Day 66….Reintroduction of humanisation..

In other words no fishing to write about again today..

I still have a couple of dozen frozen peeler crabs I picked up click and collect from Rhondda tackle so under cover of darkness I plan to hit my local beach again tomorrow night, another attempt at the clean ground hounds. To act with ‘criminal intent’, to move further than the five mile radius.

Maybe I should go on my bike?

Oh wait, its a recommendation and not a law. I am not a criminal after all. No fifteen minutes of fame promised by Andy warhole, no appearance on CrimeWatch… have you seen this man? he was last seen walking towards a public beach wearing waders and carrying a seat box and fishing rods?  The hair would give me away.

Maybe I just spend too much time on my own.

As the lockdown restrictions now start to ease in my little part of Wales life will slowly return to what it was before. There is no normal.

Garden parties echoed throughout my neighbourhood and the smell of burning flesh, singed almost beyond recognition, hung cloyingly between rows of semis in the balmy May evening.

The gangs of teenagers who never participated in the lockdown are swelling in numbers as ‘music’ from their phones competes with each other for supremacy but only achieves a mind-numbing bass beat. This I hear as they swagger or stagger through the short-cut alley than runs past my house.

My own family are not exempt from the frivolities. We too join the barbecuing hordes, throwing the slaughtered inmates from half a farmyard onto a charcoal fired grill. We drink numerous types of gin, blackcurrant, passion fruit, pink and just plain Gordon’s dry with the neighbours at the bottom of the garden, the social distancing set by the three foot thick stone wall and various thorny plants clinging to the masonry leaving just enough room to pass ice, glasses and bottles from house to house.

The Girl child asks if her boyfriend can come round to visit. We discuss the need to keep our distance and he is admitted to the garden through the side gate. Now the pantomime begins: Whenever the Girl child brings a boy to the house that is the day when I sharpen my knives. I always do this, it is a ritual and as much as she protests I think she really likes it. It aids natural selection, the more the boys blanche the more I sharpen and if required I start sharpening bigger knives. (I am holding back the first world war bayonet for a special occasion.)

My neighbour sees this act and colludes by slurring he has the shovel I asked to borrow and he staggers forward and passes it to the boy over the fence. (even though I have many digging implements of my own).

This boy knows me now so no longer openly quakes. He isn’t even impressed with the array of course to fine carborundum stones from Arkansas and Ouachita and a diamond stone from Aldis. Not even the leather cow hide strop phases him. I use the last dying rays of sunlight to reflect off the highly polished blade of a Sakai Takayuki chefs knife to glint in his eyes and dazzle him before herself tells me to stop tormenting the poor boy.

Game over dude.

Breakfast on the patio this morning and again the Girl Child drops a bomb shell, she is going Vegan. She says this as she slathers butter onto a steaming Croissant and tops it off with two rashers which look like a Peppa Pig jigsaw puzzle. In her mind she was almost dairy free now and was thinking of stopping eating meat, this while she shovelled the bacon into her mouth. Dairy free? well she drinks plant milk instead of cow juice but chocolate, cheese, eggs and butter ? I encourage her to think on the full implications of this lifestyle choice and it’s meaning. I think it is alcohol she should give up.

I have always said I am a big believer in Totems and during a ride yesterday I came across an amazing ash tree. For those of you who feel hollowed out by life have a look at the tree below.

It is quite possible to be damaged, hollowed out, but to still thrive and fulfil your life’s purpose

 

 

 

Day 65…the lunatics have taken over the asylum?

The more eagle-eyed or sober among you may have noticed that I did in fact have two Day 63 posts? No time travel, no significance, I just lost a day and one of my spawn asked me why I had done it. They firmly believe that there is motive to all my life’s actions.

Politics and religion divide friends and family alike. Who ever is in power will not please everyone and will be a constant butt of derision by supporters of the opposition.

Lets get the easy one done- Religion (this is a generalisation) for most people your religion is decided by two factors which seem to have equal sway. Where you were born and what your parents believe and indoctrinate you with. Not many choose for themselves out of free will. I know two people who have chosen, one who wanted to marry a Jewish girl and another who converted to Catholicism. No wait a third… the Witch… she went to the mormon church so the congregation would visit and maintain her garden. Would they burn her at the stake for that? She would smoulder for weeks.

I am happy for anyone to believe in what ever they want but if I want to hear about your belief I will ask you, please don’t freestyle to me without invitation. Without herself knowing I once filled out school documents for the spawn and under the religion section my pen slipped and spelled out JEDI. three times.

Personally I believe if all politicians of all parties were thrown into a large, slowly rotating barrel and cabinet ministers were drawn tom-bola style the resulting Government would be no better or worse than a duly elected parliament. I cannot see that any other political party would have coped any better or worse than Bojo and his cohort.

In Wales we have the Devolved Assembly and as such they can stick their collective fingers up at Westminster and go their own way. Mark Drakeford the Welsh first minister has acted with greater caution for Wales than Bojo has done for the English. I do not disagree with this intention but the deliverance of some aspects borders on idiocy.

When not a slave to my spawn or being herself’s bitch in my free time I sea-fish, mountain bike and take photos of both of these. Under the latest amendments to the lockdown rules as a cyclist I can get on my bike and sweat my way over forty miles leaving a wake of bodily fluids spraying behind me. Risking injury to myself and others. In over fifty years of fishing I have not had a single hospital admission for a fishing based injury. A senior doctor at my local A+E has threatened not to treat me if I present with any further biking related injury and both my surgeon and oncologist get pissed off with searching through x-rays of fractures and breaks when reviewing my latest scans. But that is ok because cyclists are less likely to spread the virus than anglers?

As an angler I cannot go further than five miles in the security of my own car? where is the fekkin sense in that. How can one be safe and the other not?

We asked for clarification on what local meant. 5 miles from home was the answer. The wording of the law actually states, quoted from Welsh Government website The law deliberately does not define “local” as it can mean different things in different circumstances (see below).  However, as a general rule, we consider anything within about 5 miles of your home to be local. So if I disregard this I will have broken a recommendation and not the law. I will not be a criminal and face prosecution. Should I choose to, the only mask I will need to wear will cover my airways not hide my identity as a bandit.

The next relative statement reads  “You should not leave your local area to do anything that you could reasonably be expected to do locally.”  Well the sea does not come this far up the valley so rather than ‘reasonably’ it would be impossible for me to see fish locally.

I realise we are in the grip of a pandemic and I am not disregarding the lockdown or setting out to put anyone in danger I am merely pointing out the lunacy and disparity of the current recommendations. Please be consistent.

Right I have to go… I have a lot  of miles to cover on the bike

 

Day 64… as clear as mud.

 

So is the five mile travelling limit restricted to visiting friends? have they moved the sea closer?

Covert missions it is then until this thing has gone dormant for I fear it will not go away, just hide and mutate.

The Galway Boi suffered his first ACE yesterday. Adverse childhood Experience, that is if you do not include being ripped from the bosom of the land of his birth at three years old.  I doubt that he remembers it. I believe that he remembers people from the time but this may be because we still go home to visit. He also has the borrowed memories of his elder siblings of their time in Ireland.

No this event was way more traumatic. After dinner he came in white as a sheet and pronounced that his Guinea Pigs are gay! Sure enough the little furballs were humping away like rabbits. I have calmed him by telling him there was probably a mistake in the sexing and they are not two males but a male and female. I am not sure he believes me but only time will tell.

Shakespeare was well known for his love of falconry and in Othello he refers to several falconry terms “If I do prove her haggard, though that her jesses were my dear heartstrings, I’d whistle her off and let her down the wind to pray at fortune” but I doubt very much that even the beardy Bard could have waxed lyrical about catching dogfish?

For this was my lot.

I sneaked stealth like from the house at 3 am and headed for one of my nearest beach marks.

Baits were frozen peeler, squid and sandeel chucked as far as I could on the newly made pennel pulley rigs armed the the varivas big mouth extra hooks.

I did not have to wait long for the tap and rattle to start. I will not bore you with the details but a dozen crab later I had one decent run that stripped line off the reel but was dropped before I got to the rod.

The rest of the baits dragged back with dogfish.

I did not speak to anyone, I did not see anyone closer than around three hundred yards. Isolation at it’s best.

On the bright side one of my tope marks in Ireland is starting to produce. Well done Ken, only wish I could come home now.

 

 

 

Day 63… still no news ?

Fuck the housework, it can’t be that bad I only did it yesterday.

Off out up the mountains early this morning hoping to come home to some news from Mark Drakeford the Welsh First minister. A little bit of clarity or consistency please Mark.

Well I have left it as late time allows and the usual channels have not posted any social media updates  on how far ‘local’ is but I have read that it is now safe for me to go to work?

I guess I won’t be told I cannot do a two hour drive to look at someone’s house as it is not local? So as I suspected if a few builders die, so be it, after all money is more important than people and while it is safe to drive to work it is unsafe to drive to enjoy myself? My work uniform makes me immune and not a vector whilst my fishing clothes make me a risk?

Either lock us down or let us go out, social distancing in place of course. Don’t keep sending mixed messages and making one rule for some things while others are still a crime.

The bike in the header picture has a tale to tell.  After my surgery I had Radio Iodine Ablation. It isn’t radiotherapy as many people think, I just had to swallow a radiocative isotope which targets and kills thyroid cells only.  Weeks after this, when I was no longer too hot for the scanner I had a full body scan to look to see if the cancer had spread. When the results came back good herself said I should have a new bike to celebrate. Well I was like ‘Andy Pipkin’ from Little Britain. I walked into the local bike store and said “I want that one” based solely on the facts that many of the lads in the group I ride with had one and more importantly I could take this one away with me.  It was also manufactured by Nukeproof which was appropriate for what Ii had just been through.

Yesterday’s chain snap has ended up more costly than just a chain. Due to returning to fishing I have a lot less time to ride and maintenance jobs on the bikes have fallen to the wayside. I now need a new rear cassette and front ring as well as a chain, oh and the brakes need a service along with the front forks, rear shock and dropper post. Just as well the Beast (girl child) stopped riding. I can use the old Nukeproof until it gets re-built.

Secondly and to be honest people’s stupidity never ceases to amaze me. I have to ride through a big social housing estate to get into the mountains, unlikely but true. In the eighties it had a terrible reputation of which the stigma still lingers, I digress, so as am riding I hear the scream of two stroke engines and two youngsters, probably girls anywhere between twelve and fifteen years old come haring up the trail on ‘schoolboy scramblers’. This was not a surprise but one girl had a corona virus/ surgical style mask the other had a Lucha Libre mask on. Ok an attempt at personal safety? Well for fuck sake try putting a helmet on you may find it more of a help than a material mask if you fall off.

Peace out….

High water or low water? Rays or hounds. Where is there least chance of police harassment?

Only time will tell.

Day 62…. The long walk home

No fishing, not even a fishing based anecdote for it is a morning of domesticity for me, despite earlier plans.

I have not driven my van for several months. Since a week before lockdown it sits collecting dust and acting as a shed within my garage. I should charge the battery and take it in to daylight once more. To prevent any further accusations?

Herself had said she wanted to use her car today rather than take the jeep she has been driving. This was due to the wonder of modern technology and a small on-screen display that indicated the tyre pressure in one wheel of the American made jeep had dropped. It didn’t look flat or even flatter than the other three but the compressor at the garage confirmed the difference. Who measures tyre pressure in Bar anyway?

I had not planned for this.

Hurriedly I checked her car because I already knew what she would say…… it stinks. I had done what I could do to protect the interior of the car from physical dirt, sand from the seat box, mud from my waders, sea weed stuck to the rod stand and that kind of thing but the smell of old bait buckets was lingering on the dust sheet I had employed to line the boot and back seat. I just told her it was too hot in there and I was opening all the doors and boot so she would be more comfortable on her journey to work.

She gave me the look as she lowered herself in to the driving position and I saw a perfume bottle swiftly deployed and sparkles of fragrance glistened around her head like a halo as if to ward off evil spirits and the smell of hot day old squid. I gave her a lovingly hand crafted packed lunch and waved her off down the road before scurrying to the computer to see if anything of importance was happening in the world which would prevent me completing the housework.

Fist job was to unload the dishwasher which I did while making as much noise as possible. Then check all the bastards bedrooms for the cups, plates bowls and dishes which magically appear there overnight, a bit like a reverse tooth fairy only with miss-matched crockery and empty packets.

I didn’t need to hoover but I did it anyway, still no movement from the slumbering spawn of satan. I even mopped the floor.

Hanging out the laundry drove me to distraction. I noticed that herself had purchased a gift for herself. New pegs, and not just any pegs, oh no… these were sure grip, anti-marking all weather shiny plastic pegs. What a fucking liberty, personal presents this late in to the month. Well two can play at that game, I dropped the remaining sodden clothing back into the basket and rushed in doors, straight onto the Veals website and popped a matching pair of Penn mark 3 525 reels into the basket. She should thank me because by purchasing two I have actually saved on a further discount!

Only fear and uncertainty prevented me from completing the purchase, I might opt for the Fathoms instead of the 525’s.

Housework completed and it was time for exercise so I rode off towards the mountains with plans of taking a few photos on the way. Up through the wood that line the river looking for trout again and I saw some unusual movement in the water. It also looked a pretty good place for photos so I clambered down with the bike and started assembling a selfie. I got down next to the water and something shot out from under me, I nearly shit my self…. needlessly, as it was only a Goosander with six or eight young. They hurried down the fast flowing river section before I could get a shot of them. The lovely spot I found was obviously too popular with new looking spinner and lure boxes thrown under the overhanging rocks. From the look of the gear left I had the impression that catch and release of the little brown trout would not be an option. What the fuck is wrong with people that they cannot take their rubbish home? you manage to carry it out here when the cans were full, surely it will be lighter to take back empty? It is a sad fact that there is a section of the ‘Angling community’ who like it or not are our public face and they just do not care. Any rock marks, stone piers,  mackerel marks or rivers running near towns which have reasonable access are always full of litter and stink like piss.

I think I will make a suggestion that the local scroats who get Community Service could come out here and clean up.

Back on the bike and riding through and gnarly section of old culvert stone and rocks known locally as Puncture Passage I clipped the back end and snapped the chain.

Game over and I had to push out of the woodland and free wheel home a long way short of my destination for the day.

 

 

 

Day 61…an error in my thinking

Or I won’t be doing that again……..

In an attempt at compliancy and really just to have a look at the geographically closest salt water to me I set out this morning for the Mouth of the Neath River. There is a nice bit of sand there and there should be estuarine species.

If I was to judge the trip on flora and fauna of Welsh salt marshes it was an excellent morning, larks singing and ringing up, waders, swifts and swallows marshland plants, what an amazing place.

If I were to judge it by the fishing….. not so good in fact shite. I had seen the nice bit of sand from the road. As I am unfamiliar with it I arrived at the turn of the tide so I could see how it went out, if there were any gullies which may fill early and cut me off.

I got the rods out, set up baited up and cast out. The water disappears at frightening speed, no sooner were the baits in the water than I needed to move, and that is how it went. Ankle deep water everywhere I looked even when I walked further and further out and then when I looked further to my right a sandbar was appearing about four hundred yards out.

I did try a couple of casts into the river mouth itself and managed to hold bottom for a while with a five ounce breakout lead but these were bounced out by weed. I did keep searching for water but for me it is just too shallow.

I am not disheartened or despondent but a return trip is very unlikely when there are more suitable marks close by. OK that is a lie, the place was a massive disaster for a mornings fishing and to compound this I had only taken a couple of photos while I was there.

I went there, I looked, I went home.

Looks like an early morning visit to some nearby rockmarks are in order tomorrow.

 

Day 60…. does anyone really know what is going on ?

So today legend has it the Welsh Constabulary have been wandering along the coastline issuing tickets to criminals fishing. Anyone who lives further away than five miles has been told that it is too far to travel. But that contravenes the guidance issued by Angling Cymru who stated “the term local has not been defined so we advise you to go as close to home as you can” No five mile radius mentioned in there then.

Is it just because it is Bank Holiday? Or are they hoping to make up the shortfall in Government revenue from handing out fines?

Obviously no real crimes being committed then, but then law enforcement officers can only enforce the law, can’t they?

Anyone got Dominic Cummings phone number? We can get him to take us. At least he would not be able to recognise us in a line-up.

I was a staunch supporter of the lockdown but it seems the Welsh Government do not want to act and keep in line with the UK Prime minister. I can travel to Porthcawl golf club to play golf  but not take the same journey to fish. I can drive to a Barry Garden centre but not drive there to fish? Where is the sense or impartiality in that?

Lets hope this lunacy is clearly defined on Thursday when the next phase of measures is announced. If they want us to stay in that is fine but please do not say one thing and mean another.

In the mean time get my ticket ready I am out tomorrow.

Day 59

No daily grind to report today… no fishing or plans of fishing. Just a photo and a few words.

If you squint very carefully you can see the lengths people will go to catch mackerel. In the top left hand side of the rock formation at Bridges of Ross there are three ‘fishermen’ staring down the jaws of fifty foot waves.

Utter lunacy.

Day 58…..blogging?

Blogging for me was a simple choice.

When my ankle was broken in hospital I had to look for an alternative career as the chances of returning to carpentry at the time looked slim. The original operation to re-build my knee was a one hit wonder and if it failed I would have to go through a replacement. Kneeling down on hard floors was no longer an option. Anything I would seek to do would require some form of IT skill, of which I had none at the time.

Not a calling and I certainly did not have a message to pass on to the world. No writing aspirations, no journalistic ambitions. No I needed to learn to touch type as part of a course and was given a number of exercises from the college in Shannon. The lecturer mentioned writing an online diary, journal or blog as an alternative to the essays. There was nothing else I could think at the time to write about. My collection of empty Walley’s Hut bottles had limited scope and an even smaller public interest, other than the recycling man.

But then the Tiger died, The Celtic Tiger which had buoyed the Irish economy disappeared and with it all the work. Housing estates became ghost towns. People moved into new builds to find they had no water or were not connected to sewers. Irish tradesmen fled to the Colonies as they always have seeking ‘fortune’ or enough to live on and a bit left over for the weekend so they could explore their new home.

In 2012 when I roamed the shores of North Clare modern lure fishing and in particular wrasse fishing with soft plastics was in it’s infancy. There were not a comparatively large number of sea anglers living in Clare and many tourist anglers looked for help and advice. My blog popped up on any internet search and I was able to take people out or share what knowledge I had. At this time it was easy for me to write, other bloggers commented and people left comments, nice comments.

Fast forward to 2020 and now it is me looking for advice, learning marks and tides with the limited time available. Looking for where the fish are, when they will be there and now on top of that I often have to think of marks that are suitable for the kids. Not too far away, easy casting and with a Mc Donalds on the way. These are not great fishing marks for good fishing but perfect for giving kids confidence and teaching them, passing the baton on.

Blogging has moved on. People make a career out of it. Hosts want to make money and I have to pay wordpress to have the adverts removed from my own site. People want to be liked, to be recognised and praised. To feel validated by their opinions.  I have noticed a trend….. bloggers liking posts so you will like their posts back? Unrelated sites that have nothing to do with fishing but may have picked up on a meta tag ‘dogging’ or blondes which to a wealth of other people may have totally different connotations.

To this end I had a nice comment, – it went something like “this is an intelligent, well thought out well presented article” I felt flattered even if it was undeserved as there is not much thinking or planning I just sit down, look out over the built up valley spreading beneath me and bash at the keys hoping for something lucid at the end. I usually edit it or re-write parts the day after if I read it back. The author of this comment was posted as youtube….something or other .com. It seemed pretty innocuous and I thought it was just another blogger fishing for likes and follows but I noticed a strange hit on the links tab on my stats. I know most of the links, some are out-dated and I have left them there for the information they imparted at the time but this one I did not recognise. When clicked on the link it took me to a Youtube review of a neon glow in the dark butt-plug! apologies if you were one of the people who clicked on it…. unless you found it useful then happy days.

The fishing image for today is Red Joe, hammering pollack on the soft plastics on a rock mark just outside Fanore.

 

 

 

Day 57…..No Friday feeling.

The Friday feeling just isn’t there. No crunchy day.  All you ‘Auld Wans’ will remember the reference. No poets day (one for the chippies out there)

Around 4pm (past morning) the girl child found me in my workshop tidying my seat box from yesterday. Apparently she had made me pancakes. This I soon discovered was a blatant lie. She presented me with a plate with a quadrant of a stack, syrup drizzled round the outside edges but wiped off the centre of the plate. What she really meant was she had cooked for herself and couldn’t manage to woof the last quarter down. By giving me her leftovers she would no longer be responsible for the plate, not that it usually bothers her. It would just join everything she had used in preparation in the sink. The other Spawn of Satan are alive, I can hear the shouting at the X Box and the thump of DeathMetal. Soon one of them will venture downstairs in search of snacks

I joined the throng at slab-time in Tescos, the time when everyone goes in for their Friday night trays of lager. Always chaos and it just amazes me how simple instructions cannot be followed by such a large proportion of the populous. After a stealth mission to find the ingredients for the family dinner I worked my way to the last isle, Alcohol. Same old faces again, pretending to read the labels on the wine bottle but honestly getting no further than the proof percentage. 13.5% being the benchmark for Tramp Fuel. Most bang for your buck.

Everyone is drinking more and this for me includes tea, can’t believe I have drunk fourteen cups today. How life has gotten insular?

The lockdown has given us time, time we never had before. A time to reflect and a time to grow. Never before after a session have I checked traces, washed them off in fresh water and then hung them out to dry. To examine each component looking for faults. Replacing the hooklength, drying the swivels and hooks and store them away for further use.

I re-spooled the blown reel and looked at the box again to see what weight could be further shed. the priest has now gone along with the tripod. I am only going to carry three reels, two to use and a spare. There is nothing else I can leave behind.

Saturday and Sunday look set to be too windy to get out, Monday is Bank Holiday and probably not a good day to push the Staying local thing as attitudes to the lockdown seem to be relaxing. I am sure many families will be exercising on beaches through out South Wales and police will be issuing tickets to those away from home.

Tuesday it is then and a local mark that I have never fished before.