Go West Young Man

The forecast for the whole week was dry and sunny, with light winds, so I headed off in the camper for a week in Dorset.

Bully arranged to meet me there, so he was free to load up his car with even more ridiculous amounts of gear than normal.

We found a nice campsite on Portland. Quiet, great views, with a fifteen minute walk to the rocks. Light rods and float gear was the order of the day and on the first afternoon we had lots of ballan and corking wrasse, with the occasional pollack. Nothing big but a bite a chuck.

We were using bits of rag and lug, but I added a second hook with a piece of brown Isome artificial worm, just to see how they compared. I was surprised, the lug/rag did outfish the Isome, but not by much. A very useful bait to have tucked away in your bag.

The following day we endured a very poor day on Chesil beach, with just a bream, a garfish and hideous conger for me and blank for Bully.

It was back on the rocks for the next session with similar results to the first day, lots of fish, but nothing big. Great fun though.

By the end of the third day, the rock hopping and traipsing across the shingle had destroyed Bully and by the evening he lay on the shingle, a broken man and dead to the world. He's 72 you know !

Bully left for home the following morning,  while I tried Chesil again, this time with slightly better, but unspectacular results, six bream and three turding conger.

I did manage to catch some bream with my feeder rod though, although it did groan a bit as I cast the 4 oz lead out.

I woke the next day to a gentle autumn mist and set off for the end of the Bill with my float gear. First cast, without bait, to plumb the depth, a garfish took the bare hook ! 

I looked up from staring at the float and saw one of the most incredible sights I've ever seen, a huge blue fin tuna launching itself out of the water whilst smashing into garfish. Not once but twice. 

Then, ten minutes later, the same thing. Wow.

In the afternoon I had a very long,  but incredibly scenic walk along the cliffs to the beach. I was hoping for some mackeral, but saw not a sign.

I did have a beautiful little gilt head bream and as dusk approached, hoardes of hopeful squid fisherman descended upon the beach. There were bloody loads of them !

The conditions looked perfect, but I only saw two caught and luckily I had one of them.

So, no big fish to report, but a lovely sun soaked week with plenty of action

White Water Bassing

I've not been feeling it since we returned from the European trip, nothing has really inspired me.

However, a mate in Norfolk gave me the nod about some potentially good lure fishing up his neck of the woods.

He picked the day, the tide and place. The only thing he didn't do was put the fish on the hook for us. Good old boy.

Me and Bully embarked on a very long and very onerous trek to reach the mark. It was a glorious September day, bright sunshine, mixed with intermittent cloud, with a moderate north westerly that gave the sea some real life.

It looked perfect and extremely bassy indeed. However, the first couple of hours were blank. Not a touch.

As soon as the tide started to flood a big group of terns started diving on bait fish, which were being driven to the surface by unseen predators. Unfortunately,  they were out of casting range....but not for long.

It was a real cacophony, as terns shrieked and dived, with the occasional skua harassing any tern with a fish in its mouth.

When the flock came closer in our lures were hit viciously, as the bass hammered the lures in the shallows, with white water crashing all round.

Out on the bar, we were hit with the water coming in from all directions.  At one point Bully was almost knocked off his feet, after which he retreated to a safer area.

The mayhem lasted for maybe forty five minutes, by which time I'd had over a dozen bass and Bully similar.

I was on my "last cast" when I turned round and saw Bully walking off, about half mile in the distance. That's unusual I thought, he's not the type to get the hump.

I caught up with him as he stopped for a breather. "I'm fucked" he said, "I didn't even have the energy to wade over to you and tell you I was leaving".

Poor old boy, the knees, neck and hip were playing Up. We made in back to the car just on dark and after a ten minute drive back to the campsite, dumped the gear under the van.

I crashed on to the sofa and cracked open a cold beer. Bully then stuck his head round the door and said " I'm just going over to the toilet block to wipe down my lures".

What!?!? Wipedown your fecking lures ? At this time of night, when you could only just stand up at the end of the walk ?

I pulled rank and told him he'd do no such thing and he'd sit down and have a drink. He offered no resistance. 

An absolutely fantastic day.