As 2015 draws to a close, I’ve been thinking about some of the high and low points of my fishing year. I’ve deliberately excluded my trip to Norway from my thinking as this was far and away the highlight of my year in itself, but my fishing on Cornish and English sand, shingle and rock has been a bit of an interesting bag too. When going over my memories and thoughts, I’m left with the impression that 2015 was a bit of an odd one for me. For a start, whether because of the quality of fishing on offer at home or because of my focus on fishing further afield, at least half of my most memorable sessions have taken place outside of my home county, specifically on the shingle battlements of Chesil.
The pattern that I usually fall into of regularly fishing a few spots within ten minutes’ drive of home didn’t really establish itself, probably because the fishing didn’t play out as I’d expected it to. After such a good season fishing for giltheads on the north coast last year, I thoroughly expected to have no problem bagging plenty in ’15 and perhaps even getting a real donkey to the net. As it happened, the bream seemed hit and miss. I did manage to catch half a dozen or so but a fair few hours went in to tracking them down and none of them were any heavier than 4lbs. The large quantities of spotted ray that made fishing the north coast a pleasure in 2014 were way down in ’15, with small-eyeds virtually non-existent. The other great hope for the year was that the fantastic numbers of 3lb+ codling that showed through the winter of ‘14/’15 would come back in force as proper cod and provide a winter to remember. As it happened, apart from a smattering of shore-caught fish in the 5-8lb bracket, this dream has not materialised.
Now on to the positives from the year, the fishing for smoothhounds from as early as February/March onwards was very good, with numerous good hits reported across the north coast. I’d hoped to improve on my best from the year before and did by half a pound with a fish of 9.9. There were good numbers of fish in the 8-10lb bracket, although I didn’t hear word of any bigger than that. Make no mistake though, a hound of over 5lbs is a great sporting fish and catching quantities of these with bigger bonus fish is an absolute hoot! There was also quality flattie fishing from early spring onwards with excellent numbers of plaice along with some dabs and turbot for good measure. Admittedly, the plaice were mostly on the small side but there were enough 1lb plus fish to make things interesting. I had hoped that 2015 was going to be my year to get a big plaice but despite catching a hundred or so, the big one eluded me. Next year for sure!
There were some spectacular ray caught through the year with fantastic specimens of our three usual suspect species with the bonus of some blondes towards the back end. I was particularly proud of my fishing mate Mark Reed’s achievement of bagging a new Cornish record blonde from the shore in October, a beautiful fish of nearly 27lbs. Despite the amount of quality ray caught, I got the general impression that numbers were quite thin, particularly in the estuaries. As for myself, I didn’t concentrate so much on ray this year. I had some thornies at the start of the year whilst after the codling, I followed a hot trail in May and caught a couple of double figure small-eyeds and in June I did a couple of sessions on the north coast spotted ray and crossed my ‘over 4 pounder’ of the year off the list. I was also fortunate enough to latch into a couple of undulates at Chesil one night, more on that later. I didn’t manage to have an effort for the Cornish blondes as my attention was focussed elsewhere, maybe next year.
My highlight sessions of the year are a bit of a mixed bag. I had some great codling sessions at the beginning of the year (as did most other Cornish anglers!) and I think the best I managed in a sitting was 16. I admit that I really wanted one over 4lbs but couldn’t seem to get over that barrier, despite having several 3.15’s! No particular session sticks out for me though, it seemed I caught a decent bag every time I went and the whole month or two’s fishing kind of fades into one nocturnal montage in my memory.
One definite highlight came in early May when, after a bit of deliberation about where to go, my mate Roy and I decided to try a north coast mark for a hound. Unbeknownst to us, two of our other mates, Mark and Mat were already down on the spot and fishing away so a four-pronged attack became the order of the day. The session started benignly enough with slow going and only the odd dogfish slithering their way onto our baits. Around high tide, the sky burst and the rain came down incessantly. After a couple of hours of this, I was all ready to pack up and leave when either Mat or Mark (I can’t recall whom exactly) caught a hound in the 5-6lb range. After that, it was all hands on deck as baits were sent out with renewed enthusiasm and the torrents of rain and soaking feet were forgotten. For the next hour, the hounds were on our patch and pretty quick on the bite, with most fish being in the 5-6lb category and my best fish going 9.9, which Mat landed for me (cheers Mat!). This fish came, uncharacteristically, after a very gentle take and it wasn’t until I felt firm resistance on the lift and a prompt line-stripping run that I knew I had something better than a doggie on. The only downer was Roy losing another fish of similar size to mine whilst he and Mark were trying to land it. Fortunately, a little later in the season, Roy got a second chance at one of these and this time it all came good as he became the grinning captor of a smoothie in the nine and a half pound range. We had several other good sessions on the hounds through May but that first one sticks out in my mind as being pretty special, partly because I could easily have missed it if I’d gone home before the first one was caught.
One other session on my home turf sticks out, not because I did amazingly well, more because it was one of those off-the-cuff sort of trips that turned out good. I had a pretty hard time giltheading through April and May, with only 1 bream caught from my open coast marks and a few missed bites. I had even resorted to a couple of estuary trips to get my bream fix which there had been no need to do the year previous. I had hardly bothered through June, focusing on other things, but through July, I started to get a nagging suspicion that I was missing something. By the end of the month, the nagging suspicion spurred me into action and one afternoon I found myself heading out with the light rods to try a likely spot. For whatever reason, whilst heading out to where I intended to fish, I happened to look at another little mark at the bottom of the cliff and wondered if I could get down there. Curiousity got the better of me and I found a little path leading down that eventually got me onto the mark with no major dramas. I knew this spot had form for bass but it also had some breamy looking structure and a good bit of current so I plopped a few casts around until I found a nice little spot tight to a big rock. It was a glorious afternoon with a perfect (if a bit weedy) sea rolling in and the sun beating down on the rocks. The peace was soon shattered by the furious whizzing of the baitrunner and after a brief and brutal tussle, a gilt in the mid 3lb category was netted and promptly released. The next bite was a little different and the culprit came up to the surface instantly, showing itself to be a reasonable bass. This fish fought well, making little dashes here and there, but it was no bream and came to the net easily. I weighed it at 4.12 before taking a quick picture and popping it back. I positioned both baits in the hot spot and chucked a lure around for a while as I awaited further action. The next take was just ridiculous with the rod keeling over and the fish scorching off with the current. The fight was powerful and I suspected a better class of bream, but this proved to be a fish much the same size as the first. This one was deep hooked so received a knock on the head and was stowed in a bag for tea the next day. After this last piece of action, the water receded further and I called it a day although I promptly returned the next morning to catch one or two more bream of the same stamp as the day before and a bass on a lure. These proved to be my last bream sessions of the year as the weather and conditions through August were shocking and neutered all and any plans to get out on good breaming tides.
The other sessions that spring to mind as particularly good ones came a bit later in the year and all took place at different spots along Chesil beach. The first was a mid-September evening spent at the (relatively) lightly fished Langton Herring after rowing across with partners in crime Mark and Lee. The initial action was a bit slow with Lee picking up a few dogfish before I caught a small undulate ray, which I was pretty pleased with. Lee then latched into something a whole lot bigger and slimier and after a muscular tussle, the lengthy beast was chin gaffed by Mark and brought up to camp where it pulled the scales over the 20lb mark. Lee was delighted and we were delighted for him as he had been after a decent Chesil eel for a good while. Soon after Mark caught a conger in the 15lb category and I lost what felt like a respectable one. Lee then pulled an absolute blinder by landing first one double figure undulate, then another! The biggest one was a beautiful fish, if I remember rightly it went just shy of 12lbs. I snagged another undulate of 8lbs or so that had managed to get tangled up with a similar size conger on my other rod and with that, the action faded as the tide ebbed further. This session wasn’t so memorable for my catches but more for the enjoyment of seeing Lee catch three cracking fish on his home turf and declaring it one of his best sessions ever. I’ve had good luck whenever I’ve rowed across the fleet to fish with Lee. The year before we went across at Moonfleet and caught in the region of 40 codling between us.
The next trip was about 2 weeks later and this time I had come up late in the afternoon armed to the teeth to do serious business with some Chesil plaice. I parked up at West Bexington and decided to head right out of the car park and find some ground to myself. After some scouting around, I found an area that felt right and began to set up my gear. I was confident that I was in with a good shout as I had ample quantities of numerous species of worms, a few sweet running reels, beautiful plaice conditions and… the wrong rods. I had unintentionally packed one of my old AFAW Match rods in place of my usual MK II versions, and out of my usual pair, I had the tip off one and the butt off another. Fortunately, the two sections went together alright and my first baits sailed out smoothly into the sparkling water. I hadn’t even finished setting up the other rod when the first bounced drunkenly in the rest and a reassuring weight on the end soon gave way to a double shot of plaice flapping on the sand. The bottom fish was a reasonable one of a pound and a half or so and I contemplated keeping it, but decided not to as I was bound to catch more. Little did I know that fish would prove to be the biggest plaice I landed in around 30 I caught over the 2 days, but I digress. The next couple of hours continued on at a frantic pace with small plaice every cast and a bonus tub gurnard to boot. As the light dwindled into darkness, I switched my plaice rigs over for a different design and tried my luck for something a bit more exotic. I soon had a response with a violent bite that took line from the ratchet followed by slack. I gave the fish time to eat its meal before lifting the rod into a satisfyingly wriggly sensation and soon my target species appeared at the water’s edge; a dover sole. This process I managed to repeat three more times and I could hardly believe my luck that I had picked a night with so few pest fish intercepting the baits and that I was getting a crack at putting together a good bag of such a desirable species. The best sole of the night went 2.2 and, although I hadn’t managed to snare a big plaice (and didn’t manage to the next day either, although I did manage another couple of sole after dark), I was more than happy with my evening’s work.
The last session took place about two weeks after coming back from my epic Norwegian trip. If I am truly honest, I reckoned that I’d been a bit outdone in the cod stakes by the other lads over there as they’d all had fish over 8lb or so and I hadn’t. Soon after getting back and seeing a few reports of the fish being caught off Chesil when conditions were good, I decided that this was a situation I had the power to remedy and began scoping out a window of opportunity and getting bait ready for an assault. I nearly didn’t go for Chesil on the day as the conditions were some way short of favourable and on climbing the bank at Abbotsbury, the stiff crosswind that greeted me was far from welcoming, but the forecast pointed to an overnight drop in wind speed and a change of direction so I put my faith in the weatherman. Luckily for me, there were few other souls out there and I had the Dragon’s Teeth area to myself, meaning I had an excellent shot at getting the attention of any decent fish that passed by. Things started slowly with not a lot of action for the first couple of hours save a doggy and small eel or two, then the first cod found its way on to my hooks and everything started to look a lot brighter as it was followed by an eel in the low double figures and another cod, before my eyesight became so blurry that I had to settle down in the sleeping bag for a few hours shuteye. I awoke cold, as I nearly always do after sleeping on the beach, and pulled myself together ready to attack the morning session. Both cod I’d had during the night were in the 6lb class. Nice fish, but I hoped for better and I knew there were bigger specimens out there. After a few casts, I had a small bite that I left for a while, but on reeling into it, I felt the nod of another cod. This fish swam left into the shorebreak and I took my time picking the moment to guide it onto the shore. As the wave receded, the fish gasped and flapped and I could see it was clearly a better class than the two I’d landed previously. The scales gave a weight of 8.4 and I couldn’t have been happier in that moment; this was the fish I had come for. I fished on for a while as the conditions settled further but no more cod were forthcoming, and I headed back to the car as the beach began to fill up with anglers eager for cod of their own.
So, with time left for maybe one or two more sessions before 2015 passes into history, I am already looking forward to 2016 and hoping that it holds some good fishing for me. I have started feeling an urge to add something a bit different to my fishing diet and am contemplating dusting off my fly rods and heading over the border for a look at some of Devon’s trout rivers come spring. Whether I actually end up doing this is probably going to depend on the quality of the shore fishing at the same juncture. After all, I like wild brown trout with their yellow bellies and pretty spots, but I like bristling turbo-powered giltheads more!
The pattern that I usually fall into of regularly fishing a few spots within ten minutes’ drive of home didn’t really establish itself, probably because the fishing didn’t play out as I’d expected it to. After such a good season fishing for giltheads on the north coast last year, I thoroughly expected to have no problem bagging plenty in ’15 and perhaps even getting a real donkey to the net. As it happened, the bream seemed hit and miss. I did manage to catch half a dozen or so but a fair few hours went in to tracking them down and none of them were any heavier than 4lbs. The large quantities of spotted ray that made fishing the north coast a pleasure in 2014 were way down in ’15, with small-eyeds virtually non-existent. The other great hope for the year was that the fantastic numbers of 3lb+ codling that showed through the winter of ‘14/’15 would come back in force as proper cod and provide a winter to remember. As it happened, apart from a smattering of shore-caught fish in the 5-8lb bracket, this dream has not materialised.
Now on to the positives from the year, the fishing for smoothhounds from as early as February/March onwards was very good, with numerous good hits reported across the north coast. I’d hoped to improve on my best from the year before and did by half a pound with a fish of 9.9. There were good numbers of fish in the 8-10lb bracket, although I didn’t hear word of any bigger than that. Make no mistake though, a hound of over 5lbs is a great sporting fish and catching quantities of these with bigger bonus fish is an absolute hoot! There was also quality flattie fishing from early spring onwards with excellent numbers of plaice along with some dabs and turbot for good measure. Admittedly, the plaice were mostly on the small side but there were enough 1lb plus fish to make things interesting. I had hoped that 2015 was going to be my year to get a big plaice but despite catching a hundred or so, the big one eluded me. Next year for sure!
There were some spectacular ray caught through the year with fantastic specimens of our three usual suspect species with the bonus of some blondes towards the back end. I was particularly proud of my fishing mate Mark Reed’s achievement of bagging a new Cornish record blonde from the shore in October, a beautiful fish of nearly 27lbs. Despite the amount of quality ray caught, I got the general impression that numbers were quite thin, particularly in the estuaries. As for myself, I didn’t concentrate so much on ray this year. I had some thornies at the start of the year whilst after the codling, I followed a hot trail in May and caught a couple of double figure small-eyeds and in June I did a couple of sessions on the north coast spotted ray and crossed my ‘over 4 pounder’ of the year off the list. I was also fortunate enough to latch into a couple of undulates at Chesil one night, more on that later. I didn’t manage to have an effort for the Cornish blondes as my attention was focussed elsewhere, maybe next year.
My highlight sessions of the year are a bit of a mixed bag. I had some great codling sessions at the beginning of the year (as did most other Cornish anglers!) and I think the best I managed in a sitting was 16. I admit that I really wanted one over 4lbs but couldn’t seem to get over that barrier, despite having several 3.15’s! No particular session sticks out for me though, it seemed I caught a decent bag every time I went and the whole month or two’s fishing kind of fades into one nocturnal montage in my memory.
One definite highlight came in early May when, after a bit of deliberation about where to go, my mate Roy and I decided to try a north coast mark for a hound. Unbeknownst to us, two of our other mates, Mark and Mat were already down on the spot and fishing away so a four-pronged attack became the order of the day. The session started benignly enough with slow going and only the odd dogfish slithering their way onto our baits. Around high tide, the sky burst and the rain came down incessantly. After a couple of hours of this, I was all ready to pack up and leave when either Mat or Mark (I can’t recall whom exactly) caught a hound in the 5-6lb range. After that, it was all hands on deck as baits were sent out with renewed enthusiasm and the torrents of rain and soaking feet were forgotten. For the next hour, the hounds were on our patch and pretty quick on the bite, with most fish being in the 5-6lb category and my best fish going 9.9, which Mat landed for me (cheers Mat!). This fish came, uncharacteristically, after a very gentle take and it wasn’t until I felt firm resistance on the lift and a prompt line-stripping run that I knew I had something better than a doggie on. The only downer was Roy losing another fish of similar size to mine whilst he and Mark were trying to land it. Fortunately, a little later in the season, Roy got a second chance at one of these and this time it all came good as he became the grinning captor of a smoothie in the nine and a half pound range. We had several other good sessions on the hounds through May but that first one sticks out in my mind as being pretty special, partly because I could easily have missed it if I’d gone home before the first one was caught.
One other session on my home turf sticks out, not because I did amazingly well, more because it was one of those off-the-cuff sort of trips that turned out good. I had a pretty hard time giltheading through April and May, with only 1 bream caught from my open coast marks and a few missed bites. I had even resorted to a couple of estuary trips to get my bream fix which there had been no need to do the year previous. I had hardly bothered through June, focusing on other things, but through July, I started to get a nagging suspicion that I was missing something. By the end of the month, the nagging suspicion spurred me into action and one afternoon I found myself heading out with the light rods to try a likely spot. For whatever reason, whilst heading out to where I intended to fish, I happened to look at another little mark at the bottom of the cliff and wondered if I could get down there. Curiousity got the better of me and I found a little path leading down that eventually got me onto the mark with no major dramas. I knew this spot had form for bass but it also had some breamy looking structure and a good bit of current so I plopped a few casts around until I found a nice little spot tight to a big rock. It was a glorious afternoon with a perfect (if a bit weedy) sea rolling in and the sun beating down on the rocks. The peace was soon shattered by the furious whizzing of the baitrunner and after a brief and brutal tussle, a gilt in the mid 3lb category was netted and promptly released. The next bite was a little different and the culprit came up to the surface instantly, showing itself to be a reasonable bass. This fish fought well, making little dashes here and there, but it was no bream and came to the net easily. I weighed it at 4.12 before taking a quick picture and popping it back. I positioned both baits in the hot spot and chucked a lure around for a while as I awaited further action. The next take was just ridiculous with the rod keeling over and the fish scorching off with the current. The fight was powerful and I suspected a better class of bream, but this proved to be a fish much the same size as the first. This one was deep hooked so received a knock on the head and was stowed in a bag for tea the next day. After this last piece of action, the water receded further and I called it a day although I promptly returned the next morning to catch one or two more bream of the same stamp as the day before and a bass on a lure. These proved to be my last bream sessions of the year as the weather and conditions through August were shocking and neutered all and any plans to get out on good breaming tides.
The other sessions that spring to mind as particularly good ones came a bit later in the year and all took place at different spots along Chesil beach. The first was a mid-September evening spent at the (relatively) lightly fished Langton Herring after rowing across with partners in crime Mark and Lee. The initial action was a bit slow with Lee picking up a few dogfish before I caught a small undulate ray, which I was pretty pleased with. Lee then latched into something a whole lot bigger and slimier and after a muscular tussle, the lengthy beast was chin gaffed by Mark and brought up to camp where it pulled the scales over the 20lb mark. Lee was delighted and we were delighted for him as he had been after a decent Chesil eel for a good while. Soon after Mark caught a conger in the 15lb category and I lost what felt like a respectable one. Lee then pulled an absolute blinder by landing first one double figure undulate, then another! The biggest one was a beautiful fish, if I remember rightly it went just shy of 12lbs. I snagged another undulate of 8lbs or so that had managed to get tangled up with a similar size conger on my other rod and with that, the action faded as the tide ebbed further. This session wasn’t so memorable for my catches but more for the enjoyment of seeing Lee catch three cracking fish on his home turf and declaring it one of his best sessions ever. I’ve had good luck whenever I’ve rowed across the fleet to fish with Lee. The year before we went across at Moonfleet and caught in the region of 40 codling between us.
The next trip was about 2 weeks later and this time I had come up late in the afternoon armed to the teeth to do serious business with some Chesil plaice. I parked up at West Bexington and decided to head right out of the car park and find some ground to myself. After some scouting around, I found an area that felt right and began to set up my gear. I was confident that I was in with a good shout as I had ample quantities of numerous species of worms, a few sweet running reels, beautiful plaice conditions and… the wrong rods. I had unintentionally packed one of my old AFAW Match rods in place of my usual MK II versions, and out of my usual pair, I had the tip off one and the butt off another. Fortunately, the two sections went together alright and my first baits sailed out smoothly into the sparkling water. I hadn’t even finished setting up the other rod when the first bounced drunkenly in the rest and a reassuring weight on the end soon gave way to a double shot of plaice flapping on the sand. The bottom fish was a reasonable one of a pound and a half or so and I contemplated keeping it, but decided not to as I was bound to catch more. Little did I know that fish would prove to be the biggest plaice I landed in around 30 I caught over the 2 days, but I digress. The next couple of hours continued on at a frantic pace with small plaice every cast and a bonus tub gurnard to boot. As the light dwindled into darkness, I switched my plaice rigs over for a different design and tried my luck for something a bit more exotic. I soon had a response with a violent bite that took line from the ratchet followed by slack. I gave the fish time to eat its meal before lifting the rod into a satisfyingly wriggly sensation and soon my target species appeared at the water’s edge; a dover sole. This process I managed to repeat three more times and I could hardly believe my luck that I had picked a night with so few pest fish intercepting the baits and that I was getting a crack at putting together a good bag of such a desirable species. The best sole of the night went 2.2 and, although I hadn’t managed to snare a big plaice (and didn’t manage to the next day either, although I did manage another couple of sole after dark), I was more than happy with my evening’s work.
The last session took place about two weeks after coming back from my epic Norwegian trip. If I am truly honest, I reckoned that I’d been a bit outdone in the cod stakes by the other lads over there as they’d all had fish over 8lb or so and I hadn’t. Soon after getting back and seeing a few reports of the fish being caught off Chesil when conditions were good, I decided that this was a situation I had the power to remedy and began scoping out a window of opportunity and getting bait ready for an assault. I nearly didn’t go for Chesil on the day as the conditions were some way short of favourable and on climbing the bank at Abbotsbury, the stiff crosswind that greeted me was far from welcoming, but the forecast pointed to an overnight drop in wind speed and a change of direction so I put my faith in the weatherman. Luckily for me, there were few other souls out there and I had the Dragon’s Teeth area to myself, meaning I had an excellent shot at getting the attention of any decent fish that passed by. Things started slowly with not a lot of action for the first couple of hours save a doggy and small eel or two, then the first cod found its way on to my hooks and everything started to look a lot brighter as it was followed by an eel in the low double figures and another cod, before my eyesight became so blurry that I had to settle down in the sleeping bag for a few hours shuteye. I awoke cold, as I nearly always do after sleeping on the beach, and pulled myself together ready to attack the morning session. Both cod I’d had during the night were in the 6lb class. Nice fish, but I hoped for better and I knew there were bigger specimens out there. After a few casts, I had a small bite that I left for a while, but on reeling into it, I felt the nod of another cod. This fish swam left into the shorebreak and I took my time picking the moment to guide it onto the shore. As the wave receded, the fish gasped and flapped and I could see it was clearly a better class than the two I’d landed previously. The scales gave a weight of 8.4 and I couldn’t have been happier in that moment; this was the fish I had come for. I fished on for a while as the conditions settled further but no more cod were forthcoming, and I headed back to the car as the beach began to fill up with anglers eager for cod of their own.
So, with time left for maybe one or two more sessions before 2015 passes into history, I am already looking forward to 2016 and hoping that it holds some good fishing for me. I have started feeling an urge to add something a bit different to my fishing diet and am contemplating dusting off my fly rods and heading over the border for a look at some of Devon’s trout rivers come spring. Whether I actually end up doing this is probably going to depend on the quality of the shore fishing at the same juncture. After all, I like wild brown trout with their yellow bellies and pretty spots, but I like bristling turbo-powered giltheads more!