the bass are in

We’re having the pointing on our chimney done by Paul. Or we were. He came round this morning and found not a lot holding it together. So now we’re having our chimney rebuilt by Paul. Oh well. There was good news too. Paul’s into sea-fishing and we usually compare notes when he’s over. In the winter there had been little good news – he was struggling to catch and even then only codling. But Paul said things had been good lately, so I pressed him for details. He said he’d had a load of smoothhound – over a dozen in one session round at Salthouse – though they had moved off recently. Now he was catching bass. My ears pricked up. Where? Off the beach a few miles from my back door, pretty much where I walk the dog every day. I’d been busy waiting for birds and seen nothing. But the bass were there, Paul assured me. Not far off. A flick of a cast he said. In the channels. The beach he was talking about shelves slowly, but there are a few ridges in the sand, enough to create channels and a line of breakers twenty or thirty yards out on the high tide, with flatter water close in. I wasn’t going to wait. With high tide at six and my email down yet again, I took the dog out for the walk she’d waited patiently all day for – only I had rod and waders this time. Paul wasn’t there, though I thought I might bump into him. I had the beach to myself. I messed around with my camera, taking self-timer shots resting it on my tackle bag. I threw a hundred plus casts at the line of breakers, walking slowly up and back down as I did so. And on about the 99th I had a take. A bass (not big, but a bass) jagged the line all the way in, only to fall off at my feet, tumbled end over end in a large wave. But the bass are in. And – as the man said – I’ll be back.

First published 16th June 2008