Blue Skies, Cold Fingers, and a Bit of Fishing

The day itself was straight from a postcard: blue skies so bright they made your eyes squint with suspicion, as if you were being tricked into thinking it was warmer than it really was. The sun did its best, but the north-east breeze had other plans. It slipped into that space between your collar and your skin like a cold whisper, reminding me that leaving my jacket in the van was a rookie mistake. I’d like to say I took it like a man, but honestly, I cursed a little.

Still, nothing warms you up like anticipation. I stuck with my trusted setup—dongle pulley rigs loaded with fresh peeler crab, a rod cast out into the distance and another nestled in closer where the rocks meet the cleaner ground.

And wouldn’t you know it—first cast, shallow water, bang. A bass. Not just a bass, but a scrapper, probably four pounds of muscle and attitude. It’s funny how time stops in those moments. One second you’re thinking about wind chill, the next you’re locked in a tug-of-war with a silver blur that feels more alive than the rest of the day put together. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of seeing a bass bite.

Things settled after that—just the breeze, the waves, and the distant, rhythmic tap of the world going about its business. But then the distance rod gave a twitch, and a smaller bass came to say hello. The sun began to melt into the horizon like butter on hot toast and it had been two hours since I’d caught a fish.Suddenly, without warning, the rod fishing at close range arched around in the rest and it was all I could do to extract it under its strain. This fish was on and swam towards me at great speed, before finally hitting the brakes in just a few inches of water in front of me, frantically head shaking in an effort to shed the hook. It wasn’t to be, and I was soon cradling my third silver prize across the boulders. A bass of somewhere between four and five pound in weight I’d imagine, the largest so far.

Then came a different rhythm—a more deliberate, slow pull over that screamed ‘ray.’ Sure enough, a small male thornback shuffled ashore, all prehistoric grace and grumpy charm. I gave him a nod of respect and watched him slide back into his universe.

The real surprise came later—a drop-back bite at range, followed by a rumble that sent adrenaline crackling through my limbs. A conger, nicely in to double figures we reckoned. More snake than fish, all muscle and bad manners. I’ll admit it, I grinned like an idiot. One final cast and another, smaller conger joined the tally. It was like the sea had decided to empty a quirky subsection of its guest list just for me. The sun had dipped and set the sky ablaze, the long shadows of the evening dissipated and all fell silent