The 'Barnes Wallis' Bass
While living in Anglesey circa 1973, we had the
good fortune to have a neighbour (whose name escapes me) take myself and
my brother out bass fishing from the sand at the South end of Rhyd y Gari,
opposite Cymyran (Pathfinder 750 for the curious) - also "rhyd"
translates to "ford" which I would have thought optimistic here.
The channel between Anglesey and Holy Island is narrow and has a ferocious
flow. As the tide turns you can watch the water stop, hover and start
to move in the other direction. It really rips. You'd be gone in an instant.
If you skip a flat stone across this flow and get it right you get a perfect
parabola of splashes that holds it's curve for an instant before vanishing.
Anyhow, our neighbour lent my bother a beach caster and as my seven foot rod had
the oomph if not the length I used that. He also very decently gave my
brother a 6' white fibreglass spinning rod, which he still has and should
not be sneezed at. Solid fibreglass has a good springy action, better
than hollow and is very tough. I digress, again.
The first part of "plan bass" involved finding peeler crabs which
was a new experience for us and not at all a chore. Rooting around the
seashore is a satisfying activity at any time, probably due to it being
difference between "lunch" and "being lunch" at some
distant point in our collective ancestry. You hunt around for crabs in
the seaweed and under rocks and if you find a crab, to see if it's ready
to peel look for a crack in the back of the shell you break off a bottom
bit of leg and see if a new skin is forming underneath, the precursor
to shedding it's shell. Occasionally you'll find a soft shelled one, than
has just peeled. They're pretty useful bait as well.
Anyhow, we were tackled up with the crabs secured on a large hook with cotton
thread to keep it on and we all three of us stood on the sand at the
edge of the flow, cast in and stood there holding our rods. At this point
there is a vast expanse of sand when the tide is out, some 200 yards across,
and stretching all the way back to Four mile bridge some 2 miles away.
My brother asked what we should do if we got a fish and was told that
bass had large mouths and a tendency to head towards the shore when hooked
and were best dealt with by retreating away from the shore while reeling
in, both to be done at a brisk pace.
Time passed, as the tide came in. The weather was pleasant and the surroundings
also. A few words were exchanged, but we were 13 and 11 and our guide
was an adult and there was little to talk about really.
During one of the short exchanges, I turned to our neighbour and became aware
that there was someone missing from our little party. I looked round -
30 yards away with a beachcaster over one shoulder was a diminishing form
not inconsistent with my younger brother. I looked at my neighbour and
he at me, then there was a splash between our positions, followed by a
large silver object that skipped out of the surf, bounced off the shelving
sand and once more between our feet before skating and skipping across
the sand. I think we both yelled words to the effect of "you can stop
now" to a now distant and determined figure...
The stunned fish turned out to be an 8lb bass (this was the biggest fish
either of us caught for 5 or 6 years). If was a tremendous fish which
ever way you look at it. I'm still envious and only partly because I was
reminded on a regular basis for the next 7 years who caught the family
record fish. Interesting use of the word "caught".
It was a bigger bass than our erstwhile mentor had ever caught either. I
think it rather got him down at the time, although he was very decent
about it.
That's the nature of fishing, you can spend a lot of time trying for the elusive,
and next day someone turns up out of the blue, bungs in a bait and wallop.
Luck counts for a lot and that's part of the point. I don't recall my
brother coming again, but I certainly went again, but never did catch
a bass there.
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