When the bass ignore the script

Some people say fishing is a relaxing hobby, and at times it really is. Sitting by a lake or the sea with nothing but your own thoughts can be a wonderful experience.

There are other times, however, when it can become quite an effort. I wouldn't call it a chore, but it can certainly test your patience.

Yesterday was one of those days.

I walked to my mark in what appeared to be perfect conditions. The air pressure was dropping, the wind was blowing onshore stronger than expected, and although the sun was bright, it was due to disappear behind cloud later in the day, with even a chance of light rain. Everything suggested that bass should be out there, and I arrived full of hope and expectation.

I started with my usual approach of freelining half mackerel close to the shore. The weed, however, was once again a real nuisance. I had to stand holding my short rod high to keep as much line as possible out of the waves and slow down the inevitable build-up of weed. Even then, I was only getting around five minutes per cast before having to clear everything off and start again.

After a while I decided to cast a little further than I normally would, hoping to find cleaner water. Unfortunately, the increasing waves continued to deposit weed onto the line, making life difficult. It was still fishable though, and I've certainly seen it a lot worse down there, so I shouldn't complain.

The problem was that after five hours of it, the constant clearing and recasting starts to wear you down. I'd paid for parking until 4pm then, at about 3:15pm, I finally received my first take of the day.

It was only tentative. I'm hoping it was a small bass, although I'm not entirely convinced. Whatever it was, it spent a long time playing with the bait without properly committing. I tried all the usual tricks, inching the bait slowly along the seabed to create a reaction and recasting into exactly the same area, but it continued to mess around with it.

It was frustrating as hell.

Time was ticking away and I still had a long walk back to the car. I left it as late as I possibly could before reluctantly reeling in and beginning the journey back.

And that was that.

Although unsuccessful, it was still nice to have a bit of excitement right at the end. At least it showed there was some life out there. But what a strange tide it turned out to be. The conditions looked excellent and, if I'm honest, I'd have happily put money on catching at least a few schoolies.

Instead, not a touch until the very end.

Fishing has a habit of reminding you that the fish don't always follow the script.