Conditional Angling

The average university student's laptop typically has a multitude of tabs constantly open: email, timetable, various social media, unread journal articles and other symptoms of procrastination. In addition to these, the browser of a typical piscatorial student will have three in addition to these: Windy, Metoffice weather and the tide forecast.

It might be said that one of the beauties of angling is it's variability, that there are so many natural factors at play that conspire to make or break that surging success of a 'fish on' moment. Learning to tame, or at least read these variables dramatically improves not just the enjoyment of each trip but can also help to bring a greater intellectual satisfaction; being in tune with the rhythms of nature and responding to the footsteps of it's ever changing dance.

That said, on the 18th of August, having finished a day of work, I foolishly rushed with my plans without consulting the thoughts of the sea. Planning to fish a shallow reef from the low tide (at least I'd checked the time for this), I found the water to be a sedimented soup, driven by the stiff onshore wind. Blast! Stubbornly I headed to the corner of a cove where the wind cut to my side and a Frosty surface lure could be worked reasonably well in an arc as the wind dragged and bowed the braided mainline, mind perplexed amid a mental crowd of voices offering solutions to the issue at hand. After about 10 casts, a small bass leapt at the reasonably paced lure, and soon returned to nail it as the lure was left dead to hang. As if a seal of completion on this mark, a new plan was then settled, though success not guaranteed.

This will be quite the reef predator one day if it goes on with such optimism in prey size!

Ripened blackberries, browned cow parsley and tall nettles formed a late-summer blur lining the edges of the Cornish lanes that were being raced upon for the destination. Watch checked, there should be just about enough time to make it. Another cove faces out of the wind that had plagued the prior mark, but is only accessible for an hour and a half either side of low tide, even in the neap tide conditions. Car parked, rod in hand, rucksack slung on, I jog awkwardly in my oversized (but free!) wet sandals towards the destination through familiar steeply falling woodland and wind-swept grassland, making note to return for some horse mushrooms spied on route, before a short scramble along the cliff brings me to my final point. Watch checked, about 40 minutes left before the tide cuts me off.

Hands pace with nervous energy through my backpack to find my box of soft plastics and a 4" pumpkinseed minnow is clipped on with a 3g nose weight. With a gentle swing the lure makes it's way over a shallow bay of kelp and mixed boulders. With the gentle lapping of the rising tide this tumbled forest comes alive, as ruggedly armoured furrowed crabs emerge from their rocky lair and nervous blennies dart from crevice to crevice, changing colour within minutes to adapt to each new location. And most importantly of all, pugnacious ballan wrasse swim across to take advantage of this newly exposed platter and take up their high-tide territories. Rod tip is held high to register any subtle plucks as the lure is slowly dragged across the bottom, dull drag affirming that it is riding where it needs to be: right on the deck. Within half a retrieve a sharp fast pull confirms that the water has been read correctly, and with the retrieve stopped and a touch of slack applied the perpetrator returns with more vigour and a series of characteristic nips are converted to a hookup.

A thin weedless hook firmly in the top lip of a small yet colourful ballan wrasse.

Wrasse are awesome fish to fight, and they play dirty. Palming the spool, the strain pushes the limit of my trust in each knot in the connection as the angry wrasse piles hard for the rock and kelp below that would help it free itself from my troublesome lure. After this first dive though the fight is largely won, and with a few more spirited runs a nicely sized wrasse is subdued and admired. Vibrant strawberry red flash on the throat with spotted mottled green on the sides, what an awesome beast! After slipping this robust individual back to it's watery realm, kicking it's paddle like tail rebelliously as it goes, an excellent 45 minutes of fishing followed (I never can contain myself to leave before wet feet become a necessity). Despite the wrasse playing their usual games, chomping and pulling off the lures whilst avoiding a hookhold, a grand total of 11 wrasse meet my feet.

Cornish wildlife at it's best.

Sadly this trip all occurred several weeks ago, and as I awoke this morning my home fields were covered in a thick fog and hurricane winds are set to move in. Yet there shall be plenty of fishing to do before the Cornish winter sets in with full force, my eyes look towards the storm beaches. Great fishing can come by luck, but this luck is all the more increased by an attentive study of the realm and conditions by which our finned friends live.