There's a swirl over the rocks and a grey fin scythes through the sea. They're here.
I saw one five minutes after I got down to the beach, scrambling over the rocks until I hit the hotspot. There's a gap in the boulders big enough to drive a van through and today I'm right - it's where the bass are.
I see a few more swirls and a tail break surface. I'm not sure what they're after, as there are no birds diving which usually pinpoints a shoal of sandeel or some other fodder fish. The sea's flat calm as well, the same grey colour as the gathering storm overhead.
I can easily poke a lure out where the action is, whatever they're up to out there and jink it back through the gully.
The first one hammers into the spoon so hard I nearly jump out of my skin before it dives for the rocks. Nice fish, couple of pounds maybe. Pound for pound, these things scrap as hard as anything. Then again, I haven't caught one for so long I can't remember what the last one fought like.
Snick the hook out, three or four casts later I nail a smaller one. Two in a morning's not to be sneezed at, but 10 minutes later I make it three. Three bass - what a result.
Another angler appears as I'm beaching the fat keeper. Out comes the camera and the hook, back goes the bass.
"Don't you eat them?" asks the other guy. As I watch it recover its balance and shoot back out to sea, I wonder if I'm missing a trick here.
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