Making the effort - Part Two

Richard Walker once said there is no such thing as 'always' and 'never' in fishing. It is also often said, that no two tides are ever the same. Last night proved exactly why.

As you've probably gathered by now, I made the effort and headed back to the beach. On arrival I was greeted by a brisk south westerly wind. Once again, I had the entire stretch of beach to myself. As I walked towards my mark, I couldn't help thinking that the conditions looked even better than the previous evening.

I was soon set up and fishing. The stronger wind had brought a lot more weed with it, which was causing a few problems, but after about half an hour I managed a small school bass of around 2lb. To be honest, I'd been convinced the bite was from an eel.

Then everything went quiet.

For the next two hours I didn't have a touch. Despite that, I stayed. It was a great tide, I knew the bass were around, and everything about the conditions suggested that a better fish should be out there somewhere. Yet in stark contrast to the previous night, nothing happened.

Because of the weed, I had to fish slightly differently. Normally, I'm fishing very close in, often less than ten feet from the shoreline. This time I cast a little farther, perhaps 20 feet, held the rod high, sat back in my chair and simply enjoyed the night, hoping I would be lucky.

Almost exactly on high tide, I was.

I received a sharp knock on the rod tip and allowed the rod to be pulled down until it was almost parallel with the sea. The reel immediately went into meltdown. Usually that's a sign that a smaller bass has picked up the bait, but this felt different. When I engaged the freespool, the rod was nearly ripped from my hand.

What followed was the best fight I've had from a bass in open water.

The fish took full advantage of being hooked slightly farther out. It ran left and right, parallel to the beach, repeatedly taking line from the clutch. About a third of the way through the fight I began to shake. That's when I realised this was a proper one.

Eventually it reached the surf line. Using the next incoming wave and the cushioning of the rod, I slid it safely onto the beach and laid it beside my chair. It was an absolutely stunning fish.

Anyone who fishes knows that when you haven't caught a larger bass for a while they all look huge, but this one genuinely looked massive. Out came the tape measure. To the fork of the tail it measured 26 inches, around 27 inches to the tip of the tail. I honestly thought it was going to be 28 or 29 inches. It looked that much bigger. Naturally, I measured it again just to make sure I hadn't made a mistake!

According to the UK Bass Society chart, it would have weighed somewhere around 7½lb and, given how well-fed it looked, perhaps even nudged 8lb. Part of me wishes I'd weighed it, but in truth it doesn't really matter. It was a wonderful fish.

Quickly unhooked, photographed, admired for a moment, and returned safely to the sea. I stayed on for another hour hoping lightning might strike twice, but that was the end of it. Two bites. Two fish.

A complete contrast to the previous night, and every minute worthwhile. An amazing fish, an unforgettable fight, and one I'm incredibly happy to have caught.