Where do I start?
A long, long time ago, my father introduced me to fishing. Through him I discovered a passion for sea fishing both on land and at sea. As luck would have it, I turned out to be quite proficient at the sport! We fished with a local boat club who followed the usual summer and winter series format with the odd special outing here and there. Over the years I collected many a trophy for my summer and winter league wins, slowly filling up my Nain's (grandmother in Welsh) sideboards and dressers with faux gold statuettes of tight lines and leaping fish. This was a fruitful time for myself, twice a month regularly winning more than the standard child's pocket money for the time (1991-1999). Alas came the late teens, with it parties, pubs, beer and girls. Unsurprisingly my interest in fishing waned, I found new exciting sports where scars were a happy by product of pushing myself to the limit.
A few years went by where fishing didn't really feature in my life. Every now and again I'd go mackerel bashing off the rocks of Anglesey for some BBQ delights but never anything serious. I did have the occasional hankering for solitude, peace and quiet, on these occasions though, I would find myself going for a drive and never really feeling like I got my quiet.
Over the last couple of years I have rekindled my passion for the sport, especially this last summer. I've become more determined to catch my quarry and more jubilant when everything has gone to plan. Being able to provide food for a loved one is an immensely satisfying primaeval feeling. I AM MAN, I BRING FOOD. This being one of the fundamental reasons I enjoy the sport, I like to eat what I catch!
The turning point this year for me was a trip by canoe, to an area I had never been before but had passed many times on a boat. There were about sixteen friends, acquaintances and friends to be, camping in one of the best kept secret spots on Anglesey. We paddled for about an hour, canadian canoe laden with all that we would need, including my spinning rod and bait rod! Having done the boring bit of setting up, I decided it was my time to fish. This, coincidently, was now the perfect time, tide and conditions for bass. I had the long sandy beach to myself. The incoming tide slowly making its way up the expanse of sand towards a gully that I knew I wanted to be casting into, this is where the bass would make their way up the shoreline. With the warm summer sun setting on my right shoulder, I gently strolled up the beach, casting the four inch white sandeel as far as I could, reeling it in at pace with, the now, ripping tide. I decided to head back towards my starting point. BANG! First cast on the way back and I landed the first bass, a little under size but what a fight! With schoolie number one safely returned, I quickened my pace to the favoured spot. Five minutes went by and nothing, maybe the little one was a rogue, maybe I got lucky. BANG! Nope, it was the start of the run. Three more schoolies later, this now already becoming the best bass fishing trip I've ever had, I hooked into something much bigger. Fighting against the current and power of the best fighting fish we get here, my heart sank when I saw the biggest clump of floating weed hit my line and like that, the fish was gone. Damn. With that, it was time to open a beer and sit, basking in the fading sunlight, contemplating my next move. Only having twenty minutes of light left, I made my final assault, moving to the deepest part of the channel. One, two, three casts and nothing. Maybe I'd left it too late. Looking back up the beach, into the now almost set sun at the man length shadow cast by the stubby beer bottle, I realised why I love fishing. It brings you close to nature, lets you experience the beautiful moments that you would otherwise miss. If it wasn't for fishing, I wouldn't have been there. BANG!! Another one hooked and brought to shore, this time big enough to take to the BBQ. And so ended my most favourite fishing experience of my life.
Back to camp, fish to cook, a story to tell.
