CKB
Well-known member
- Joined
- Nov 12, 2020
- Messages
- 246
- Reaction score
- 1,578
- Points
- 93
- Location
- Channel Islands
- Favourite Fishing
- Shore
The angling obsession has its grip on me at the moment; aside from work, it's pretty much all I can think about lately. Yesterday, I almost nipped out at 3am to try for bass with bait in an isolated cove but, the lack of sleep and the idea of clambering over hellish slippy rocks and weed in the dark, followed by sand all in my gear, I decided against it. I went back to sleep after tying three nice running ledger rigs. When I woke in the morning, I cracked on with work, and after a glance at the weather and tides, I fancied a wrasse session up the north end of the island.
I don't know where the time is disappearing; it felt like a blink between 9am and 2pm. My place has looked like a bomb has hit in since late august; every table, surface, and shelf has fishing rigs, lures, lines and hooks littered over them, only punctuated with camera kit and parcels. It's a mess, and each time I tidy up, it takes a day or so to be back to looking like Steptoe's junkyard. One of the significant issues is packing gear for so many types of fishing. I have three bags, all for different scenarios. Anyway, it took me about ten minutes to make sure I had scales, a measure, fifteen lures, pliers, fluorocarbon leader, a torch, a hand rag and the relevant camera kit and tripod. I grabbed the Century Graphex 10-40g spinning rod, which already had a Daiwa Certate with 30lb J-Braid on it, along with my lightest drop-net, as sometimes you can be fishing from 15ft or so off the water.
The damp afternoon air that followed the morning drizzle made me think we may get a shower or two. You have to be very careful on this bedrock in the Channel Island's, as it's as slippy as fairy liquid on the kitchen floor; you're like Bambi on ice if you're not super careful. I think the walk took about 35mins. I am always impressed with the views on that part of the island from the elevated path. You can see 270 degrees of water and all sorts of fascinating tidal rips, back eddies and fishy looking features, visuals that would inspire any angler. My mind starts to dream, I go into deep thought, excited about what may show in the session ahead. Maybe I'd get a 5 or 6lb Ballan, perhaps a big pollock or bass my take my lure by surprise, or a big bream. The possibilities were seemingly endless.
I descended the steep grassy path, which barely anybody seems to visit these days, I am guessing in part because they don't know it's there, or they don't want to end up on their arse, then limping a mile or two back to civilisation. I have to say, it was mightily refreshing to be carrying next to nothing again, as opposed to the bait work and the heavy rucksack. I was quickly into my usual spot for a few casts, and nothing was biting. The tide was also pulling my lures left into the nasty reef, and on a couple of occasions, I was lucky to get my soft plastic lures back. Whilst I was retrieving my last cast on this little peninsula, I had the idea to try around the corner, more inshore but over rough ground littered with thick kelp and dropoffs. I'd not chosen the best route and was scrambling over weed and glazed rock until I got down to water level, which considering the lack of wind, had a natural reef that was creating some swells. First cast, and bang, a small wrasse had nailed the Fiiish Black Minnow and was quickly brought under control, as I fished with the drag pressure high and fought reasonably hard. I slipped the fish in a pretty sizeable rock pool behind me and returned to cast. I had polarisers on and could see this beautiful corridor between the expansive brownish kelp beds and thought I'd retrieve through there, as close to the bottom as possible.
My adrenaline was racing a few seconds later as I had a really hard hit from a decent fish thumping and stripping line off the little reel. My mind was internally repeating the words "no, no, no" as the now visible wrasse attempted to get into the dense kelp forest. Thankfully it was under control; I could see stunning colours flashing through the gin-clear saltwater. I carefully played it to my feet and quickly plucked it from the water by the leader; in hindsight, a hand-net would have been a great idea. I marvelled at the vibrant colours and the speckled patterns on this stunning Ballan wrasse. I was elated, as I was sure it was 3 1/2 to 4lb in weight. It also went into the rockpool until I could fetch my scales from the other side of this craggy promontory.
Next cast, I had a follow from a beast of a wrasse that breached the surface and dived back down; it was a bright yellow like one of those boa constrictors with white spots, and I'd failed to stop retrieving quick enough so it could snatch it. I spent the next twenty minutes dangling the Black Minnow in the vicinity, hoping I'd get a take but, it never happened, as always with fishing; there is always the story of the one that got away. I had another fish, which looked like it was related to the big one, a little darker but the same pretty aesthetic. By now, I was losing light quickly, I'd been down there for almost an hour and thought I'd better head up top to weigh, photograph and release the bigger fish, plus my torch was in the side pocket of my bag where I'd first set up to fish. The beautiful Ballen weighed 3lb 12oz's on the Berkley digital scales and was promptly released.
It was twilight, pollock o'clock, and I had a cast from my initial spot, hooking into another hard fighting wrasse; this one had a hell of a pout on it and resembled a goldfish in the majority of its colour, aside from the greenish hue across the back. This fish weighed 2lb 6oz, a fair bit smaller than the better one earlier. I cast again and slipped into a trance of deep thought as I gazed across the shadowy sea. I was a million miles away when my lure was ready to be lifted out of the water to avoid the snags below. At that precise moment, I caught a glimpse of a silver fish that breached and disappeared. What was it? A nice bass? Things might have been different If I had been focussing; in this instance, a lapse in concentration may have cost me another fish.
The light was gone. After three to four more casts in vain, I decided it was time to pack my stuff and head back to civilisation. It had started to rain too, which made the rock I was on very greasy. I slowly made my way back up, grabbed my stuff and began the walk. It's funny the thoughts you have while hiking; I had this horrible flashback of a few winters ago when I'd done the same walk, but, with about 50lb on my back, exhausted from a big bait session and struggling to contend with a rod holdall in a crosswind. I was certainly glad it wasn't one of those days as my calfs burned ascending the hill, wiping the rain from my eyes. It had been a great hour and a half of lure fishing, just what I needed. There is a six-pounder out there somewhere. I surely need to get back there again for another go or try Bec du Nez, the tidal islands that house the light beacon.
Thanks for reading.
Chris
#AtlanticDriftFishing
I don't know where the time is disappearing; it felt like a blink between 9am and 2pm. My place has looked like a bomb has hit in since late august; every table, surface, and shelf has fishing rigs, lures, lines and hooks littered over them, only punctuated with camera kit and parcels. It's a mess, and each time I tidy up, it takes a day or so to be back to looking like Steptoe's junkyard. One of the significant issues is packing gear for so many types of fishing. I have three bags, all for different scenarios. Anyway, it took me about ten minutes to make sure I had scales, a measure, fifteen lures, pliers, fluorocarbon leader, a torch, a hand rag and the relevant camera kit and tripod. I grabbed the Century Graphex 10-40g spinning rod, which already had a Daiwa Certate with 30lb J-Braid on it, along with my lightest drop-net, as sometimes you can be fishing from 15ft or so off the water.
The damp afternoon air that followed the morning drizzle made me think we may get a shower or two. You have to be very careful on this bedrock in the Channel Island's, as it's as slippy as fairy liquid on the kitchen floor; you're like Bambi on ice if you're not super careful. I think the walk took about 35mins. I am always impressed with the views on that part of the island from the elevated path. You can see 270 degrees of water and all sorts of fascinating tidal rips, back eddies and fishy looking features, visuals that would inspire any angler. My mind starts to dream, I go into deep thought, excited about what may show in the session ahead. Maybe I'd get a 5 or 6lb Ballan, perhaps a big pollock or bass my take my lure by surprise, or a big bream. The possibilities were seemingly endless.
I descended the steep grassy path, which barely anybody seems to visit these days, I am guessing in part because they don't know it's there, or they don't want to end up on their arse, then limping a mile or two back to civilisation. I have to say, it was mightily refreshing to be carrying next to nothing again, as opposed to the bait work and the heavy rucksack. I was quickly into my usual spot for a few casts, and nothing was biting. The tide was also pulling my lures left into the nasty reef, and on a couple of occasions, I was lucky to get my soft plastic lures back. Whilst I was retrieving my last cast on this little peninsula, I had the idea to try around the corner, more inshore but over rough ground littered with thick kelp and dropoffs. I'd not chosen the best route and was scrambling over weed and glazed rock until I got down to water level, which considering the lack of wind, had a natural reef that was creating some swells. First cast, and bang, a small wrasse had nailed the Fiiish Black Minnow and was quickly brought under control, as I fished with the drag pressure high and fought reasonably hard. I slipped the fish in a pretty sizeable rock pool behind me and returned to cast. I had polarisers on and could see this beautiful corridor between the expansive brownish kelp beds and thought I'd retrieve through there, as close to the bottom as possible.
My adrenaline was racing a few seconds later as I had a really hard hit from a decent fish thumping and stripping line off the little reel. My mind was internally repeating the words "no, no, no" as the now visible wrasse attempted to get into the dense kelp forest. Thankfully it was under control; I could see stunning colours flashing through the gin-clear saltwater. I carefully played it to my feet and quickly plucked it from the water by the leader; in hindsight, a hand-net would have been a great idea. I marvelled at the vibrant colours and the speckled patterns on this stunning Ballan wrasse. I was elated, as I was sure it was 3 1/2 to 4lb in weight. It also went into the rockpool until I could fetch my scales from the other side of this craggy promontory.
Next cast, I had a follow from a beast of a wrasse that breached the surface and dived back down; it was a bright yellow like one of those boa constrictors with white spots, and I'd failed to stop retrieving quick enough so it could snatch it. I spent the next twenty minutes dangling the Black Minnow in the vicinity, hoping I'd get a take but, it never happened, as always with fishing; there is always the story of the one that got away. I had another fish, which looked like it was related to the big one, a little darker but the same pretty aesthetic. By now, I was losing light quickly, I'd been down there for almost an hour and thought I'd better head up top to weigh, photograph and release the bigger fish, plus my torch was in the side pocket of my bag where I'd first set up to fish. The beautiful Ballen weighed 3lb 12oz's on the Berkley digital scales and was promptly released.
It was twilight, pollock o'clock, and I had a cast from my initial spot, hooking into another hard fighting wrasse; this one had a hell of a pout on it and resembled a goldfish in the majority of its colour, aside from the greenish hue across the back. This fish weighed 2lb 6oz, a fair bit smaller than the better one earlier. I cast again and slipped into a trance of deep thought as I gazed across the shadowy sea. I was a million miles away when my lure was ready to be lifted out of the water to avoid the snags below. At that precise moment, I caught a glimpse of a silver fish that breached and disappeared. What was it? A nice bass? Things might have been different If I had been focussing; in this instance, a lapse in concentration may have cost me another fish.
The light was gone. After three to four more casts in vain, I decided it was time to pack my stuff and head back to civilisation. It had started to rain too, which made the rock I was on very greasy. I slowly made my way back up, grabbed my stuff and began the walk. It's funny the thoughts you have while hiking; I had this horrible flashback of a few winters ago when I'd done the same walk, but, with about 50lb on my back, exhausted from a big bait session and struggling to contend with a rod holdall in a crosswind. I was certainly glad it wasn't one of those days as my calfs burned ascending the hill, wiping the rain from my eyes. It had been a great hour and a half of lure fishing, just what I needed. There is a six-pounder out there somewhere. I surely need to get back there again for another go or try Bec du Nez, the tidal islands that house the light beacon.
Thanks for reading.
Chris
#AtlanticDriftFishing
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