Trying to connect to nature

I usually count to seven, though in truth it’s probably closer to ten - as it’s a deliberately slow count, before engaging the spool on most of my bass runs. This time I was fishing a narrow spot which, as anyone following this fool will know, has boulders stacked to one side and a line‑shredding feature lurking on the other.

The issue was simple, if I used my usual seven-count, the bass would have reached the features, and once I tightened the line the fish would be as good as gone. So after a solid, heavy knock (this is one of those places where you must keep hold of the rod) I felt that smooth, lumpy run begin. It took its time before committing, which is often the mark of a better bass. I counted to five as the braid drew tight, waiting for that lovely, familiar curve of the rod, and the moment you feel properly connected to the under water world again.

Instead, the line fell slack.

When it’s a proper run, one that carries all the signs of a bigger fish, the disappointment hits almost as hard as losing one after a long fight. I was gutted. The bait and hook point were both still fine, so I sent the rig straight back roughly two yards out, and waited for round two. It never came. The mix of wind, tide, and mounting tiredness eventually pushed me off the mark.

Rob, over on the Island, recently had a shore‑caught bass of around 4lb, so they’re clearly making their way back to the beaches again. Hopefully that bodes well for the rest of the year. Now I’m debating whether to drag myself out again tonight. It’ll be a late one, but we’ll see. I’ll update if I do.