Reminiscence of a fool... Part 3 (like a bag of cement)

The Bass hit the rod like a bag of cement

August 29, 2009

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The short cast was only visible for a split moment from the splash it made on entry. The wind soon whipped away any evidence and started to make music with the line now held tight to the lead. The night sky was incredibly clear revealing more stars than I have seen for a while – which is why it felt so bloody cold. I was wrapped up more for winter than an early morning session in August. Holding my rod I turned my back to the wind and watched the waves race across in front of me. The prime time would be in about an hour, so for once I had plenty of time to be prepared, none of this dashing around for me this morning.

Standing alone in the dark I started to reflect on my fishing year so far. It's not been my best with only a couple of bass for my efforts, but only last week I lost a fish that still upsets me now and I know will for a very long time. It hit the rod like a bag of cement, and then tore off taking line from the clutch. Very rarely do you connect with a fish and feel that the tackle you are using is in adequate. There was nothing I could do until the line parted. (This brings back some bad memories, I was using a line that was rubbish, and stupidly it took me several loses before the penny finally dropped! Follow a fool indeed...) I’m not one to stamp and swear, but normally I would have had a few words to myself. However, on this occasion I just sat down on the beach like a dejected child, muttering to myself what the hell was that, over and over again. It took me ages for my hands to stop shaking before I could re-tackle.

The prime time had passed and so had the darkness. The light was starting to glow on the horizon and the wind had calmed down a touch. Suddenly there was a rattle on the rod and I watched the line dart across the waves in the strengthening light, a quick strike and nothing. Cursing my stupidity, I reeled in to see the line dart away for the second time - the bass must have moved towards me. After a spirited battle a small schoolie of about a 1.5lb was beached.

I contemplated going home as the morning grew brighter, but after a succession of last casts I hooked into another bass, just slightly larger, roughly 2 lb. As the first I unhooked the bass and held it in the waves until it made a dash on its side to freedom.