With good fishable days at the weekend a rare commodity due to poor weather I had been looking forward to Saturday when I planned to hit one of the Barry marks, well somewhere there with the least amount of people camped out.
The eldest Spawn asked if I could take him and his butty and any kind of interest from this child has to be nurtured and encouraged. Not to be outdone and visibly enraged the Galway Boy said he was my fishing butty now and he wanted to go as well.
So Now I was faced with a dilemma, and I am sure many fathers are faced with the same problem….. now the bastards want to come I will have to fish somewhere that the Galway boy can fish comfortably, somewhere a twenty to thirty yard cast will get him amongst the fish but more to the point that he would be able to reel in anything he caught without constant snagging.
Which meant a beach….. fuck, that meant no rock marks and not much chance of a decent ray? Anyway I had to take them now because I said I would.
I am sure I am not the only one who suffers from the infernal internal struggle of whether it is better to fish and enjoy yourself or to realise it is time to pass on the baton and enjoy teaching the next generation? time will tell….. or will I just go out in my work clothes and pretend to be going to work and not going fishing so I don’t have to take them.
High water, Saturday afternoon and Ogmore was a reasonable venue with the chance of some schoolies for the boys.
As it turned out my eldest boy’s friend had to work so they both ducked out and it was just me and the Galway Boy heading off to Ewenny Angling to pick up some lug, sulking all the way that it would have only taken me fifteen minutes from Shanaglish to the lug beds and we would have dug enough for two session in twenty minutes.
We arrived at the beach a couple of hours before low and I sent the boy to the parking meter with a handful of pound coins which he brought back without a ticket and went on to explain that we did not need to pay for parking after 4pm. What a result, it would have been even better if he had given me the money back!
I couldn’t help noticing that there were a lot of RNLI, ambulances and police vehicles in the car park and though they must be doing some kind of exercise, it was only days later I heard that an angler had been fishing the other side of the river when a rouge wave took his footing and he was washed out to sea. He was incredible lucky that a life guard and off duty PC who was also a life guard where local and managed to fish him out. A week later he is still in hospital on oxygen but expected to make a full recovery.
The sea does not discriminate….. it will take anyone!
I took the boy to the small beach through the five bar gate but even as we set up I knew we would not be there long, the sea was just too angry and carrying too much debris. A couple of casts and the weed took everything so we packed up and headed inland for calmer water and less weed.
The Knap (pebbles)
The Galway Boy said he was up for it and wanted to fish so we drove down to Barribados, again to a mark where he still might catch if the casting wasn’t up to much. Then the little fekker waited until we had set up and cast out before he started to ask if I was hungry or if I was cold. He has been lucky enough to inherit a Missense gene mutation from me and in his case this causes him to feel cold at odd times…. the little fekker plays on it I know but I think it is easier for him to play the cold card than to disappoint me which kind of makes me sad that he feels he has to do it…or is he really feeling cold?? anyway as much as I have an Armadillo Philosophy (soft on the inside hard on the outside) I would not see any of the bastards hungry or cold.
So we packed up… and the spawny little fekker reeled in a dog….. and told me I am shite at fishing again.
The next trip I left him at home.
Pink Bay
With the worm left over from the weekend and a gap in the wind I planned to do high water somewhere and Porthcawl (or near Porthcawl for the pedantic reader) seemed a reasonable shout.
Greatly unexpected, the eldest of the spawn said that himself and his butty wanted to come along. I haven’t fished with Rocco since 2012 when he was always out on the rocks with me but since moving to Wales he has lost interest and generally turned into a character who could be Kevin and Perry’s missing link.
When we moved back he struggled to fit in with his Irish lilt and has over-compensated in the last seven years (seven years? has it been that long…it feels like a lifetime). His accent has changed so much I cannot understand him unless he stands in front of me and speaks a monosyllabic sentence very slowly. He is fledging, leaving the nest and becoming his own person and I understand his fuck ups and awkwardness because I went through the same mistakes myself at his age…… but I have a chance to take him fishing again.
Even looking at Rest Bay from the carpark I knew it was not going to be good… from an ex-surfers view the waves were gnarly and the wind off-shore. I should have brought my longboard rather than the rods, but still we walked to the little bay and set up as the sun was dropping.
The waves were roaring and surging so we set up way beyond the driftwood marker for the highest tide. The lads seemed to enjoy themselves even though a modest cast was prone to hammering from the pounding waves. I though there was a chance of a bass, even a schoolie would do.
The lads were doing their best to give the fish lead poisoning and drop more plastic in the sea by losing everything from the leader down avery couple of casts… it did not seem to detract from their enjoyment…. and why the fek would it, I was putting the kit back together and all the terminal tackle they lost was mine… well I have had the last laugh: Rocco, I spent your inheritance on fishing gear and mountain bikes!
I had a cracking slack liner and struck in to something very heavy which kited along the shore. I struggled to make line on it but after a while I was gaining on a good ray but as I walked towards the tide, watching for the next surge very carefully I paid the price of re-using rigs… the top swivel of the pulley snapped and I could not grab the fish in time. Rocco’s butty Graham had his rod pulled off the stand but failed to connect… fekkin kids.
The waves just got too big, too surgey and unpredictable, they picked up all the debris off the beach and I admitted defeat.
The lads enjoy a good trip on the LSD’s
no not what you think
Sadly Rocco’s butty Graham had a called when he got home to say his mother was in hospital and later she passed away in the early hours.
I thought I would try to take his mind away for a while and asked if he wanted to come out on Sunday which he did. I tried not to talk about his mother and let him dictate the conversation.
We headed for Sker and set up for the day, before I was set up both the lads were landing dogs and thought there was some kind of competition between them and me, little did the realise age and treachery will always overcome youth and arrogance.
I know most people find dogs a nuisance but to novices catching fish that bend the rod is great. And for all you tackle tarts the gear I lent Graham to use was a twenty year old Ron Thompson kit which cost around £60 at the time, it did not stop him casting catching and enjoying! He did not care that it was cheap gear.
The day moved on and so did we, as the water dropped we moved further out across the reef, the dogs followed and with the exception of a few dog sized bullhuss we never saw a proper fish.
My day was spent unhooking, baiting and generally babysitting but the boys loved it. Graham even took two dogs home for his tea… good luck with the skinning.
By the end of the day I was fekked, all that hauling dogs and walking over lava stone had destroyed me..I am just getting old, but will I do it again? yes as soon as the wind drops and if one of my spawn want to come? they would be welcome.
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