true potential this swim has to offer.

A few casts in and the perch dutifully turned up, possibly attracted by the maggots I was distributing upstream or maybe by the flashing of silver fish intercepting them as they fell. After an hour I was building the swim up nicely and the fish did seem to be getting bigger, up to a pound and a half. Then out of nowhere there was an awful commotion and the swim erupted with dace flying in all directions. At first I suspected a pike had arrived which is not unusual here, but the the worst culprit possible popped out up right over the spot I was saving for later. A huge cormorant with a white throat bobbed up with a still wriggling dace in its beak. It pancaked, flapping desperately to get airborne just as I was scrabbling for a projectile to throw at it.

That was it for tramps corner. Every fish had scattered in a panic to get away and my once highly active swim swim seemed dead as a dodo. Going downstream where it had emerged from seemed a senseless move and with the two upstream pegs not much of a better option, the weir or higher seemed the only prospect. Just as I packed up Baz let me know he had turned up to trot on the mill race so my only option was the still free weir pool.

Luckily no one turned up as I raced through the undergrowth, though once ensconced again Baz did come down for a chat as the white throated bugger had circled the field, landed above his swim  and pulled the same swim ruining ruse to him. As for the weir, its time had passed and not much action was forthcoming at all on my meat line. The last hour saw me contact a slew of beautiful perch fishing a light rig out in the slack area but as for the chance of anything big, I did not hold out much hope.

A few months away from the Avon and I had forgotten how fickle it can be. If you're in the the right swim and the fish are on the feed you can bag up, but it does seem like when its low and clear as it is right now, there is only a small window to catch. Add a few predators into the mix and and the fishing can be over and done with in the blink of an eye.

Pest or not?

Q. What makes something a pest?

This was a question I posed to myself as I stood awaiting a run in the dark on the canal the other night.

I myself as I leave the house laden with tackle and a sarnie in my mouth often just say to my beloved "I am off fishing see you later" and therein lies my point. Fishing! I rarely say I am off  eel fishing, carp fishing or Zander fishing. I just say fishing. Therefore all I am making point of is intend to try and catch fish not anything specific.

Now in my own mind I know that there is normally in my day to day fishing some kind of target species that I am aiming for, as I was on this particular session targeting eels, but realistically we can never use one so specific tactic that will only catch one species and one species only whilst avoiding all others, That's probably a good thing to be honest, as how often can any angler actually say that when looking down the barrel of a blank or skunk or whatever you want to call it on a bad day that you wouldn't give anything to catch even the most annoying of pest species, just to feel even the smallest fight of a fish.

But on the other hand when the fishing is good and all you can catch iswhat you're  not looking for, everything suddenly becomes a pest.

The other night is a great example for me because after all of ten minutes one of my rods ripped off and I found that the cause of this monstrous run was in fact not the ten pound eel I was hoping for but a tiny Zander. Now for me the first fish gets a pass because it took away the chance of me encountering old Mr blanky but after two more exactly the same size they suddenly became a pest.

I love catching Zander but when eel fishing they truly are a pain... but add eight pounds and it ain't a pest no more!

The next pest that picked up my 2oz dead roach really whacked off even more than the first three. Now this was defiantly not an eel so technically that made it a pest on this trip.

Pest or not?

(excuse the poor pic. Me the the camera were not on good terms for that one)

As the light faded the next wave of pests came out to play and my rod tips began to bounce like the rear suspension of a car parked in lovers lane. I knew what was going on and it was only a matter of time before one came bankwards.

The crayfish were on the town tonight and boy were they hungry! They took every thing that went in the water, even grabbing baits before they hit bottom. I landed about seven or eight of the horrid little buggers and whilst trying to detach one huge example from my line I caught wind of a rather bad pong. Initially I thought I had stood on a pile of dog walkers surprise in the dark but soon realised it was actually the Ronnie that stank (If anyone has any explanation of why it should stink please let me know) so it was unceremoniously kicked back in. An hour of bounce bounce bounce and beep beep beep and I could stand it no more and left eel less once again.

Somewhere in the crayfish meleé I did however think of an answer to my own question of 

Q. what makes something a pest?

A. We do.

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There was something I meant to share with all my fellow anglers on my last blog but felt that before I made mention of it that it needed a bit more research and Field testing.
On my last few sea trips I have struggled to shift the determined aroma of bait from my hands as it reeks (a fact Jeff off of Idlers Quest a avid sea angler will confirm for sure) and whilst trying to find a hardcore detergent I found this stuff.

And it is brilliant!!! It shifted crab, squid, rag worm and lug worm stink no problem. Having now brought it home and tried it on several flavours and baits including the source which is a renowned stubborn one I feel confident to recommend it to anyone. And not only does it work but the other half will not object to it gracing the kitchen sink unlike a trade size pot of swarfega.

Happy hand washing.



The older Dan and the sea.

"Every time I cast into to the sea I find myself falling further under it's spell. Nowhere else feels like it; It's alive! Each visit reveals more of its ever changing environment and the species that are present at any particular time of year. The tides intrigue me the most. I hope to one day understand them. Though I believe I, nor anyone else for that matter will ever truly understand them. But most of all each time I go my passion grows and I know for certain I will be back, for I am drawn to it."

After an early journey east we unpacked and got settled in our accommodation on the Suffolk Norfolk border. It wasn't long after the last thing was out the bags that I was off with Jacky in tow to try and source some free bait for the week ahead. Before leaving home I had heard via the blog grapevine that the crabs were on the moult and I fancied my new crab trap might obtain me a few from the structured waters of  Lake Loathing which was conveniently a five minute walk away.

I know the clear shallow waters of this salt water lake are rife with crabs, but would I be able to nab a few? No was the answer to that! Crabs I caught, but were any of them peeler's? Were they heck! In three hours I'd bagged three hard backs and lost two more who were clever enough not to enter the net.

I am no expert at distinguishing a peeling crab from a hard back but I soon discovered the difference. The moulting crab which are referred to as peelers are shy and retiring due to their soft bodies, whereas a hardback is the hooligan of the Crustacea world, nipping anything that draws too close.

My crabbing attentions were soon lost when I sighted a pair of large mullet circling some pilings nearby. Both were close to ten pounds and both thought my vain attempts to get their attention with a strip of squid cast out under a float were comical. A fact confirmed by their ever seeming smirking lips.

- My first proper session came first thing Sunday morning when I dared to venture out into the by now horrendous 30 mph south west wind. I arrived at Pakefield beach early to fish the end of the flood tide and down the ebb for a few hours.

My first cast was pitched full force straight out in front of me and splashed in twenty metres to my left. This was by no way going to be an easy session! I endured only an hour of battling with the wind as it tore my rods down and put so much of a bow in my lines that it dislodged up to 8oz of lead from the bottom.

Not wanting my first trip out to be a total loss I upped sticks and headed up the coast to try the more sheltered waters of Lowestoft harbour. The outer wall was even worse than the beach, but fishing into the mouth of the harbour afforded me enough cover to at least hold bottom.

The change of venue had made no difference to my catch until I dropped a much shorter cast close to a tidal defence barrier. After only minutes the tip rattled the went over and stayed bent over. My hope that good fish my take interest in my bait was vilified as the beastie pulled back. As I reeled it towards the wall I kept hoping I would see a flash of silver in the water until I got the distinct feeling this fish was swimming backwards!!!

Damn right it was! My first sea bound eel was swung in at about a pound, it was followed quickly by two more, the best being 2.1lb. If dealing with a eel is not hard enough try adding three snoods, a heavy grip lead and a gusting wind mixed into the equation.

After this I did add a couple of small whiting but the biggest stir of the day was caused when I threw the eels back in, much to the dismay of some eastern European anglers; one quite literally threw his arms in the air whilst cursing me in some foreign tongue.

- My next session was due Monday afternoon and I had even roped Jacky in for a trip to the beach but we only got as far as the cliff top car park before I set eyes on the now tempestuous sea and thought better of it.

After making a hasty retreat I did what any self respecting angler would and went back to holiday diggs and spent the afternoon waiting out the weather in the steaming turbulent waters of our hot tub.

I waited and waited and waited a little bit more for the wind to calm and finally at that time just before the light went I nipped to another mark called the Rifle Range for as I described it to Jacky "to get in even one good cast". Just before the dark crept in and during a evil shower of rain my freshly bought peeler crabs did the trick as the left rod began to nod in the failing light.

In the surf I potted something silver flash but as it came up the beach the rig seemed to still be dragging badly until I spotted a something flat and dark flapping close to the lead. My first double shot of the trip produced a small whiting and a nice flounder.

To be honest that was enough for me. I was cold and wet and with no form of shelter on the beach it was time for the off, satisfied with a single bite for two fish on a day when even the locals were rather absent from this popular mark, There was was only one way a true English man can warm himself on such a night.

A cup of tea and cream scone!

- The next outing saw me return back to Pakefield with a freshly acquired store of crab to chuck into the brine. Before this session I had put two and two together and realised that as the crabs were moulting and the best bites I'd had came on them  that the fish may be a little preoccupied with them and other baits may prove fruitless.

I was right! My first chuck onto a much calmer sea didn't take long to get rattled, resulting in a nice plaice and it didn't stop there. For the first time ever on the sea it was a bite a chuck. Not one cast failed to receive attention of some kind.

The next customer was a nice flounder

Followed by another

And another

It was real joy to see what seemed like healthy population of flatties really going for it and not one of the was caught any further than thirty yards of the beach. It was great fun and luckily I had Jacky on hand to bag some great pictures of em all.

- On the Wednesday I turned thirty four (I think!) and as always my first choice of what I would like to do is go fishing. I had pre planned this trip to head down the coast the the uber quaint Southwold to try these hallowed waters for the big bass that supposedly exist there.  

Conditions looked great, the sea looked great, I was in a good area and I had a bucket full of crab how could it go wrong, but it did! I couldn't buy a bite and nether could two other anglers further down the beach.

Like every other angler I can take a blank here and there, BUT! I do not take the birthday blank well, if at all.

By 5pm I'd fished the last part of the flood tide, the slack and two hours down the ebb and had absolutely nothing to show for my efforts bar good case of wind burn. At this point I had to do something and made the snap decision to head north wards back to fish a more reliable mark.

After dropping Jacky off I rushed down the to Pakefield to try and make the best of the day.

The sport here wasn't much better and soon I found myself in a Mexican stand off with the north sea. It wasn't yielding and I wasn't leaving till I felt the wet slap of fish on my hands.

Finally after what seemed like hours the tip trembled and I struck. Again for the second year running I landed a single fish on my birthday. A perfectly formed plaice.

After this I cut my losses and left, calling in to pick up a bit of ironic supper on the way back!

How could I not?!

- By Thursday I had figured that most of the areas I had been fishing the last few days fished best from the slack down the ebb tide, so I waited till evening to take the last of my peelers on a day trip to flattieville.

There is no more punishing place than the coast in bad weather. Caught in the no man's land between the land and the sea. On land the differing pressures effect the weather and as it meets with the open and more consistent pressures of the sea it seems ether collide with it violently or get sucked out to sea speeding up as it does. 

It had been sunny all day but the weather report had indicated a weather front would move eastwards into the evening and it did just after my second rod was cast. The sky darkened and the wind picked up stirring a healthy swell.

The rig of my left rod held well under the crashing waves but my right one even with a heavier lead was being pulled by the receding tide and kept get deposited back on the beach. With it now pouring with rain it was struggle to get it to hold at any range. But it seemed to work to my advantage a little as this was the first rod to go when a nice flattie grabbed the moving bait as it passed it.

It didn't take long for it to find a second and as I was baiting up to recast, the still fishing rod went mental. It literally hooped over instantly and was lifting off the rest before I was to my feet.

I was straight away into something better which really gave me some stick in the fast falling tide. The weird thing was as it neared the surf it seemed to be swimming in two separate directions, and it was.

A flash of silver confirmed it. Bass! Not one but two. My first ever double shot of bass scored for a rough sea whilst soaked to the skin.

An absolutely stunning a pair of beautiful schoolies one of about a pound and a half the other just under three. I went home that night as high as a kite and happy as a dog with two.... peters.

- After the highs of Thursday I could have stopped there but I still had bait and Jacky fancied the beach so what could I do but fish. The weather was good, the sea calm and I was happy.

It was no red letter day. More a good bye for now to the sea, but I did manage to eek out one last flounder on my very last crab which seemed a good way to end a great trip east. 

- That should have rightfully been the end of this one but, whilst away and having a pocket full of birthday pennies, I made pilgrimage to one of the fast appearing Angling Direct stores, which are spreading over the east like a case of acne on a teenage boy.

I went with the express purpose of obtaining a new umbrella to replace my still unretired one, but....

And here it is!

Yep you got it they didn't have the umbrella I wanted so I settled for a gleaming new pair of  Korum KXi 60 freespin reels.

Like anyone I could wait to use them. So I did before the sand was even off my feet. And how did they go on the first run out?

Well.

Very well!

6.6lb tench first cast. :)

Time to give them a rest.

Again the last minute opportunity arose for me to grab a few hours fishing on Thursday evening back at the canal. Like Andy my intention towards the local population of 2lb perch has waned. For me my attention now turns toward the ever present zander population.

Determined to try avoid the perch I opted for a dead bait bait approach with the idea that if a perch was big enough to consume a four inch roach it would be worth catching. Saying that I did bait my second rod with a mass of lobs on a rig so crude no self respecting perch would surely bother with it, and cast just off the ledge sans any loose bait; the idea being that a patrolling eel may chance upon it and it may fall under the radar of the percidae hoard.

To cut a long story short the lobs did not go completely unnoticed, but the crudity of the rig certainly put most of them off, bar two particularly stupid examples under a pound which took six lob worm half's on a size two hook attached to 18lb braid. But beyond that anguilla anguilla is still to make it's presence known.

On the other hand when the Zander did turn up to the party I landed two in quick succession. The better of the two being the rather paunchy female of 3.8lb. In the water she looked no bigger than the average canal Zander but in the net she really looked if she'd let herself go! As I suspected most of her girth was due to her being rather spawn filled but, whilst unhooking her I caught sight of a pretty decent size perch tail sticking out of her stomach which combined with her few thousand eggs gave her a rather unflattering profile.

I have fished enough times on this stretch now to have started formulating an idea of the fish feeding routines.

Bucking all the theories on when Zander feed, the fish here feed predominately during the day and in short bursts, which I actually suspect is them moving on mass up and down the stretch. Once dark it's time to go home, as every time I have fished in dark I have failed to catch and only had one run; whereas every time I have fished in the light I had multiple runs and never failed to catch a Zander once. 

After the capture of this heavily pregnant fish I feel it is time to give them a rest for a few weeks whilst they take care of some impending spawning. When I return after a brief break they should be a lot more streamlined and aggressive due to temp increases.

East coast adventure

I had been looking forward to my long overdue holiday for weeks and finally it was here. We arrived after a very early start by 9.30am Saturday morning and this was the glorious sight that met us upon upon setting feet on terrafirma .

You will be forgiven for thinking this was a sun kissed Florida beach, but in actual fact this was of all the places in the world it could have been, Gorleston on sea. The only thing missing from this picture was a few thong clad beauties soaking up the September rays and maybe a slightly over weight drunken ageing lifeguard wobbling down the beach to a cheesy theme tune.

I had two distinctly different fishing aims on the agenda this holiday. Firstly to have another go at a fast growing fishing love of mine 'sea fishing' and secondly to try and nab a couple of points for the challenge that I was convinced I could get easily from the broads. The first point I thought would be a banker was the eel point, as over the last ten years of visiting the broads on and off I have always been pestered by the green slimy snot wrigglers and as I was stopping within spitting distance of Oulton broad a few night sessions were on the cards. The other point I hoped I would have a chance of was the Ruffe point. Two years ago whilst on a boating holiday I happened upon a broad that seemed at the time to offer no other fish than Ruffe. so a midweek visit of a hour or two should be adequate time to bag an estimated 2-4 Ruffe.

Saturday night

After a day of travelling and getting settled into our accommodation I got out for my first night session on the broad after eels. My tactics were simple; wormy ground bait with a good helping of prawns, chopped worm and maggots all tossed in within range of a simple under arm cast.

First cast the green tip light sprang back and forth instantly and moments later the familiar feeling of an eel swimming back wards was felt on the rod. I was off the mark with a tiny 1/2lb eel in the net. The next hour or so the tip was not still at all as after small perch after small perch nabbed my worm bait. 

Another eel of three times the fist ones size soon appeared but then a dramatic change occurred as line bite after line bit shook my tip. After a while one of the culprits fell to my hook bait.

The bream had turned up in the swim in numbers.

After a long day, three hours and only two eels to show for my efforts I couldn't be arsed to fight through the bream shoals after eels so called it a night and went back to share my new broadland perfume with Jacky who was awaiting my return asleep in bed.

Sunday am

The day before I had keenly purchased a load of bait and was gagging to get lead chuckin in the sea again. On my first sea fishing session I decided to get back to exactly where I had left and dropped onto Lowestoft outer harbour. As sea fishing is seemingly tide related the distance this structure sticks out into the sea kind of cancels out and high tide low tide issues by putting you well out of casting distance of the beach. One of the things that never ceases to amaze me is how daunting it is staring out into nothing but water before I make my first cast into the sea.

The swim

I had decided long before actually arriving that I was aiming a  little higher than on my last trip and by that I mean bigger fish. To help me in this endeavour I had been researching different rigs and baits to help me ignore the smaller fish and wheedle out some bigger specimens. My only worry was that I had missed the best of the bass fishing and was here before the cod had moved onshore. With my focus on bigger fish I cast out one rod with a whole squid on a clipped up pennel rig and the other whole sand eel on single hook flapper.

The first rod to receive a tremble was the whole squid rod, but this trembling didn't turn into anything at all and after reeling it in found the whole squid was now nothing more than a few tenticals. After re baiting and casting out I got the same reaction again this time it was followed by a firm tug. Upon reeling in I landed what was to be the first of many, many ,many whiting caught in this session.

Every bait that went out was stripped to bits by hordes of tiny whiting and their tearing tiny little teeth. After two hours of just getting nothing but stripped clean hooks back every cast I switched one rod over to a match style three hook flapper baited with small strips of squid. This kept me busy for the rest of the session as every cast produced one, two or three 2 oz whiting. I caught so many of the lil buggers that I soon lost count though It was good fun. The big bait rod remained still the whole morning not getting so much as a pluck.

Sunday Pm

After pre baiting a couple of swims on the broad with some rather potent ground bait I had gone out for dinner and a few drinky poos before returning to my now stewed swim to take advantage of the carpet of eels I was sure would been feverishly feeding over my ground bait. As per normal I was well off the mark. My first cast produced a skimmer as did every other cast all evening. After an hour I hooked in so real resistance which turned out not to be an eel but a bigger bream that managed to tangle its pectoral fin in my hook link after scoffing my cube of meat.

This went on all evening as I caught skimmer after skimmer with the odd bream mixed in for good measure. The eels if they were down there never got a look in once.

This one had a very odd mark on it's cheek.

The average size was between one and two pounds and they fought pretty god dam hard. If it wasn't for the fact that they were completely the wrong fish I would have been well chuffed with about thirty to forty pounds of these.

Monday Pm

With the sun shining I decided to have a go on another mark I had fished earlier in the year and made my way to Pakefield beach down the coast from Lowestoft. Sticking with the bigger baits and throwing in a few lug worm for good measure I again cast out praying for something a bit bigger.

Again the whiting were the only fish that seem to be in the area or could get a look in. Both tips were bouncing around as numerous fish attacked the baits, though as the tide rose the general size of the whiting increased to a respectable 10-12" average.

Towards the end of the session I did mange to land one tiny codling of around a pound but sadly never got the chance to get a picture as the poor little fellow looked to be rather on the wrong side of peaky, so I gently held it in the surf to try and revive this important fish for the future.

I was very surprised by the size of bait these fish could get there gobs round. This one had forced the best part of half a squid in it's mouth along with my two hook pennel rig and the remnants of what looked like a shrimp. Though the whiting again seemed to be all I could catch , eleven of these sized fish and a mass of tiny ones and my single codling was enough to keep me happy all afternoon.

Tuesday pm

Jacky and myself both fancied a day around Southwold and as the weather was holding out we made the journey down on Tuesday morning. On the way I stopped of at the local tackle shop for some fresh bait and a bit of info. By dinner time we had both seen everything thing we wanted to in the town and headed down the beach with a picnic and fishing tackle weighing us down.

The beach at southwold is fantastic and after dragging Jacky as far as I dared we settled down for picnic in the now very warm sun. Whilst munching a superb nice pork and apple pie I survyed the sea infront of me.

The area I was intending to fish was a sandy gully formed by the exiting river half a mile away. The guy in the tackle shop had tipped me off about it and how the bass move through it on lower tides chasing trapped fish.

Signs of something below

To cut a long story short I got only one bite all afternoon and I suspect that may have come from an over excited crab and duly spent my time on Southwold working on my developing case of sea anglers neck.

The only time I thought I was into a fish was whilst re baiting one rod with it resting on the tripod the whole set up went flying onto the sand as the tip of the still fishing rod jerked over. After standing gawping at the now seaward travelling rod I managed to get myself together enough to chase it only sea a full size herring gull entangled in the line. Lucky for me it freed itself before I had to deal with it.

Jacky on the other hand had found the perfect way to amuse herself whilst I stood like nelson staring out to sea. On a previous beach sitting session she had found a few amusing shaped pebbles and painted faces on them and left the on the beach for any unsuspecting beach combers to find.

This time she had got full on into it and was now holding some kind of guerilla open air installation all along the beach with some very interesting works and reactions by the public. For me not to include these pictures would be a crime, so here a few that I feel the world must see.

My favourite (I now own this piece)

The thing that really made Jacky's day was when some old chap who was obviously a full time beach scrounger made off with one of her works into the sunset.

Thief!

Tuesday Pm

Like all insane anglers there is nothing more likely to make us go fishing again than a blank. So another late night foray on the broad was in order. Once again the local eel population was giving me the cold shoulder be my now positively toxic three day old ground bait was becoming ever more dangerous and did nothing to hamper the bream as more and more fell to my crude tricks. I was by now using a rig I thought no self respecting bream would go within miles of. Four inch hook links with a size 10 hook on the end of it, close to the most rancid concoction of mole hill, chopped worms, four day old prawns, meat even vulture would puke at the site of and left over squid guts. The stuff was so bad I had become paranoid about poisoning myself and was now using antibacterial hand wash after every cast.

Did it put those bream off? Did it bollocks! by the end of the session another 8+ skimmers had been banked as well as another decent fish.

Stupid bream!

Wednesday am

I only had time a short sea fishing session this morning so to save time I drove straight onto the breakwater and strangely the visibility dropped immedatley as I left the road and ventured onto the pier. the sea was covered in a dense blanket of fog and made for a very eerie morning. Being out technically in the sea with fog dampening of all noise apart from the fog horn at the entrance to the harbour shattering the silence every few minutes, visons of ships crashing in the concrete structure I was standing began to creep into my head after the first large ship chugged in behind me.

Spot the ship.

The visibility did not improve the whole session, though from where I was standing I could just make out the sound of the busy main road off to my left there was no way I could see it at all. This did not deter an ever growing number of anglers from turning up. Maybe these locals had some secret information about what happens when the fog rolls in. 

Somewhere amongst the whiting I did make an interesting capture of a little starfish who had ether been chowing down on my squid or was savagely hooked as I retrieved it.

By 10am I was done with the whiting for today as they had munched their way through the best part of £15 of rag, peeler's and squid and every one of them had begun to look very much the same. I suspected that they were beginning to take the mick out of this non-native.

Wednesday pm

I had all but given up on the eel point for the challenge by now but I still had gambit up my sleeve in the ruffe point. A few years ago whilst on a boating holiday on the broads I had encountered a very strange phenomenon at Ranworth broad. On this occasion all I could catch was the diminutive ruffe. Cast after cast I landed the largest amount of them I have ever seen and I though this would be a shoe in point.

After throughly thrashing Jacky at pirate golf and winning myself a primo steak tea I talked her into making  what I thought would be a short detour inland. Before even getting on holiday I had looked on google earth and thought I knew exactly where this broad was. Jacky was not convinced that I knew where I was going and advised me to obtain a map. This was where the problems started! upon looking in the local tourist information outlet I was confronted with two maps. The first was a OS road map of the broads at £8.99 the other was a cheaper map at £2 - being the cheap git I am I went for the latter.

About half way there with Jacky driving and me navigating the realisation dawned that I had just bought probably the worst map on sale in the UK. The fact it only indicated roads by numbers and omitted anything other than major roads was the first indicator and the fact it looked like someone may have drawn it by hand was another.

Needless to say I kept quiet and tried to bum my way through it. After many missed turns the both of us fell into that thing men and women do in this sort of situation and began getting a little testy. Thirty miles in we managed to find the broad with some local help but by now we were not in a good place.

I began fishing in ernest and Jacky sat seething near by. I have never in my life needed to catch a specific fish so much. Not just for the challenge but more to justify this whim of a trip to an irate Jacky.

So did I get those pesky ruffe... Of course I didn't. I caught roach, skimmers roach bream hybrids rudd gudgeon, and perch. After two hours all I could say was "ok darling lets go" to which Jacky replied "it's xxxxxxx rush hour now you xxxx"

Popular I was not!

Thursday (disaster session)

It has been a good many years since I had a good old fashioned fishing tantrum. But an afternoon on the beach at a mark called the jolly sailors by the local fisherman was to be the scene of an ugly thing. Upon arriving the sky's were clear and I was keen. With Jacky tucked up in her flower covered pop tent I cast out both rods.

After half an hour the odd big spot of rain started to fall. Thinking I was about to get a soaking I went to reel in one of my rods to change the bait before I made for the sanctuary of the tent. Upon reeling I found the rig/lead had found some rough ground and I end up pulling for the break. I lost everything lead, rig and shock leader. This was not exactly the cause of my lapse of serenity but was the precursor of it. As I hastily tried to tie on a new shock leader in the now ever increasing rain the main line kept snapping. By the time I had done this ten or so times my blood began to boil. The only thing I could figure was that the line on this reel had not been changed since my previous sea fishing trip earlier in the year and that the corrosive salt water had in some way degraded it. Anyway after anther ten goes at tying the knot I snapped and the rod went flying whilst a 33 year old man screamed like a mad man at the sky which was now black and driving with rain.

The rest of this low point in my fishing career does not need describing. But no further fishing was done that day and spent my evening consolidating myself with pints of Adnams beer.

Friday am

I was reluctant to go and waste more time chasing after the now Dodo like broadland eels and even less inclined to go and purchase another batch of expensive sea bait to feed the now plague like whiting with, so I went out for my final session armed only with whatever bait I had left. The tide was out so back to the harbour wall I went. This time I targeted a place I have never fished at this mark. At the start of this concrete structure is a man made tidal defence of huge rocks piled up to protect the beach from erosion. Taking a chance I put a whole squid tight between the wall and this structure thinking this area may be a collecting point for jetsum.

I attached a small bell indicator to the rod and forgot all about it. I had been bashing the crap out of the whiting and even a few pouting had turned up for a few hours and my bait was now running low.

Cute

I hadn't even given the rod another thought until I caught the tickling of the bell, I turned just to see it spring back. But now the the previously forgotten rod was well back on my radar. The tip went again and stayed over. My strike was met by momentary resistance of some serious force before the whole thing came free. Inspection of the bait showed half the bait gone and a 3" wide bite in the body of the squid just below the hook. I should have taken a picture but I was to excited to cast out again. After a further hour the same again happened but this time the initial hit was not followed by another. My hopes of getting this monster out were soon ruined when a local prawn netter turned up and rudely dropped eight prawn nets right exactly over where I had been casting. My reaction did nothing hamper his fishing and I had no urge to recast near his nets as the idea of getting tangled up with is gear was something I didn't fancy one bit. After chatting with another chap he suggested it was more than likely a strap conger as they do get attracted to the area by the boulders and collecting crap in that area.

With all my bait gone my sea fishing was over until next year or for now anyway....

As for the eel and ruffe points, I am currently hatching a plan to try and nab at least one of those in the next month or so.