By the sea...

This blog entry is my submission for the Red Tuna Shirt Club and Outdoor Blogger Network Writing Contest.

Bloody hell fire now’s here’s a predicament for sure. The OBN in their wisdom (?) have coming up with a little writing prompt/competition in cahoots with the Red Tuna shirt club. You may well guess the prize, that’s right T shirts. Now you all know what a skin flint this rotund Welsh hobbit is and being as my clothing selection at home is looking a tad thread bare to say the least I thinks to myself that this is a fine chance to be able to wear more than one T shirt a week and not be bare chested when the time comes to wash me shirt in the local drains down at the local water purification and sparkle adding plant. (Sewage works to you folks). I mean to say, I damn near catch me death of a cold in the winter you know come wash day! But here be the rub, regular readers (at the last count 4 me thinks) know that I cannot write for toffee and that my fishing ability is even worse, but in for a penny as they say (don’t ask me who) here is my punitive entry;-

            As most people who truly know me realise I am not a great fisherman, in fact I wouldn’t class myself as a fisherman in the true sense of the word as I only fish now a-days on rare and odd occasions. I know extremely few set ups or techniques relying upon float fishing for coarse fishing (that’ll be fresh water fishing for you folks over the pond), and either spinning or a bit of ledgering for the times that I get to venture onto the North Wales coastline. All the techniques that I use were learnt, in the loosest possible of terms, as a child and I’ve tended to stick with these to this day. But that’s not to say that I don’t catch fish when I have a mind too, either for pleasure or for the table. I may be simple and use simple means but you know sometime simple deeds are the very best things that can happen.

            The question put forth for this writing prompt was where would you fish given the chance, who would you tag along with and what would you fish for? I dare say that many of the entrants may look to exotic location, celebrity companions and amazing rod bending leviathans, but not me my friends, not me. For me there is no better place to fish than a hard to get to spot at the base of some cliffs just West of Moelfre, on the isle Anglesey just an hour and a half away from my doorstep. It’s hard to get to because there’s no discernable route down the cliffs and it’s a case of pick a handhold and put your trust into whoever you pray to (that’ll be the god of ‘don’t look down then’ for me). Once down upon the small area of level granite rock formation you realise that there is only room for two folk to fish here and then so carefully. So why the hard to get to place I hear you ask? For me it’s a question of solitude and of being somewhere that is seldom touched by mankind and the detritus he tends to leave in his wake. But it’s not just that, here you truly feel at one with nature and with the sea. From the raucous chatter of nesting gulls that your passage may have annoyed in the spring to the thunder of water underneath the rocks that you perch upon as it wages it’s timeless, wearing, war of erosion upon the hard Welsh coastline. Here it always seems that the sea spray is in your face and that the colour of the powerful swells before you could not be more beautiful. The best, and to be honest most unsafe apart from a winters storm, time to be here is very early autumn as the sun starts to kiss the horizon, melting in the sea and painting it with fiery wonder. The tide has turned and the fish are now following it towards you along with a sea that in a few hours will cover your small perch.

            I mention solitude, but sometimes solitude can be found with the very best of friends, two people who are comfortable enough with each other that there is no need to fill the silence between them with idle chatter. This may seem strange to some folk but the friend whom I think would be the perfect companion upon this ledge would not be somebody who I have met in the flesh. I have extremely few true friends and I think that if you are honest with yourselves you would admit to the same. I know many people who I call mate, friend, pal buddy and the like but true friends? I’ll offer here a piece of advice given to me once by my father, Old String-vest (don’t ask ‘cause that is a long story); “In this life you’ll count the number of true friends upon the fingers of one hand”. This is good news for me because I can only count to five! So back on point, the ‘friend’ that I would like to share a few hours fishing here would be Casey Harn, a fellow blogger from the other side of the world. I’ve ‘known’ Casey now for sometime through blogging and thru e-mails and I think that I’m right in saying that there is a deep yet hard to pin point connection between us. I cannot say why it’s just is that way, brothers in another life maybe, but to spend time in the ‘real world’ fishing with Casey would please me no end.

            There is only one way to fish this place and essential equipment includes a portable barbeque, some lemon and dill, tin foil a very lightly set up spinning rod and a bloody heavy set up ledger rod with a decent wire trace on the business end. There are two fish that are the targets here, the first is on the light spinning rods and these are the mackerel that’ll be pushing the whitebait to their doom against the wall of the rocks. At times when the mackerel are driving their prey the surface of the sea literally boils with tiny bait fish leaping for their lives. Into this caldron the single spinners are cast on 2 to 3lb line. The object is to catch but not just haul the fish out once the lure has been snapped up, oh no my friends far better is the thrill of having to play these 3 to 4lb banded torpedoes upon the lightest of tackle. The first couple are not dispatched when finally landed. No they are placed alive in the solitary rock pool that shares our spec. If we’re fortunate there are more caught and these are dispatched and cut into what I term flappers, that’s to say that they are cut so that the head remains attached to two flanks of flesh and when presented on the hook the movement this induces is a great temptation for the bigger predators that follow the mackerel shoals in.

            So now tis time for the heavy rods, casting the fresh flappers out as far as we can, we now get to play the waiting game, but not for to long as the light is fading and the water is ever rising. With rods safely upon tripods we now dispatch the earlier caught fish, gut them filling the cavity with the lemon and dill (and black pepper if I ever remember to take some), wrapped in the foil they’re placed on the fires embers and a couple of ring pulls can be heard releasing the cider’s pressure from within the can. Drinking whilst in such a perilous place? Only the one can each, just to keep the deepening chill at bay for a while and help wash down that last bit of fish oil from those fish that were good enough to give their bodies up to feed us. As we feast, eyes watching the glow lights on the rod tips for sign of something big we share the odd word of our different yet so similar lives, dreams and expectations.

Maybe the quite will be shattered by a line being pulled taught as a cobalt blue monster makes his bid for freedom or maybe not as the baits fail in their task. Whatever the case as the morning sun finally lets enough light to illuminate the rock shelf, chasing the ebbing tide away, not a sign is to be seen of the two kindred spirits. A gull flashes down as a  sparkle catches his ever roving eye, disgusted he turns away before landing as the crabs have already picked clean the head of the conger eel that now floats in the pool once more abandoned by the sea.

In a caravan a few miles away, two contented souls still dream of the ones that got away, yet to awaken and face the hangover that the whiskey supped in the nearby pub will unavoidably have left them with……. Simple indeed.

I hope that you’ve enjoyed a glimpse into one of my hopes, not enough for a new shirt I fear, but I’d rather that one day I’d get to fish with Casey than win the shirt. After all it’s still two weeks before I have to peel this one off and take a trip to the sewerage works….

Take care all of you, your friend,

John

My take on fishing

 “This blog entry is my submission for the GreenFish and Outdoor Blogger Network Writing Prompt Giveaway” 

Scanning through the Outdoor Blogger Network’s writing prompt page yesterday I came across a combined prize giveaway and writing prompt. Sponsored by GreenFish, a site that I’d not previously heard of the prompt was to air ideas upon “sustainable fishing” and what this phrase means to the individual blogger. My interest was piqued and coupled with slimmest chance to receive some goodies to boot well this ol’ pirate could hardly refuse now could he? So here it goes my, probably somewhat misguided, thoughts on what I consider sustainable fishing means to me.

For a start I indulge in two types of fishing, one for sport and occasionally the other for the pot. Taking the sport option first, the type of fishing that is loosely called sport is more what I would term recreational fishing. It’s a chance for myself and Clare to ‘out there’ together along side some beautiful stretches of water immersing our selves in the solitude and wildlife that comes with the territory. On this side of the pond it is termed ‘course fishing’ and basically covers any fresh water fishing apart from fly fishing or trapping (nets, long line etc). I say solitude as even though we go together once we’re fishing we may as well be a million miles apart for usually we’re not in sight of each other and only converse when a decent specimen is landed (usually by Clare!) or it’s time to get the hot water boiling for a brew.

But ‘sustainable fishing’, to be honest I had not given thought as to regards to this activity of course fishing when we’re involved. On reflection the practices, when course fishing, that we follow are akin to this idea. Firstly to lesson the damage to the fish we use barbless hooks, easier to remove although sometimes more skill is required in landing the fish (yes I did say skill). We do not follow the practice of hording the fish within a keep net until the end of the session. I know some folk like to see their results at the end of the day but I’d prefer to unhook, perhaps take the quickest of photographs, and then release the fish as gently and as quickly as possible. It only takes a few moments to admire your catch; there is no need to over handle the fish causing more stress than has already been done. This is also the reason we don’t match fish where hauls of fish are kept in the net till the end of the day when they are unceremoniously dumped into scales for gratification of folk hoping to win some imagined esteem.

It has become the trend here to catch bigger and better (ahem) fish. Many private fisheries have set up announcing that they have such splendid specimens of mainly carp but also Wels catfish and you cannot fail to catch. I do have a tiny problem with this mentality. The growth of this type of fishing has seen, in my opinion, a drifting away from what fishing means to me, which is connecting with nature and using skill and natural baits to lure a wild animal to the river bank for that chance to connect with it just for a moment before releasing it back from whence it came. Another problem that I have with this current trend is that it is now causing the falsification of natural environments, much to there (and our) detriment. From what I see large numbers of fish over the years have been imported to these shores to enhance the fishing experience but in my opinion this has tipped an ecological balance for the worst in a lot of waters. How so?, well firstly some of these species were not natural residents in our waters, fish such as Zander (the pike perch) or the potentially huge Wels catfish. It is only in recent yours that it is becoming apparent and now more accepted by a broader public that introduced species into any environment, potentially, can be an ecological nightmare. Other fish introduction does occur mainly in the form of specimen Carp, although the species has been native to this country since the 1300’s and now is considered a native species, these ‘monster’ carp that are now being introduced (after large sums of money have oiled the process, I assume) come with three things that I’m not happy about, firstly there is the potential of spreading disease to existing native fish, remember that here is basically a large island and in so being has kept species isolated and free from continental disease, (until you know who’s interference that is), secondly our natural waters have never produced specimens as large as these from abroad, so how can they be expected to support them now? It is only through artificial methods and feeding that this can happen, all having impacts of lesser or greater effect upon our waters, and finally the amount of unnatural bait that is being loped into what were once naturally balanced waters can only add to the pollution within, whether they are eaten by these ‘monster’ fish and then defecated or just rot on the floor of the water, either way the balance is lost. It’s for these reasons that I feel that fresh water fishing is not sustainable in its present state and that’s why I fish as I do, trying to use natural baits, leaving no sign of my visit to the bank side and just enjoying it for what it is – a connection, however briefly, to another side of nature. Some of the best days fishing that I’ve had have been days when I’ve blanked, it’s shouldn’t just be about having that fish on the bank.

            But, as mentioned, there is another side to my fishing, one that Clare does not participate in, and that’s fishing for the pot. Although I only indulge in this rarely (far too rarely for my liking) I do enjoy this type of fishing, but for other reasons that the tranquility that course fishing provides to me. When fishing for the pot it is always from the sea, our coastline is vast and varied and offers many opportunities to fish for different species, and there is the added bonus of possibly a fresh meal at the end of the day. But even here there are issues to be found, where ‘holiday’ anglers think nothing of hauling a bin bag full of mackerel from the sea only to disregard them and leave them wasted upon the rocks or in the dockside bins. There are areas so overfished that where once abundant stocks could be found, the only thing you’re likely to catch are dog fish or crabs! Also there are still issues with the unholy amount of detritus left behind by so called fisher men, causing serious harm to waterside wildlife (an issue on fresh waters as well). It’s true that, as folk are becoming more enlightened, practices are changing but it’s a slow a laborious process and the damage to our coastlines may have already cut too deep. Of course it doesn’t help when mankind’s growing population demands more and more from the oceans larder, but the perception that it is a larder is possibly the core problem, after all it is another complex ecology that is affected by all our actions. Personally I try to adopt the same principles when sea fishing as I do for course fishing. Natural baits, leave no sign and just take the bare minimum for what I need for the pot. Admittedly I do use barbed hooks, after all the idea is to catch something to eat, but the fish has always been dispatched as quickly as is possible. There is nothing better than grilling a pair of fresh caught mackerel, stuffed with lemon and dill, over driftwood embers whilst watching the sun dip beyond the horizon, oh perhaps there should be a rock pool chilled bottle or two of cider there as well. But sadly this may one day become just a memory if fishing practices are not changed. From what I hear New Zealand has some great ideas on this, reserving large areas of the coastline and island surrounds with no or extremely limited fishing allowed, the apparent upshot of these areas is the abundance of fish that spill out of them into surrounding, fishable areas – perhaps it’s time that other country took note because I for one do not want to remember eating fresh fish on the rocks, I want to do it till the day that I die and hope that others follow for millennium to come.

            Of course these are just my observations and thoughts on this subject, we all have our own take on life. I’m no scientist (as you all well know) and these views are formed, rightly or wrongly, from my own experiences. As usual your comments are always welcome and are looked forward too.

Your friend,

John

A step on the right path..

Afternoon all, just a quick post to show you that mine and Clare’s humble attempts at fishing are improving with each attempt. As mentioned in an earlier post we joined Warrington AA whilst visiting the Cheshire show last month. The advantage of joining Warrington AA for us was that it offered us a secure local place to fish. Within the spirit of my previous post I’m trying to change the path that I’m walking in this life and with this in mind I’ve been trying to source waters to fish within walking or cycling distance to home, rather than use the fun cruiser, so lessoning its impact (however little). Basically speaking within this ‘no fun cruiser’ distance there are four fishable areas which consist of; ‘The Trap’- an over fished and expensive place to do so, ‘The Common’- free fishing slap in the middle of Buckley where your more likely to suffer alcoholic fuelled abuse and aggression than catch fish, ‘The Globe’ – free and on the out skirts of town but overfished to a massive degree and more the preserve of carp anglers and their quest for ‘the big one’ and that leaves us with ‘The Mount’- a long disused quarry consisting of three pools offering three completely different fishing adventures. ‘The Mount’ is fenced off and access is only by being a member of Warrington AA and then obtaining the necessary key for the gates. 

We’ve used the fun cruiser for the first couple of visits, one a look see after first joining and the second to actually fish there. The out come of having two lots of fishing gear is that now I’m required to fashion a trailer to tow behind my bike (this looks like the rotund Welshman may not be rotund for much longer!).

And so to the fishing, we decided to fish one of the smaller pools upon the advice of an angler we met whilst surveying the pools. The large lake being the ex quarry with a sharp drop off to very deep water. This would possibly be beyond our skills at the moment so we followed his advice and set up on the smaller water. First thing to say is discovering such an oasis for wildlife right in on our doorstep (ok so our doorstep is two miles long!) is remarkable, you just would not know that the area is surrounded by suburbia.

And the fishing was not two bad either; here are just a few pictures of the fish that graced our nets.

Highlight though was the young Robin using my ledger rod as a perch from which to steal maggots and a hen Blackbird constantly coming back and forth to Clare’s peg, obviously with a late clutch to feed.

So when all’s said and done I’ve managed to still go fishing and at the same time made the tiniest step on the new trial that I’m hoping to stick to.

Take care for now, your friend,

John

Drowning a few maggots...

Evening all,

Just a quick posting on this mornings fishing, this was the first time that we’d been course fishing for nearly eighteen months! Due to time constraints and a host of other things to do we could only fish late morning to early afternoon, not the best time of the day especially with the temperatures soaring the way they were today. We’d have had much better fortune early hours or as dusk laid its cooling mantle down, but this was not to be.

As we walked around one of the local pits known as the globe there was very little activity to be seen at all just a few common carp basking at the far end. It would have been a waste of time setting after these as they wouldn’t be interested in feeding until the cooler evening air had arrived, in any case the larger carp here are notoriously difficult to catch having been fished for many times over the years.

We chose our pegs where some over hanging trees afforded some cover. Even if we had not have caught today just being out here fishing, surrounded by dragonflies, damselflies, water nymphs, fish fry hugging the shore and a host of birds was to mean the day was not wasted. I’d forgotten just how much I enjoy this type of fishing where the whole ambiance of the day’s fishing allowed an almost meditative state to come over me and wash worries and cares away.

But surprisingly neither of us blanked with Clare landing a selection of roach, perch and Crucian carp and I a combination of roach and perch. All the fish were taken on double maggot with most of mine taken on the drop.

Although all the fish were released unharmed (apart from the barbless hook hole!) it was sort of comforting to know that if life did go arse over elbow we both have the skills to put food on the table this way if needed. Hopefully it won’t be as long until the next time we go fishing, in fact we’re already thinking of other waters both fresh and sea further afield. The best thing about the sea trips is that I will get to eat some of the catch.

Your friend,

John

Coping

So how has little ol’ Murphyfish managed to pass the time whilst awaiting the outcome of Old String Vest’s operation, has he hidden away in a darkened room in a dark silence casting his thoughts to the outmost reaches of the cosmos trying to fathom out the whys and ifs of life and it’s sometimes incredible feelings of unjustness and unfairness? Well not exactly, after all not matter how I view the ups and downs of this roller coaster called life there’s not a lot I can do to change the broad picture of it all, yes I do my damndest to protect and care for all that are close to me, I work hard to provide everything that I can, and I always try to stand up for what I believe is right come hell or high water. But other than this life will be what it’ll be, long after my bones are ashes on the ocean. So yes I did try to get on with it, though my father’s plight was never than a heart beat from my thoughts.



So the first part of getting on with it, after the four shifts at the hell hole, consisting of planning ahead with… potatoes. Now I do believe that in previous postings that I’ve mention the vastness of available garden space that I have, with not enough room to swing a cat (a Manx cat at that) being the term used. But I’m determined to at least get some produce this year from the backyard besides the little (well not so little) presents that the bog monster leaves for me to clear up. So after a little head scratching and some expenditure (don’t faint) I’ve purchased and started off some potato bins, two now and two more to be planted in three weeks time. Along with these I’m preparing to convert two builders’ rubble buckets for the purpose of growing runner beans on canes forming a tee pee, laced with sweet peas to bring in more pollinating bees. I’m also hoping to plant up some collapsible planters with a small variety of onions, cabbage and such. I’m also still trying me damndest to convince Clare the merciful to allow me to convert the dog run (which Lucy’s used er oh yes she hasn’t) for the introduction of two or three bantam hens. So from small acorns hopefully…..

On the day of Pop’s operation my head really wasn’t on this planet, so I invoked that great cure all and went sea fishing. I had to steal the bottom end rigs and new reel line from my every forgiving friend Rob, buy some mackerel for bait on the way and headed off into the blue yonder extremely under prepared and not really caring where I went. I ended up at Traeth Bychan on Ynys Môn, the scene of happy childhood memories, perhaps that’s why I was drawn there but to be honest I don’t remember the journey. I set up on the flat rocks, on the northern side of the bay fishing from these directly onto sand. By some curious fate I’d arrived perfectly an hour and a half before full tide, perfect for the predators and scavengers to follow in to the rocks, the wind was fresh, the sky overcast to match my thoughts and there was moisture in the air but without it actually turning to rain. The hours passed in a slight haze, thoughts of happy times spent on these very rocks balancing out the longing to hear news of my father. In all the time that I was there, routinely changing bait, watching the rhyme of the rod bending to the wind and the waves, staring after the oystercatchers skimming the surface and letting the call of the gulls high above sooth me I did feel at peace, in a fashion. And what did the great fisherman wrestle from the ocean’s depths, well to be honest absolutely nothing, although I did have one incredible take which for a few seconds set my pulse a racing as I felt the full contact of something large under the glistening water’s surface, stripping yards of line off my reel. But then it was gone, no line snap, bait more or less intact when finally retrieved so I guess the hook couldn’t have set and the critter had just mouthed the bait ball. Some may say that I should perhaps have been there awaiting the call but we all handle life differently, perhaps I should, but I went fishing and this is how I coped that day. So then it was off home to face the news, fortunately the news was good.

And the days after? Well in-between sorting stuff out, making sure mother was fine and visiting, spending time on the boat project, I walked, and then I walked some more. As I’ve said before the outdoors sooths me, pushes the clouds far enough away to make life bearable, it’s where I truly belong. I won’t say too much about the walks, you all know by now who was at my side (well when she wasn’t in the ditch) so I’ll leave you with some pictures taken from the trig mentioned last week, oh alright then one of Lucy, just one mind……

Your friend,


John