Me the sea and April showers.

'Where there's water there's fish' I don't know if someone else said that first, but I said it the other day as I strolled towards a pedalo lined inch deep boating lake in a coastal park.

I should have taken advantage of Jacky's lack of faith in my statement and gambled payment of our impending Sunday lunch on it, because just as both our heads shadowed the water, hordes of what could only be sticklebacks darted out from the edge instinctively fleeing our possibly predatory shadows.

Like most, her automatic assumption was that there is no fish in any body of water, and it was much the same this morning as I stood sentry over the sea; masses of weekend dog walkers looked questioningly at me with slit eyes as they passed me by walking their gaggle of mongrels.

The fact is that yes, there are fish in the sea, and even though people generally don't see you catching them. there is a reason why most stalwart sea anglers cast into the surf. Admittedly they might not crawl up our lines but they are there trust me! Even so, just as that thought occurred to me on the beach, I too had my own doubts regarding the presence of fish where I was fishing; the tide was growing ever closer to my feet and as yet I had caught zero fish.

My cunning plan had been to arrive at the beach three hours before high tide, cast one of my irresistible juicy peeler crabs forty yards off the shingle into the low tide trench, where anchored to a spiky lead, it would hold fast until a wonderful silvery early season bass would perchance happen upon it. This resulted in my rod tip ether nodding like one of those nodding dogs in the back of a mk4 ford cortina or dropping back until the line drooped like washing line full of wet woollies, whereupon I would strike hard before playing the oceanic jewel into my hands.  I would admire it dutifully before slipping it back with the correct amount of reverence before nipping back for a beer back bacon sandwich and mug of steaming tea.

As always it never went to plan and both rods although regularly re-baited seemed to be cast upon barren water. As the time passed slowly and uneventfully my attentions had been drawn to what can nowadays be described as a rare phenomenon.

I had always thought that the ancient collection of beach launched one and two man inshore fishing boats with there flaking paint were relics of the past. But for the first time ever  I saw several of them hauled down to the sea by men wearing florescent waterproofs, who were now working them all along the coast in front of me.

Some processed what looked like gill nets, untangling their catches as they drifted along the tide. Others pulled crab or lobster pots from amongst the rough ground adjacent to where I was fishing. Though they all seemed to be doing something different their bond was evident and the camaraderie of those men of the sea was also extended by them towards me. Other residents of the beach were ignored. But I, albeit stranded on the land, was too trying to scratch a catch from the frugal sea, so as every single boat passed me by it's crew would hold up a hand or two in acknowledgement, and I would return the gesture with my own salute back to my cousins of angle.

It was as I watched a small blue boat drift from right to left that I caught sight of another group of sea borne hunters working the shore. Sea gulls of any sort always make great features to fish to. We have all seen those wildlife programs where gannets dive into the sea like torpedoes as unseen predatory pelagic giants force bait fish to the surface. Today though it was a much less exotic band that had caught my eye.

Ten to fifteen black headed gulls sailed effortlessly along the surf line searching slowly amongst the waves. Probably fifty meters away one broke rank which in turn caused all the other to loop back. A blink of an eye and I would have missed it. But at least half of them fluttered down to pick food from the water.

That itself peeked my attention and moments later they again dipped much closer. Both rods were reeled in re-baited and recast onto the same line as the feeding gulls.

Gnashing gnawing pin like teeth of whiting stripped the bait like piranhas. Though annoying it can quite often be a precursor to something bigger. For where there is prey there is predators. And I was right! As re-baited one rod the still fishing rod thumped once before dropping slack.

It is not easy reeling in anything over a pound with a trailing lead covered in spikes dragging in the shingle. The sucking and pushing action of the sea only compounds your problems. But once you feel that solid resistance you know for sure it ain't no pin whiting on the end of your line. When my first capture finally appeared flipping on the sand I was happily shocked.

The two most prised fish by UK sea anglers are as different as the seasons which they are respectively synonymous with. The summer belongs to the spiky silver bass and the winter can only be the reserve of the cod. With British summer time just about on our doorstep it was a schoolie bass which I expected to see on the end of my line. But instead it was a codling which I dusted the sand off as I walked back up the beach.

The feeding spell only lasted maybe three quarters of an hour at the top of tide just before the slack water, but in that time many more baits succumbed to the ravenous whiting. A few over zealous ones even got hung up on my massive 2/0 hooks before two more identical codling thumped my rod tip over.

Comfort really is a matter of perspective. From whichever angle you look at it sitting next to a blazing log fire on a frosty winters day is comfortable. Comparatively standing on the edge of  the north sea as a brisk easterly pounds you with rain is always going to feel a little uncomfortable. Lucky for me I was wrapped up like a trawler man in a force ten. Wearing my winter garb in April had allowed me to feel snug as a bug in rug as the wind whipped up the surf.

Easterlys are a funny thing when you're standing this far east. South easterlys feel generally quite warm and can actually in my experience give sometimes gives some great days on the coast. North easterlys are an awful fast track to bad weather from the colder parts of Europe and never turn out to be a good thing. But today it was a weird mix of the two, which resulted in some pragmatic fishing.

My gamble to bring only one rod and fish a single large bait off the back off the emanating waves was proving not to be a good one!

As bites failed to materialise right until the very bottom of the ebb tide when I again cut into a shoal of codling. Adding three identical fish too my tally in a second tiny window of activity.

Beyond these small rewards I had to content myself by mocking the awful weather from inside my protective layers by peeping out of my hood with a wry smile.

The tide wipes away everything including any signs of yesterdays foul weather. The wind and rain had faded away as I perused the secondhand book shops and art galleries of the ancient market town of Beccles. I managed to pick up a couple of interesting old reads before I nearly fainted when I found an old copy of the perch fishers book priced inside the cover in pencil at £65. I remember at the time blowing a raspberry in disgust thinking I could pick it up on Amazon for a lot less. But I just checked and the cheapest copy was £127 so I kind of regret not buying it now.

The beach was different today. Between bands of harmless clouds the sun illuminated the sand invitingly. Though the invitation was pointless as I was already there and would of been even if it was not so inviting. 

My bucket was replenished with an lucky dip of crabs. By that I mean I had discovered that although all the crabs in my possession where on their way to being peelers some hadn't quite developed the shy and retiring attitude of something that was once hard and is about to go soft, and instead still had the attitude of the common garden chav waving their claws every time my hand went in the bucket. On top of that I had obtained some rag worm of equally bad dispositions which I intended bait up some old school paul kerry wire boom rigs with to try and tempt some flatties.

A fresh slate and fresh bait to burn I went amount my merry business in the now placid sea. As much as I wanted a bass this trip I can't resist fishing for the ever obliging dabs and whiting which attacked my baits soon after the lead gripped bottom. 

It was a busy evening all the way down the tide into the slack water. The hungry hoard was punctuated by codling ether thumping away at the rod or dislodging the lead. There was certainly a lot of fish close in which as always attracts predators and what turned up could not have been bigger!

It surprising how hard it is to take the picture of a two hundred pound seal. It must have taken over an hour and hundreds of attempts to catch this one But after following its course up and down the beach it finally popped up right in front of me and openly stared at me for five minutes from only twenty feet off the sand.

The sea sometimes scares me. It is powerful, really powerful! So much so that it destroys land. Those perfect pictures of calm seas that were popular in the eighties and those ambient sounds of seas sold in lifestyle stores are all lies intended to attract us to the calm foreshore, were when we're not looking, the sea will rise up and pull you in. It must take a photographer weeks just to capture  that perfect peaceful moment it time that will entrance people into buying his lie, when in reality most of the time it is imperfect.

I had waited all day for a window in the weather just to try and steal a few hours. The supposed 25+mph Easterly felt more like 60mph and it was under no uncertain terms smashing the beach up.

At the cliffs yes the white caps were evident but from so high up they looked like something from a model village. Standing in front of them as the wind provoked them they seemed a little bigger. Four feet bigger maybe!

My first proper thought that I shouldn't be here came when that seventh bad ass wave shook the ground under my feet. Still though I tried in vain to heave the 8oz plus bait full force into the sky. Making water a third less far out than normal.

The second hint came five minutes later when the correct combination of sucking tide and blowing wind floored my entire set up by pounding the bow taught lines. But I held fast and cast again before hunkering down behind a groin. From forty feet away I could feel the waves smashing the shore, smoothing rough stones as it did so and at one point the wind was so strong it literally held the water up the beach.

A moment of sun created a perfect rainbow out over the sea which seemed amazing to my wind battered eyes against the black sky.

It was not long after this that I reeled in to refresh my bait to keep the trap fresh for those surf loving bass. It was an effort just to reel in and as I did the tide literally was sucking my rig back until it went solid as a rock.

Snapped up it seemed pointless and I turned tail blown off the beach with my tail between my legs.

I am not a true believer in common sense. This is mainly because if I was, half my fishing would be down the Swanny due to it being too wet or too cold. But the previous days conditions had seen me sent packing from the beach and the idea of wasting another load of bait on fruitless endeavours was a no brainer. Instead investigation was on the cards of a strange sight not far away from where we slept.

No one in the world protests quite like us English. It is ether a case of standing firm on a picket line wearing donkey jackets whilst police charge us down on the command of a hated woman of blue, or quiet objections that the rest of the world would find far too subtle to believe it was actually a protest. 

This one however is nether... and I do know what is about before anyone asks.

"A man bought a piece of land from a farmer who had in the past operated the said bit of land as camping/ holiday park of sorts. But after selling the land to the new owner at a very reasonable price he jacked up the price that he wanted to allow the new owner to use his access road.

All was not lost though as the property had a second access point through it's neighbouring  business which was a holiday park. Only problem was that they refused access to as they thought it may damage their business should cars be passing along their access rod all day long. Hence the local council refused any permission to build so much a barbecue on the land."

Brassed off the owner decided to get his own back on both his neighbours by doing this...

As a protest goes this is one of the best I have seen. A field sparsely dotted with coloured old caravans. Pure genius! In fact I now find myself wondering is it a protest or actually large scale installation art.

The field of caravans (or art) is located at the start of a raised path along one of the largest marshes on the south broads, and I have to admit to having never gone any further than the fish-able area of it. But as today was unfish-able it seemed a great opportunity to push on and see what was down this yet unexplored track.

We had not walked fifty feet before we spotted this muntjac deer and her somewhat shyer mate  having an afternoon snack in the field beyond the coloured vans.

A new acquisition to the shallow marshes was this massive old hulk run aground in the silt, where sooner or later it will rot away or be claimed by the reeds.

With more bad weather on the horizon the black clouds above gave an eerie mood amongst the whispering reeds as we tracked the shallow dyke that drained the land.

Two days with little action left me with an air of urgency to again cast upon the waves before I journeyed inland back to the centre of the country away from the sea for the summer. 

In an act of desperation I did the one thing I promised myself I would not do and headed to the harbour wall seeking shelter from the wind in order to get in maybe just a few last casts.

Although the skies were now clear and blue the wind still caused the surf to still nibble at the soft shores of the east, my only option was to swing baits tight to the huge concrete structure on which I stood to attempt to scratch a bite.

It was quite apt that the very first fish I caught from the sea should save the day for me. The stocky pouting can, like the whiting, strip hooks clean in seconds and quite often find themselves put in the pest category by most sea anglers. But for me after two days of being hounded by the sea and being unable to fish they were like manna from heaven. Every perfect pouting that reached my hand was thanked with the ultimate gratitude before being strategicly sent back too the water between strafes of cawing sea gulls. 

One last cast into the surf I thought was beyond my reach as I left that harbour wall in the morning. But whatever gods were controlling the weather decided one last cast was in need to lure me back and as if by someones bidding the wind just dropped away mid afternoon. Having bait to use up is no good way to reason another session, but pity was taken as was the opportunity offered.

This was to be a bitter sweet goodbye session for me. I still lay no claim to be a master of the sea - if anything I feel to be in my apprenticeship as a sea angler - but every time I visit I learn something new, and this time I learnt that the sea is quite often like a moody teenager prone to mood swings. One day calm as a summers day then moments later stirred up in a fit of rage. It is easily influenced by its friends such as the weather and the tides. But most of all, it is sometimes ultimately rewarding and gives up its treasures with gratitude, whilst the next day it seems barren and its rewards you nothing more than wet feet.

I did catch but felt no need to pull out the camera as it seemed like a private moment between myself and the sea at the end of an up and down week; once again even though I know I will be back soon, I felt reluctant to leave.

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.

A week of something different.

Last October when on holiday I had my first attempt at sea fishing and after some small successes I was really looking forward to return to the east coast to have another crack at it this year. On my first attempts I found my lack of knowledge on the subject made it hard to fish effectively, so after a suitable amount of research and some new gear I was confident that I could now get into some serious fishing. The one thing I could not forget however was that I was actually on holiday with Jacky and not on a seven day fishing trip. So before even getting in the car to leave I had thought that I would try and fit in a few smaller sessions when the chances arose rather than just disappear for the whole day. I had also decided that rather than just flitting up and down the coast that I would concentrate on two venues, one being Lowestoft harbour, a venue I had fished before and the other being Pakefield beach, a popular venue with locals that crops up regularly on the internet on websites and sea fishing forums. Both venues were within close proximity of our holiday home.

    

Day 1 
Lowestoft Outer harbour wall
Flood-High tide
For my first session I returned to the last place I fished last time I was here, with the knowledge that the inner harbour generally fishes quite well all year round. The inner harbour is a very industrial landscape that is home to a busy fishing fleet whereas the opposite side of the wall is open sea. I cast two rods out, one with a two hook paternoster baited with rag worm and the second, another two hook rig with larger hooks and heavier line baited with squid/mackerel, stood back and waited....... After an hour my confidence had plummeted as both rods hadn't moved at all, so a move to the sea ward side of the wall was made over the epic distance of thirty feet. Surprisingly to me the squid/mackerel rod was the first to get rattled by a decent whiting then followed by the rag rod by a tiny pouting

Pouting #1

After this the bites came thick and fast and I added two more viscious little pouting and this small flatfish I suspect to be a dab.

Dab?

After this it all went quite till my squid /mackerel rod was almost hauled down the wall by this dog fish of 11/2lb.

My only other bite came from my very first ever codling of all of two ounces. Not even  big enough to make one fish finger out of but still very pleasing.

Fish finger, anyone?

It turned out to be a good start, but I was surprised by the size of the bait even a tiny pouting was capable of eating. A six inch rag worm and a huge hook by my normal standards went easily into a mouth filled with loads of tiny needle like teeth, and considering there were only the size of a small roach they rattled the end of my broom stick like rod with ease.

Day two
Pakefield beach
low tide
With a shiny new tripod in hand I trudged over the shingle high tide line to get to the beach, but sadly even with my new found freedom to give the lead some welly without having other anglers around who's lines I could cross, this session was destined to be a dud. When the sky blacked up and I found myself sheltering under the only brolly I had bought with me. A green and blue golf umbrella from the boot of the car.
The only movement of the rod was caused by the only fish of this session another small codling albeit bigger than the last.

The weather didn't look like it was about to clear up any time so I made the decision to head up the road to the harbour wall where I could park the car on the wall and get some needed shelter whilst still fishing. The wall was packed with locals who all seem to arrive just after work and fish until midnight.
It went well and I added a small whiting,eight more pouting a plaice and two more dabs to my tally for the day and went home a happy man.

Day 3
Pakefield beach
low tide

Returning to the beach determined to get into a few fish I opted to fish near a groin with some buoys at the end of it. My thinking was that the structure might hold some fish. I was right as I got bites from the off but the buoys turned out to be a marker of some rather rough ground and every time I struck the lead caught up on the way in and it wasn't long before I got terminally caught up and a rig got lost. It didn't take long for the second rod to snag up and lose another rig. So with time ticking away rather than move I cast out a couple of new rigs much closer in not far off the breaking waves and discovered something I stupidly never knew was there; when the tide is at it's lowest point the waves still pound the beach and scour out a trench which turned out to be full of fish. In two hours fishing in this low tide trench I added three pouting, a whiting , two more codling and two very aggressive bass all on rag worm. The bites came one after another and it didn't take long for me to run out of bait.

Angry bass

Cod hand Luke

This short afternoon jaunt filled me with confidence for the beach, especially when I was reeling in one of the small pouting and the rod took a sudden bang as a much larger fish snatched it on the way in.

Day 4

Pakefield beach
flood tide
I couldn't wait to get back to the beach the next evening for a few hours, but unbeknownst to me something had changed. I set up further up the beach to avoid the snaggy area and knowing there were some bigger fish around I put out a rod baited with squid on a running rig and one with a whiting rig on baited with rag worm to get some instant bites.  After ten minutes my squid rod thumped over and in a major flap I struck into some resistance. At first I thought it was an eel but soon realised I had bagged my first starry smooth hound of about one pound which was quickly followed by two more. By now I was thinking that a night of this would be great fun, but as soon as they started biting they moved on and my friends, the east coast pouting association, turned up again as I bagged three more of these hungry buggers.

The Lone Gunman on day trip to the beach catches small shark

Does anyone know any good grassy knolls round here?

Pouting #?

About half way through this session a local sea fishing club turned up down the beach for their mid week evening match. The last bloke along, a rather weather beaten old fella came over and had a chat with me before the match started and explained about the rough ground down the beach "argh ye wee call thaat death alley. it's where a uld chuurch fell into the sea yars ago. thars raacks the suize ave fraadge freezurs in thar" which went some way to explaining my lost gear the previous night and amused me all the way home.

Day 5
Lowestoft harbour wall
low/flood tide
I dragged my lazy ass out of bed at 5.30am with a very muzzy head from consumption of the local vino to get down the harbor for an early one. The day before I had purchased a fresh batch of bait as the old stuff was beginning to stink. This proved to be a good move as there were plenty of fish in residence.
My first positive bite produced a small smooth hound which was followed by a micro dog fish. After this it turned into a very busy session with bites coming on both rods. A shoal of smooth hounds passed through and I added two more in quick succession as well as another codling and a whiting.

Giant man attacks young pup!

Mr Whiting

The best was still to come when my squid rod lurched forward and the butt lifted clean off the ground. For the first time there was some weight to the fish, which combined with the six ounce lead and a swelling sea made for an interesting fight. After winching it twenty plus feet up the wall I finally got my hands on the biggest fish I have caught in the sea yet a 4lb dog fish. After this the only other fish to nibble were my old friends the pouting.

Not exactly jaws but the biggest of the week

Day 5
Pakefield beach
flood tide
We had intended to spend the afternoon in the pub sampling the local brews. But upon arriving we city folk were shocked to find that in the off season the pub closed from two until seven like pubs used to before twenty four hour drinking came in. I will say at this point that I offered Jacky the opportunity to do many of the wonderful pastimes a UK holiday offers such as shopping at Asda or visiting a local attraction. But when the words "why don't you go fishing for a few hours" were uttered from her mouth I suddenly got rather excited. Though before running off whooping I did double check if she was of sound mind, which duly confirmed she wasn't by saying "I will come along. It will be nice to have a few hours on the beach whilst you fish". Five minutes later I was standing by the car hopping from one foot to the other, rods in hand begging her to hurry up. It was nice having Jacky with me and for her comfort whilst I stood facing the sea in a trance she erected the two brolly's from the car boot under my beach rest and sat chuckling away reading Warwick Davis's autobiography like a mad beach pixie. Pakefields resident fish population was nowhere to be seen and out of three trembles a single dab saved me from the dreaded blank.

Local Dab saves midlander from blank

Day 6
Lowestoft harbour
flood tide
I hadn't planned to fish today as the weather forecast was not good and being totally unprepared for any bad weather I didn't fancy get my nuts frozen clean off. But by dinner time the predicted bad weather had not appeared apart from a stiff on shore breeze, With a few valuable rag worm left over and half a box of squid I headed out under the guise of not wanting to waste any expensive bait.
All week the weather had been very kind to me, probably due to mother nature taking pity on this poor midlander who thought it would be fun to go sea fishing. But when I arrived at the harbour the slight ripple of previous days was now 3ft high waves. The locals were out in hordes. After chatting to a few I found out that these conditions often bring the larger fish closer on shore hence the abundance of local sea fishermen. The bites that followed where viscous and one chap landed a nice bass of around four pounds near the beach end of the wall. I missed two savage bites on whole squid then converted my third into smooth hound of two pounds (sorry no pic) before the sea calmed and the bites stopped. Whilst eeking out my bait I caught two pin whiting and two more pouting.

My second attempt at sea fishing as far as I am concerned went very well. The new knowledge learnt from both my own experiences and from local anglers/tackle shops as the week passed proved invaluable to my success.
Though I now know sea anglers really don't have it easy! When we have those windy days that we all moan about they have force ten gales, which after a few years of regular sea fishing can make a young man look very old, something I found to be true whilst chatting to a local angler who for some reason during a conversation confirmed he was the same age as me, 32 when he looked to be close to fifty two!
We all complain when we can't get a swim feeder to hold in a flooded river, whereas they get tides travelling in all directions all the time with the force of entire oceans and planets causing it.
Spending even a few hours hurling out 4-8oz leads using a rod as thick as broom stick with 20lb line and a 60lb stock leader plus bait into the wind is knackering, and reeling them back with a mass of seaweed whilst the tide is intent on pulling out to sea is a job in itself.
Up until know I thought that some of the baits I normally use are a bit pongy, but the baits used in sea fishing have a stink all of there own that is still lingering on my hands now, a fact Jacky and our car will both vouch for.
Rag worms are the single meanest mothers I have ever tried to impale on a hook and they cost a fortune at £4-£5 per hundred grams which is not  loads either. Squid though cheap is basically useless once it starts to hum, and crabs which though weren't around in any numbers can strip a carefully prepared bait in minutes, leaving you staring at a motionless rod tip thinking why aren't I getting any bites.

   This huge specimen was the angriest bar far and nipped me twice before he was finally hurled into the brine.......

But the one thing I can say with some certainty is that I love it and can't wait to return to the ever moving sea to have another go some time later this year!