Last knockings joy

A combination of a conversation at my local tackle shop and some great tides meant I booked the day off to fish today's tide. I pulled up at my favourite daytime venue and made the long slog to my mark. Conditions looked lovely, apart from a slight offshore wind, which wasn't ideal.

I was soon fishing with half a mackerel on my old setup - a 9ft carp rod, a 4000 size Shimano and some 'new' braid. When I say new, I actually reversed the braid on the spool so the unused section was now on top. Hopefully that will put an end to the knots I'd been suffering recently.

It felt a world away from the heavy gear I'd been using during Storm Amy.

The fishing, however, was painfully slow.

Despite a couple of half-hearted schoolie runs, nothing materialised on the incoming tide. A lure angler wandered past later and reported three micro bass, and it all started to feel like one of those trips.

Then, completely out of the blue, a proper run developed.

There was no messing about with this one as it ripped around ten yards of line from the spool. I engaged the freespool, watched the line draw tight and felt the weight of the bass. Then, just as quickly, everything sprang free and the bait came flying back.

I was gutted.

Another hour passed. Normally, I'd have packed up by then, but the high tide had effectively cut off my escape route unless I fancied a wet walk back. So I stayed.

About three hours after high tide, I started getting indications from what was clearly a very enthusiastic schoolie trying its best to take the mackerel. Rather than strike, I left the rod in the rest and hoped all the commotion might attract the attention of something larger.

I had perhaps five minutes left before I needed to pack up when the rod suddenly went into meltdown.

Grabbing it from the rest, line was still pouring from the spool. As soon as I engaged the reel, the rod took on that lovely, satisfying curve that tells you instantly you've connected with a decent fish. The fight was short but powerful and it wasn't long before I had her safely on the shingle.

She looked much bigger than she measured.

At just over 24 inches to the fork, I reckon she may have gone around the 6 lb mark. After a quick photo and unhooking, she recovered strongly and kicked away into the clear water.

Maybe there were more to be had, but I didn’t mind as I packed up to beat my parking ticket time. Thank goodness I stayed on.