A Month on the Bay, November 2019

[StevieA]

Angling addicts hear voices. They begin as whispers, soothing as the lazy lap of waves on a lee shore:
“Such a pity to waste those worms in the fridge.”
“I hear they’re already catching cod down Blackpool.”
“This could be your lucky night.”
Ignore them and they become more insistent: “If you don’t go fishing tonight, you’ll regret it – today, tomorrow and for the rest of your miserable life. So GO, GO, GO!”
And so, all reason gone, you pack your kit and leave a note on the bedside table: Just popping out for tonight’s high tide. Should be home by 5am. Don’t wait up.

The prow rock at Throbshaw Point is viable at 8.3m with no swell but I feared nodding off to sleep and toppling over the side, so, there being no competition for places at that hour, I tackled up on the safer flat rock instead.

The whiting kept me awake with their constant nibbles. I missed some, caught others, though none of much size.

The fog closes in

In the misty early hours, a powerful torch beam swung around the headland for ten minutes. Looking for someone? Or something? When the breeze dropped, the Point became truly dark as a thickening fog blotted out the harbour lights. Deprived of sleep and sense, imagination filled the void. The slurp of water on the weed-strewn flanks of the rock became the slavering of grotesque amphibians as I slid into the pages of a Stephen King novel.

Monster from the deep

Later in the week, the northerly breeze was relentless as darkness fell on Bonfire Night. Nevertheless, being fully Imaxed out, and with a hand-warmer sachet in each pocket, I was well toasty. I was also wearing my new Imax FeatherLite moon boots. Cosiest winter footwear I’ve owned since my Rupert Bear slippers wore out. Super grip on the rocks, too.

Throbshaw Point

I tried tempting a late-season plaice with some sticky black, but by dusk had only one tiny whiting to show for it. Things kicked off soon as darkness fell, each of the two dozen whiting seemingly celebrated by a soaring sky rocket.

Light show

I don’t usually stick around for the ebb, but persevered this time until I was casting into barely three feet of water. At the last gasp, I landed a couple of bass. Where have they been lurking all autumn? With some relief, the closed season having begun, they measured up at a touch under the critical 42cms.

Last gasp bass

I returned to the rocks later in the week for the 9pm high. The day had begun badly, with Billy the Cat doing a runner across the cemetery, a white plastic bag of cheese sandwiches snagged around his neck. Every time he tried to escape, the ghostly cheese-monster would speed up to catch him. He didn’t come home all day. That evening, I cycled along brambly paths (this would have consequences) to look for him. I eventually found the cheese sandwiches, but not the cat. Then I went fishing to distract me from worry.

Squabbling dogfish

The whiting were flinging themselves at the bait with their usual abandon, and the dogfish were coming in two at a time, squabbling like a pair of spaniels out for a walk, but I couldn’t stop fretting and so packed up early, intending to hurry home to resume the search for Billy.

Back at the church, I noticed the rear tyre of my bike was flat. No repair kit. Tomasz, who had been fishing from a nearby rock, kindly lent me his foot pump, but the tyre was flat again within moments of him driving off. It was a long, slow walk home laden with fishing gear and whiting.

Billy, sans carrier bag, was waiting for me on the stairs. He was unusually affectionate, forcefully nuzzling his snout into my hand. Obviously, he had missed me terribly during his ordeal. Either that or I stunk of squid.

Not the Côte d'azur.

With low water on a biggish tide coinciding with dusk, I planned a beach session at Half Moon Bay. Looking down from Heysham Head at the fishing boats bobbing on a calm blue sea, I was reminded more of the Mediterranean in August than Morecambe Bay in November.

Oddly, I was alone on the beach apart from the push-net shrimper. I fished the last hour of daylight with frozen black and a rolling lead in case any plaice were about, but got nothing till darkness and the flood, when I finally hooked a dogfish.

Just me and the push-net shrimper

I switched to codling baits on a pennel, but enticed only another dogfish, a dab and a silly little whiting. It was seriously cold by now. Even the worms were shivering. So I piled on the bait and backed up with the creeping tide. No takers, though. With thoughts of a hot bath, I reeled in and plodded toward the headland. That route, however, took me past Throbshaw Point. The tide was too big for the rocks, but maybe I could fish another couple of hours of the flood?

With just the one rod and not much weed to contend with, I had an easy time of it. Until the rain started. I chucked out a last cast and began to pack away the kit, at which point something tapped me on the head. I looked up. Tippety-tappety. Humph – whiting. I carried on stowing stuff. Wallop. I spun round and grabbed the rod. If that was a whiting, it was a whopper. And it was. Better still, it was in a double header with a 42cm codling. Soaking wet but smiling, I hop-scotched across the rocks between flooding channels and headed home for that belated hot bath.

Last-cast whiting and codling

The following week, I fancied a simple session for the 11pm high so headed down the Stone Jetty. With a tuggy 9.2m tide in prospect, I substituted the usual 6oz breakaways for fixed wire uptide weights. They would slip from time to time but then grip again, unlike breakaways that, once released, would simply roll around in a 60-degrees arc and snag on the rocks. I had a dozen whiting, the best of them a chunky pound-and-a-quarter, plus a dogfish. The first rockling of the winter also showed up. Slippery little suckers.

Best in show

With a full moon in a clear sky, I barely needed a torch. I saw a shooting star and thought it all rather romantic, until I noticed a rat scurrying off with some bait, which tarnished the image somewhat.

The beach at Half Moon Bay is so vast and featureless that deciding where to tackle up is rather like committing to a slot in an empty car park. Gripped by indecision, you can end up going round in circles. In the twilight, I spotted the silhouette of a cormorant at the shoreline and headed for that. Cormorants ought to know where the best fishing is, right?

Night closes in at Half Moon Bay

The cormorant blanked, while I got a few. The whiting are definitely bigger this year, and the dabs, bless them, are punching above their weight with proper bites and plucky tussles. Still, not quite the same as having a codling tug you about.

A pugilistic dab

I watched a V-formation of geese honk Spielberg-like across the face of the rising yellow moon then plodded back to land.

Next time out at Half Moon, I picked a proper landmark to fish from – the mussel-encrusted end of the disused outflow pipe. Surely, I thought, they would have chosen to end the pipe near a trench of deep water, the better to disperse the effluent. Also, my theory went, the ebb would create a food eddy on the south side of the pipe, while the flood would generate something similar on the north side.

Pipe dream at Half Moon Bay

As it happened, I got just four small whiting on the ebb and nothing at all on the flood, which just goes to prove that the pipe builders simply chose the shortest route to the sea and didn’t give a Donald about the environment.

Casting cannon

On a brighter note, I was trialling a newly purchased casting cannon. Pa-zing! Works a treat.

Knots landing

With diminishing tides, I returned to Throbshaw Point for a couple of day/night sessions and caught 60 fish. Mainly whiting, obviously, plus a few dabs. No codling, though. I’m beginning to think those two early keepers signalled a false dawn, as happened last winter.

Odd couple

Little and large

Still, several of the whiting were quite chunky. The biggest of them, I noticed, had swallowed a small whiting. Perhaps inside that one, like a set of Russian dolls, there was an even smaller whiting. And inside that one...

An Artist of the Floating World.

West End Beach used to be a favourite haunt, but after a couple of blanks, I hadn’t fished there for months. Surely I couldn’t blank there again. Not in the whiting season!

West End Beach, scene of dashed hopes

I fished 2 down and 4 up into the dark and caught precisely one pin whiting. Humph. Won’t be rushing back down the West End anytime soon.

The Stone Jetty, conversely, has been fishing quite well. On a calm, dank night, I headed out for the big 9.30pm tide. It was quite crowded with 8 rods, but there wasn’t much time for banter as the whiting and dogfish lined up for catching practice. Again no codling, though one of the whiting was a decent 36cms.

I had hoped to fish Lion’s Head at Heysham on the biggest night tide of the month, but felt ill all day. The last thing I fancied was stamping about on a cold, damp night catching nothing but little whiting. But then I popped my head out of the window and saw some stars and thought, what the hell, let’s go fish’n’!

To keep things simple, I took just one rod, a bare minimum of bait and tackle, and, for some bizarre reason, a sand spike. A sand spike? Lion’s Head is a rock. I spent the first ten minutes looking for a crack into which I could wedge a piece of angle iron (okay, aluminium).

Not ideal terrain for a sand spike

The tide was barely lapping against lion’s paws when I finally cast in, but no matter because I had whiting nibbles from the off. I lost the first one among the seaweed, but I guessed there’d be others. I missed a load of bites and still bagged several in the short time I was there. The most exciting part was slithering down damp rock shelves so I could spare the fish an Acapulco cliff dive. This is not a realistic mark during the smooth-hound season. And good job I didn’t hook into that targeted 7lb cod, huh?

A view of the Fells

Light winds, sunshine, afternoon high tide? Had to be the Stone Jetty for my last session of the month. Damn it was cold, though, as I pedalled off down the frosty lane in the morning, hoping I was early enough to bag the best spot. Must be getting fit, I thought, as I sped along the prom, weaving between dog walkers. No one at the end of the jetty. Yippee! I parked my bike against the railings and made to swing the tackle box off my shoulders. Ah, problem. Frantic phone call home: left my tackle box on the step – can you swing by the Midland Hotel on your way to work? As I waited for the drop-off, three anglers strolled by and headed down the jetty. Bugger. Box retrieved, I pedalled frantically down the jetty to reclaim my spot.

Oystercatchers

The fishing – entertaining enough with some decent whiting – was a sideshow to the main attraction: a stunning view across the bay to the Lakeland fells. It would have lifted the spirits of even the grumpiest angler. Even I felt inclined to chat amiably with visitors and locals who made the pilgrimage down the jetty. I must have looked needy, though, because someone gave me some strips of mackerel and a bag of sprats, while the three amigos donated half a wrap of frozen black as they left.

Terry aboard the Red Herring

Feeding time

I used uptide weights again to good effect, fishing five hours of flood and ebb with no real problems, even during the weed-filled rush of the first hour of ebb.

Uptide weight does the business

Perfect day

I caught nothing during the final hour but, mesmerised by the scene, could hardly drag myself away. What a wonderful world we live in. It’ll still be here tomorrow, I told myself, as I cycled home.
But will it?

Avian angler

[Shane ousby]

Good stuff stevie busy lad that last photos a cracker

[TurboT]

Top read and an idlylic report as always

[rob f]

Top report Stevie and some great pics

[liphook]

Excellent read and photos Stevie

[JoeRoberts]

Good report Stevie & plenty of to boot, well done

[shacky]

Excellent monthly report Stevie Plenty of november fish and crackin' pictures Well done

[pros]

Fantastic, you thought of doing films?

[bob1]

Great monthly report Stevie yet again and pics roll on
next month

[Neild]

Cheers Stevie, Brilliant report as always..