Technology - and how times change

When I started out as a reporter more than 20 years ago, the newsrooms sang with the clatter of typewriters. Within little more than a decade, they'd been replaced by computers and the internet was changing the world so fast it was almost mind blowing.

I sometimes hanker for the good old days when you lived off your wits, your expenses claims and the largesse of the licensed trade. Fishing was different back then too. Like the nicotine-stained newsrooms of my younger days, the internet had yet to make its mark on the river bank. Ditto mobile phones.

I can still remember when my first-ever mobile went off while I was tench fishing with my Old Man and his mates - '94, '95 maybe.

A year or two later, a slightly smaller phone than the old brick went off as I was unhooking a jack, which a much bigger fish had swirled at as it neared the net on the weirpool I was fishing.

I can't talk now, I remember saying, as one of the Sunday desks in London rang to query some shock horror I'd filed. I'm out fishing. I'm sure it's all in the story if you read down through the quotes. But, but, no, hold on, hold on, we're going big on it, we just need to know if, did he really say that he ......

I hung up, lit a Benny Hedgehog and stuck a half pound chub on, like you did in those days. But the phone went off again and again, the old der-der derrr derrr, der-der derrr derrr Nokia tune as the float buried and I pulled into a brute as it hit the bait and dived under the weir sill like a U-boat.

I fished the future of communication out of my pocket, still ringing, and threw it in the river, as I pumped the pike to the surface and slid the net under it. Der-der derrr derrr, der-der derrr derrr *plop*. It's probably still down there somewhere, in the depths of that weirpool.

Fishing boat sets out on a calm sea

Fishing boat setting out from Wells on a calm sea between the sail boats. Bass fishing takes you to some great places. Click here for more non fishing-related pics of the Norfolk coast and the Fens.

Another day, another world glimpsed on the beach

Checking out another stretch of beach at low tide brings home why I'm starting to get so interested in what's a very new kind of fishing for me. It looks featureless when you stand on the flood bank, looking across the estuary on a low tide.

But down on the foreshore, there are distinct zones stretching from the mud flats pock-marked with worm casts, to the groynes where life teems in the little pools left behind by the retreating tide. Shrimp and tiny shore crabs hide in the shade of the rotting pilings.

It seems like every bit of water left behind has something that swims, wriggles or walks. No wonder this is such an important feeding ground for all the wading birds - most of which I struggle to identify as they strut along the water's edge.

I wonder what I need to do along the edges of the estuary within casting range, to turn my newly-discovered fascination with what lies on my doorstep into a few fish.

Blast lures out as far as I can, or work closer in, imitating different creatures that make up this rich larder's diverse delicacies. As I scrape the mud off my shoes and head for work, I can't wait to give it another go.

Empty beach first thing

The beach was deserted as I hopped over the sea bank to check out the lie of the land first thing on the way to work. It didn't stay this way for long on Bank Holiday Monday, as the sunshine drew thousands of day-trippers to the coast.

One or two interesting features lay within casting distance come high tide, but fishing's not an option when the beaches are full and high water falls in the middle of a sunny afternoon.

Things look more interesting towards the end of the week, when the plum tides creep closer to dusk on the coast.  The shoreline should hopefully be a bit quieter by then.

I can see why people who do catch bass along this stretch of coast favour dawn and dusk, rather than going shoulder to shoulder with the grocks to fish.

It's great to be out fishing on a sunny afternoon, as I did on Saturday, now that things have finally started to warm up. But chances of catching are probably close to zilch with all the disturbance going on.

The tide is high and I'm moving on

I used to love it up here, where the creek spills into the sea by the lifeboat station. It's changed a lot since I last fished here eight or nine years ago. There's a new harbour, for starters, built for the boats which service the growing number of offshore wind turbines you can see whirling on the horizon on a clear day.

There's another harbour a mile or so inland, with signs saying hooks are banned. This is presumably to stop holidaymakers doing any damage to themselves or any passing  locals using the crab lines piled up outside the souvenir shops, with the flip-flops and the buckets and spades.

I'm hoping the new harbour has a more relaxed attitude to modern-day health and safety. If not, I decide I'll just fish anyway, as I can't quite see how you can allow fishing provided you don't use a hook. Norfolk's a bit mad like that, in places.

I start off in the sea just in case the health and safety police are on the case. I clip a rubber on the trace, keeping a weather eye out for the rozzers.

The flood's bombing along but the lures seem to be getting down and working quite nicely in the gentle swell coursing into the creek. I'm more impressed with the Savage Gear sandeels now they're not ploughing along the bottom.

I get quite absorbed with this for half an hour or so, ringing the changes with lures which work at different depths from Thundersticks down to Dexters. I've no idea whether this is a better way to get a take than persevering with the lure which most closely mimics what the bass are actually feeding on.

But changing lures injects a bit more hope to proceedings all the same. I'm also learning a bit about how they work. The new abache wood Rapalas don't seem to go down anywhere near as deep as the old balsa versions, including the only lure among the 20 or so I've got to choose from which has actually caught a bass - a ropey 10-year-old J13 with its diving vane re-glued with yellowing Araldite.

The rod top rattles as I crank one of the newbies against the flow, but the leader swivel's breaking surface as it waddles along three feet beneath the surface.  I look behind the lure, just in case I spy a follower, but the water remains empty.

Near the top of the flood, I move around to the harbour mouth. I wonder whether the bass head in here as the tide comes in, hunt around the new structure and move out to sea again on the ebb. A few casts with a shad and I realise how much I'm enjoying this complete change of tempo where my fishing's concerned.

It's a glorious day. Take a deep breath and you can smell the summer coming. I've overlooked what's on my doorstep for so long that I'm loving exploring it with a rod and a bag of lures. Bass fishing's the perfect excuse to take to your toes and take a closer look at Norfolk's incredible coastline.

I'm at the bottom of a very steep learning curve, trying to second guess a fish I haven't caught for 20 years or more in any numbers. Between you and me I'd be thrilled if I catch just one this summer, before my thoughts turn to pike again.

Snowbee sling bag review

This is probably one of the best bits of gear I've bought in years. It's not the biggest of bags, but it  swallows up all the lures, end tackle and tools you need for a bass session and stays on your back while you're fishing.

Instead of impeding your arms like a rucksack, or continually slipping like a shoulder bag, the hybrid sling design means you can swing it out of the way until you need to get something out of it; when you just pop a clip and swing it round for easy access.

The main compartment has room for one of those double-sided lure boxes, plus a couple of mesh pockets which will accommodate a few bits and pieces. You could probably squeeze two lure boxes in at a pinch, but one's enough to carry several Rapalas, Thundersticks, Dexters and a few rubber sandeels.

When you open it with the bag slung around to your waist, you can get at the lure box and the interior compartments, meaning you can change lures without needing to take the bag off and put it down.

There's a zipped front compartment, with room for spare traces, scissors, spare hooks, clips etc; and a smaller mesh pocket for your sharpening stone.

It also has a pocket for a drinks bottle and a top compartment with room for a camera and a pastie or a couple of sausage rolls. There's also a slightly awkward flap with a velcro retaining tab you can keep your pliers to hand in.

I wondered if it might be big enough for pike fishing, but you'd struggle to get more unhooking tools, weigh sling, scales etc in. If Snowbee made a slightly larger version it would be a boon to freshwater lure anglers who walk and fish. Then again, I guess you could fit the extras in a bum bag.

Not cheap for £49.99, but I'd expect it to last a few summers. Hat tip Bass Lure Basics, whose review convinced me to buy one.

I'm also getting into the double-sided boxes Snowbee, Leeda and one or other firms now offer, where lures nestle in boat-shaped sections with a keel slot for the hooks.

They make much better use of the space available and also stop the lures tangling, like they do in other boxes when you cram two or three into a square compartment.

There are drying holes, but I'll still get the box out to open it out and let the air get to it after a sea fishing trip, along with rinsing any lures I've used under the tap before drying them out.

I was going to say they're (again...) not quite big enough for pike fishing, but I plan to use smaller lures and lighter gear this season after Ash showed us all the way home last winter, so it's bound to get pressed into service come the autumn.

First bass of the year in Norfolk

The first reports of bass being caught have got me fired up for a bash tomorrow - even if they're from somewhere which probably won't be fishable once the grockles descend on the coast for Bank Holiday.

I mark down the spot for a go towards the end of next week and plan a recce somewhere else, where they might not be around yet, but I need to get my head around the lie of the land, in terms of whether you can actually get to where I fancy fishing.

I want to see how the tide floods the place in daylight, to plan ahead for summer. I also want to see how the lures work towards the top of the tide and when it turns, to see if I can get them where I want them - ready for when the bass rock up.

Heavy metal night in the village

There have been a number of changes since my last visit to the Village Pub. I understand that life must move on and as the social fabric of rural Norfolk changes, the licensed trade must move with the times.

Hawkwind Sid has been allowed to organise a trial evening of musical entertainment, during which it is rumoured there will be a "special geust", according to the Parish Magazine, whose editor Veronica, the Vicar's wife, has still not mastered the use of spell-check.

A number of retired rock stars live in these parts, some of whom Sid - who once jammed with Hawkwind - claims to be on nodding terms with.

Neil By The Way, who is now the Village Pub's bar manager, is discussing the finer details of said *soiree* with said ex-hippy as I walk in.

"So, um, yeah Neil," he says. "He's a busy dude man, but he's, um, said he'll definitely turn up and like, um, play the drums if he does, like, um, turn up. Um, like, Hi Chris. You, like, um, coming to my rock night..?"

I, um, think I might be otherwise engaged, I reply as Neil By The Way slaps a Shuck and a Jack chaser on the bar.

"It's like, um, next Friday. It's a fiver to get in - but we've got, like, a special guest," says Sid. "He was like, um, bigger than Deep Purple when, um, like, they were really big, during, like, their really big period. And we're, um, like doing food too."

"We've got a Black Sabbath tribute band playing in the Beer Garden," adds Neil By The Way, by way of clarification, as I hand over a tenner and take a long sip on my Shuck, noting how the initial bitterness gives way to the complex blend of flavours associated with said ale.

"It's gonna be rockin' - they're gonna play all the hits. We've got an eat all you like buffet and the Vicar's mate who used to play the drums is coming."

Lemmy, Sid's dog, takes a lengthy wee against the end of the bar. The yellow puddle flows menacingly towards my new brogues. For some reason I can't quite put my finger on, I don't fancy food.