With A Little Help From My Friends

Lucky Bob called last week to invite me to try for a tope from a oh-so-secret-spot somewhere on the East Anglian coast. A beach caught tope is a very, very rare beast, so I didn't need asking twice.

I met Bob first thing in the morning and we started our three mile trek over two creeks, mudflats and endless marshland. I donned my  " Essex Waders " ( an old pair of trainers bound with duct tape so the mud wouldn't suck them off my feet, a technique perfected for the Maldon mud race ) and shorts, on the basis that with waders and troosers you were going to get sweaty wet at best or get them full with sea water a worst.

The marshes were full of ground nesting waders, oyster catchers, plovers and redshank and surprisingly we saw loads of deer tracks too.

We eventually reached a totally deserted beach in glorious sunshine. What a place. Very, very remote and as unspoilt as it gets.

The fishing was slow, as you'd expect when you're basically trying to win a fishing lottery. LB had a small bass and a flounder on his light gear, but other than that, all was quiet. I was happy lounging in the sun and taking photos though.

Just as confidence was beginning to wane, my close in rod bent round and the ratchet began to scream. I couldn't believe it. I tightened up and within seconds the fish was seventy or eighty yards along the beach to my right. I ran along the beach frantically winding to try and get a bit of line back whilst shouting at the top of my voice to LB. 

In a few minutes we caught sight of a big tope, thrashing around in the surf and running up and down the beach. A big wave washed the fish closer in and LB grabbed the tail and dragged it ashore.

What a beast. We didn't weigh it, but LB estimated it at 33/34lb, that'll do for me.

Local maestro Lucky Bob

We fished on but had no further action. A storm raged a few miles away as we packed up and began our long trudge back. The tide was not down far enough for us to cross the first creek, so we sat down and waited half hour. I then tested the depth and slowly, very carefully made my way across before giving the OK to LB. He managed to get his waders full of water as I'd forgotton he's only 5' 6" tall and for good measure a few minutes later he went arse over head in the mud.

We were both hot, muddy and wet when we made it back and before driving home we popped in the pub for a celebratory and much appreciated pint.

It was a fantastic day in an extraordinary place. I got very lucky and would have had absolutely no chance without local knowledge. You really do need help from your mates sometimes.