12-13 June 04

This weekend was going to be good. The tides were early and late, so a bass or two was on the cards and the mackerel were beginning to come inshore after the big shoals of baitfish.

I was also going to introduce Isabel to fly fishing. Now I know that is a recipe for disaster, especially when it is saltwater fly-fishing, but she was keen to learn.

It all started going downhill with Nigel telling me I should have been there on Thursday evening, they were murdering the mackerel by the bucketful. I bet they were murdering them on Monday night too, after we had left.

I must be perfectly frank. I did not fish as hard as I should have done, just an hour each tide, but I thought it would give Isabel a flavour of the sport without boring her senseless.

So, Saturday evening we strode along the promenade and stopped to chat to Richard.

He had had a touch or two, but no fish so far. He did see a little kid walk past with a 6lb bass earlier. When he asked him how he caught it, the lad replied “I found it trapped in a rock pool over there.”

Another young lad turned up with the broken stump of a rod, barely 4 ft long, a huge reel and a hefty pirk on the end of the line. The older bait fishermen nearby chuckled quietly, remembering their days of youth and make-do.

The boy swung back the rod and heaved the pirk into the far distance. He shielded his eyes, peering into the horizon to see where it would land. A few seconds later it crashed into the water, just a metre in front of him.

Cursing under his breath, he reeled in the pirk furiously to stop it snagging on the bottom and the inevitable happened. Louder cursing this time, but then the rod starting bucking of its own accord. Realisation crossed his face and then tension as he fought to bring a good fish under control. He duly landed another 6 pound bass.

I took Isabel further to the east, above broken ground a couple of hundred metres from  Mike who had six bass there a couple of weeks ago. I showed her the rudiments of casting and if you have seen me casting, the rudiments is all she is ever likely to learn from me.

Then she had a go. Birds nest first chuck. On the second attempt, I held her forearm to help her control her timing. This time she managed a cast all of 6 metres and started twitching back the fly, a home-tied 17cm sand eel pattern.

Four metres from the platform, the line stopped and the rod started bouncing up and down. She held the rod up instinctively and played it well, but was not giving it any line. That’s another lesson though, as she wasn’t supposed to actually catch anything this time.

I grabbed the line and hauled up a pretty 25cm bass. How jammy can you get? She has never fished before and she catches a bass on her 2^nd cast. Well no, the first cast didn’t actually reach the water.

This is how you retrieve the fly. She makes it look so easy.

Needless to say, Richard, Mike and I all blanked. Its true Mike and I both had a touch and I had a big mackerel on for a few seconds, but the arithmetic still comes out as a big, fat blank.