Summer time blues

I didn't hold out much hope today, with a middling high tide near noon. I was right on that score. There were half a dozen of us on the beach as the flat calm sea lapped lazily around the rocks and decided it couldn't be arsed to come in as far as the cliffs. Not one of us had so much as a sniff.

I tried dinging the lure off the top of the rocks for a bit, having worked out they're so covered in wrack they're almost impossible to snag up on. Lovely day, beats being at work even if all you end up with is soggy trainers, sore arms and sunburn.

Bass 3, NFG 0

There's a westerly blowing up the bay and the sea's a seething cauldron around the rocky headland. Half an hour's enough to convince me this is a waste of time. The gale blows the braid into a huge bow by the time the lure lands and I can't really feel what it's doing in the surf. Every third or fourth cast, the wedge dings a rock and comes back festooned in wrack.

Regulars reckon the harder tides throw up the occasional big bass, but if there were any out in the tea-coloured waves, they weren't playing ball. If you fish the same beach regularly, you soon learn the sea has so many moods it's different nearly every time you go.

It's colour changes too. Today the water looked dirty, suspended silt the waves scoured off the banks lending a grey-brown tinge to the waves.

The summer's still young and there are some better-looking tides on the way.

The cruel sea

Jagged lumps of chalk and carr stone emerge as the tide retreats. The sea didn't fill me with confidence as I tabbed down the cliff path,  an umber-coloured band of water stretching out into the lazy swell.

But a few casts into the ebb and I start getting cocky, pushing the rod hard for maximum distance with the biggest wedge in my box, launching it out into clear water. This feels good for some reason, freshly-oiled reel spinning effortlessly on the retrieve.

The rod kicks violently as a fish smashes into the lure and I'm a happy bunny. I start gaining line on what feels like a sizeable fish. Then it swirls on the top, I see its big grey tail and it's gone. The hook I honed last night's still sharp,  it hit the spoon so hard I can't understand why the metal didn't stay put in its gob.

I give it a tickle with the sharpening stone just in case and carry on casting like I mean it, but the magic's gone. I replay the 30 seconds or so I had that fish on over and over again as I head back up the cliffs for home.