Symptoms of an angling addict

Nervous anticipation took hold as I bid my church a farewell on a drizzly Tuesday evening, sweeping through town on my bike to retrieve my prepared minimalistic kit for the evening. Quickly as I could, layers of waterproofs were gained, headtorch slid on, rucksack on and rod and net in hand before once again slipping back out my front door into the night. Falmouth is busy this time of year, with overheard exchanges between folks heading on their way for the night keeping me company for the first part of my walk. I’d invited numerous friends to join me on this foray into unknown territory but none seemed quite mad enough to be willing to join. At last I came out of the bustling town, alone, stood before the black abyss of a gently receding seascape, shrouded in the falling rain. My target, bass.

Such behaviour are sure signs of a loved one struggling with a bass addiction, driving irrational acts of extreme lengths to seek out these legendary fish. I’d spent the early period of my sea fishing endeavours laughing too at these bass obsessives. I would happily catch a bass during trips, but then I would also happily catch mullet, mackerel, pollock, bull huss, wrasse and all other kinds of species. The joy to me of sea fishing is the sheer diversity of species one might find, the habitats to fish for them and the techniques employed. So why a person would get caught up on just one species seemed odd, and perhaps a little unfulfilling.

This all changed last summer, having wondered at seeing a friend catch a 60cm specimen in just a few feet of water and later in September having a juvenile bass take a plug aimed for mackerel. The aggressive character of the take, seen just feet away as I prepared to lift for a recast, combined with an angry thrashing fight could only make me chuckle as I beheld this perfectly silver fish. As I slipped it back it would fair to say that I was hooked.

My first bass!

Back to Tuesday night. It was a good springtide, with low at 2am and gentle winds, offering the best conditions that I could hope for in pursuit of this elusive species. I had tried a couple of sessions in the preceding week fishing in the same spot during the day, without success aside for a much welcomed wrasse taking a Fiiish minnow 90, and so hoped that this move to fishing under darkness would shift the odds in my favour.

A welcome wrasse, always give a good account of themselves.

A previous trip to the same spot yielded success, I hoped that having released fish here some might still be around.

The session started with a frustrating snag up early on, even using a weedless soft plastic lure approach. Being forced to switch my torch on to retie a new leader led to the somewhat eerie discovery: ¼ pint of blood splashed over the rock I was standing on, something that perhaps would have been chuckled off with the good company that these trips normally draw. I fished on through the rain, picking my way across the beach and clambering over rocky ledges, slipping on ubiquitous bladder wrack along the way. In this way for 3 hours I had fished the length of my targeted spot, consoling myself within the confines of my tired mind of the valuable lessons learned on the trip. As I was making my way back along I decided to fish the best looking spots once again, before aiming for a departure time of 2am.

Taking a photo to remember the trip, a sign that I was at this point doubtful of any fish turning up. 

I snapped my rod into a cast, sending my patch 100 (surface lure) disappearing into to gloom. Twitching the rod tip erratically alongside a medium-slow retrieve brought no response from the bay in front of me, leaving me recast into the night, losing hope. The faint splash of the patch landing echoed across the water, and I went through the automatic motions of closing my bail arm and lifting the rod tip ready for a retrieve. However to my utter shock, something was different this time. My drag squealed with line peeling off into the water, a solid thump was felt through the rod. It took me a moment to realise what had happened, but soon I was laughing to myself in sheer relief. After a powerful first run the quarry then all but gave up fight until right at my feet, shooting around the rocky ledge, not content to give me too easy a prize. A perfectly decent pollock slipped into the net to my delight, proving that not all heros wear capes. Some are pollock that save you from blanking!

Pollock saves the day (night), with patch in mouth. 

I continued around the rocks to another likely looking spot, with fish holding islands of rock scattered across the area, peeping through the receding water. I make a point of not making more than 5-10 casts in any one area without changing tact, and as I approached my 5^th cast I readied myself to move along to the next spot. Bass are aggressive fish, and if they’re there then you’ll certainly soon know about it! Mid-way through my retrieve however, all at once there was a crash in the water, my line went tight and then a violent shake was felt through the rod. This fight was altogether different and just screamed bass in its character, every thrash and shake of the head being felt through the hyper-sensitivity seemingly developed in the darkness. After a little hassle hopping around these rocky islands, slipping on the covering of bladder wrack whilst desperately holding the rod aloft, I was able to find a suitable spot to net my prize: a most welcome 41cm bass. By no means a giant, it was wonderful to see these predators were swimming through the marine environment.

Admiring a beautiful bass before slipping it back into the sea.

Cornwall has historically been thought of as the bass capital of the UK, with perfect marine and estuarine habitat. However commercial pressure has seemingly taken a toll, and while increasing measures will perhaps help the situation, this is a slow growing species and few of the good-sized specimens of old seem to lurking along the shore marks. All of this in mind I wholly advocate not keeping bass for the cooking pot, but instead releasing them back to live and fight another day, growing on to larger specimens and securing future populations.

Fishing for bream and bass up Penryn creek, good habitat for juvenile individuals. 

An angry juvenile bass caught fishing up the estuary, could be quite a fine prize in 10 years time. 

After having slipped my obliging bass back into the now low tide, I walked a little further on and tried a few more casts. Before long however my watch struck 2am and I pulled myself away from the sea and thoughts of what else might be out there. Whilst the total catch wasn’t extraordinary by any means, I was pleased to have seen some result and refined my knowledge of where fish would likely be in the future, and how to fish through the challenges presented by an absence of light. Perhaps this is the start of a bass fishing journey, trudging tired through the empty streets of Falmouth.