Scratching That Itch!

The last time I went fishing was just over four years ago...but every so often I look out at the sea and wonder what people are catching.

Breaking my arm a year ago, followed by two operations on it made me change my habits. For example, I sold my heavy Nikon cameras and replaced them with a lightweight Fuji X mirrorless system. And of course I would not be able to cast a fishing line with a weight on the end like before...or could I?

Tonight I snuck out of the house with a light spinning rod and some mackerel flies to see if I still had the ability to cast.

The likelihood of catching anything was not good. There was a bit of a fresh breeze, a force five from the west-south-west, the sea was full of moderate waves - lots of whitecaps – with occasional waves breaking over the west arm of Brighton Marina, which was closed to visitors as a result... but the east arm was still open.

However, late September is definitely close to the end of the season for mackerel. Exactly five years ago, on 24^th September 2010 according to my fishing records, I caught four decent-sized mackerel during a morning session (when the weather was a force two light breeze). Also, clutching at hope I know, but three days ago they were still catching late-season horse mackerel (aka scad) from the marina, again during morning sessions.

 

The east arm was deserted. I tackled up and cast – no problem. Admittedly it was only a two-ounce weight with a string of feathers but it flew out some thirty to forty yards before vanishing into the waves. The next cast was even better, lifted by the wind. It was a strain at first jerking the rod back but I soon got into the rhythm. The wind shifted to the west so I was better sheltered and the sea seemed to become smoother as well, although the surface was littered with strands of long thin weed that caught on the hooks, feeling like faint bites.

It was getting dark now, the white chalk cliffs that stretched into the distance in the direction of Eastbourne were becoming a light pink colour and the sky behind the Roedean girls’ school was turning pearly-crimson. Near the shore a few black heads of surfers bobbed about like seals. Lights started coming on and it was hard to distinguish the line between sea and sky. It was also very quiet; the only sound was a faint murmur of distant traffic. A tiny wren came down and settled on the concrete wall a few feet away from me, inquisitive and unafraid. For a second it was like being back in meditation; disassociated, but at the same time aware of all the senses.

It did not matter if there were no mackerel in the sea, just being there was reward enough. Supposedly there is a Babylonian proverb that says ‘The gods do not deduct from man’s allotted span the hours spent in fishing.’ Or as Washington Irving, the Rip Van Winkle and Sleepy Hollow author said ‘There is certainly something in angling that tends to produce a serenity of the mind.’ I can buy that!