With the forecast giving fine weather for the week, I set off for Dorset at dawn, intent on a bit of coastal hiking and fishing. By eight I was in Wareham, tucking into a great breakfast at the "Five and Dime" cafe.
I then walked the coast path from Kimmeridge to Lulworth. Some of the hills were ridiculously steep, especially the ascent west from Worborrow. But what views.
I checked out a few rock marks, it looked fantastic, but where do you start with all this great looking ground ? I had a fish here and there but just had a few smallish wrasse.
Away from the access points there were very few people about, despite it being the kid's holidays. At Lulworth, however, hundreds of lemmings milled around without ever getting more than five minutes from the car park. That's what I like to see.
I took the inland route back and tucked in to fish and chips and a damn fine bottle of Cote Du Rhone in the evening. What a great day.
More wrassing the next day, but more of the same, a few fish here and there. Mediocre fishing, but frankly who gives a damn in such fantastic surroundings ? That's what you're meant to say isn't it ? In the evening I had a walk around Arne and enjoyed some ( yes, more) great views of Poole harbour.
Thursday I walked the full Portland circuit. A strange, but very interesting place. Some parts extremely grim, one estate reminding me of the images we used to see in the bad old days of Belfast Falls Road. Nice.
On another part of the route, the coastal path takes you past a prison, complete with high walls and razor wire on one side and amazing clifftop scenery on the other. Well worth a visit, the place is a real "one off".
Next day I had a great walk along South Dorst Ridgeway, high above Chesil beach and around Abbotsbury and Bexington. At one stage I could see the Purbecks to the east, Devon to the west and Portand straight in front of me. Extraordinary views.
I completed this walk in double quick time, because I'd parked at the beach, ready for a mackeral fishing session in the evening, and being a bit of a saddo I was ludicrously excited at the prospect.
A large quantity of ice was obtained and put in a big cool box, ready to take a load of mackeral home and in pristine condition. Hopefully.
I was lucky, conditions were perfect. For mackeral and me. Calm, sunny, warm. Beautiful.
I loved it, it was like being a kid again, catching them three, four, five at a time.
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| Look at the bod on that |
There were huge, black clouds of whitebait being driven into the shingle by ravenous shoals of mackeral. The water erupted as the mackie attacked from below, with terns joining in, diving in on the whitebait. After several attacks, the shingle was littered with fry that had beached themselves trying to escape. It was like an English version of Attenborough's "Life On Earth". An incredible sight.
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| A tide of whitebait |
Two little kids were fishing with their Dad next to me. They were struggling to cast and I really hoped they'd catch a few, but doubted that they'd be able to get out far enough. As I watched them, to their left a huge shoal of mackeral attacked the fry on the surface. I shouted out and pointed and the whole family ran along the beach.
One of the kids cast out not more than five yards and pulled a string of makkie in, jumping up and down in excitement. Great to see.
Unfortunately, I filled my coolbox all too quickly and reluctantly trudged off the beach, heading off home, stopping only for a cold pint of cider, a slice of "Auntie Pat's" coffee and walnut cake and the first chat I've had with Chris " Greg Davis" Howell in twenty three years.
Summer in Old Blighty, it ain't too bad.
A walk early this morning along the Grange, the lovely late summer smell of the the damp, musty, woods in my nostrils. The overnight rain had passed, so I was looking for and expecting a few mushrooms, but I surprisingly found nothing. In a few days, perhaps ?
