The next trip of the break was the windiest of a week where winds were the order of every day, but this was even more gusty. It didn't start great as arrival at a once free car park now required one of those parking apps downloaded, so after payment was made the missus and I were soon off on a half mile walk to where a natural harbour meets the sea.
She wanted to get her steps in but the trek over loose shingle in gales should really have counted double, the only good thing was the seemingly remoteness of it all, with the two of us being the only souls on a beautiful but blowy beach.
Where this narrow entrance of the harbour met the sea we were met with a battle of tides and wind.
I really didn't expect much from this trip despite getting a few mullet from the other bank a few years ago. It seemed almost desolate and shelter from the wind was the main priority, yet at the same time it was beautiful, what looked like a shingle bank was actually millions of sea shells, all piled up on top of each other to form a beach, digging into them found more shells and the missus had fun looking for the better ones.
As for the fishing well we sat in a corner sheltered by a bank and I trotted a line and fed bread with persistence much like the trip before, once again there was nothing to show for a few hours so I went for a walk.
On returning I carried on relentlessly with no reward but then as the tide turned signs of life started to appear. Something small topped in front of me and then I could just make out the odd silver flash below. Naturally I tried for these fish no mater how small they were but it was in vain however there was a sense that something was about to happen.
Mullet! Once again my stock statement of the obvious was called out to the wife as a couple of swirls took some bread off the surface. The anticipation of baiting a fresh bit of bread and casting to the area is palpable, almost as much as the sight of that float ripping under, then that bend in the rod. It all happened instantly.
It is funny seeing the angles you get into playing a mullet sometimes, there isn't the control you have with a barbel or carp, one second it's splashing on your right the next it's on your left, then repeat this process for quite a few runs. Keep the hood up so as not to lose your hat in the wind and enjoy the ride is the best advice I can give.
I remember repeatedly saying "Strong fish" as I played what was an average sized mullet, or it played me, the clutch of my cheap old £20 reel whizzing away and the sound of the line gloriously singing in the wind
Getting close to netting I was conscious of losing this one but still had to bully it into the net as it clearly wasn't going to give up.
Finally it was banked and I was elated to get two in two trips.
Then I was in again, exactly the same process repeated itself five minutes later, swirls on the surface before my stick float got ripped under and battle commenced, the next one was more fun having got one already under the belt. If I thought two in two trips was good then two in ten minutes was even better. It was small but I didn't care one jot.
Then that was it, once again a small window of action but two from two was great, we stopped for lunch and I continued to feed the swim whilst feeding myself, ready to spring into action once more should they return but they didn't.
We watched as time and tide waited for no man, no more mullet waited around and the area got too fast and too shallow, there was time for the missus to find some more shells on the sea shore although there was no one around to sell them to in any tongue twisting scenario. We had somehow managed to find some relative shelter from storm Agnes and I found some fish.
Before packing up a spitfire buzzed the beach, we were lucky enough to witness this every day on the holiday. One evening it was really being thrown about, banking, turning sharply and even looping the loop. There's something about seeing Spitfires over the south coast and it also reminded me of one of my drawings.
The engines were drowned out by the wind as the Spitfire made it's way home, it wasn't long before we were doing similar as we walked along the deserted beach back to the car after another fantastic fishing trip.
