Bobbed

Lovely week in north Norfolk avoiding the crowds. Camped up on a farm overlooking a meadow watching amongst other things a cuckoo, lots of buzzards and a red kite.

Had plenty of schoolie bass, flounders and dabs at various places and yesterday got invited by Lucky Bob to join him on a trip to a very remote mark.

Ga Ga came along and asked as everyone does, "Why's he called Lucky Bob?". 

You'll see.

Actually, as any decent angler knows it ain't luck.

We met down a tiny lane and proceeded on to the marshes, the ocean barely visible across a sun baked Norfolk seascape. After half hour or so we came to the creek, which had to be crossed to access the mark. We were a bit early, so waited until it emptied a bit. Another ten minutes and we were there.

For a chunky short arse, LB moves very quickly when fish are on the menu. I was still baiting up when I heard him shout he was into a fish. And what a cracker it was, the bastard.

There were plenty of fish about, we were both catching, but LB's were keeper size and mine weren't, for the most part. Everybody who fishes with LB gets "Bobbed", it's now a word in the Oxford English dictionary. 

I was hamstrung a bit as Ga Ga insisted on casting "her" rod which resulted in that rod fishing in four inches of water fifteen yards out. Not ideal in the middle of a sunny June day. 

I also had a lesson in pumping black lug. Bloody massive leathery beasts of eight to ten inches long. Beats digging lots of little blow lug round our way and very addictive it was too.

The sun shone and we continued to catch fish until we had to beat a quick retreat as the tide flooded in. Along sweaty walk back and it was time for food and a cold drink.

What a glorious day.

Back at the camper I found that I'd accidentally bought LB's cool box and he'd got mine.

I got six stinking thawed peeler crabs and he'd got my two pristine keeper bass.

Now do you understand why he's called Lucky Bob ?