Neaps

Today saw just a 6m tide on Mussel Bay, barely enough to cover the rocks on the foreshore at high water. There's worse to come, with heights dropping to 5.6m on Wednesday, before the sea starts to build again towards the end of the the week.

Some reckon the big tides, the sevens and eights are the ones to fish, with fives and sixes not worth bothering with. Others follow the you won't catch them sitting at home school of thought, and fish regardless. I've got a week off, so I'm not really bothered.

I may head for another beach I've been meaning to check out tomorrow to see what's what. It was nice today casting a new lure to see what it does - the lemony sandeel spoony thing. I've binned the packet and I can't remember what it was called. It looks nice and flashy in the water, like the wedge above it, but no cigar.

Back with a bang

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.

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.

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.

They orter be about by now

Foam fizzes in the sand as the waves break around the rocks. Gulls scream overhead as I launch the lure and watch it fly out to sea. It feels a little strange to start with but I soon get into a rythym, pausing every few casts to retreat a pace or two ahead of the incoming tide.

Summer's just around the corner. So hopefully are the bass, although this morning's high tide passed by without a hit for me and one of last summer's regulars, who beat me to the spot I fancied. The sea was slightly coloured, but I could see the lure flashing as I jinked it back over the tops of the boulders.

"Been a few out already," said the old boy up the beach as he folded down his rod and joined me for a smoke. "It was this week last year they started catching so they orter be about by now."

Wherever they are, I don't think they're where we are, I told him. But I've got a good feeling about this summer, me old podna.

A bass at last

First cast, bang - the rod rattles round and I'm into one. Better still, after a brief, splashy scrap in the shallow water, I grab the lure and it's on the beach. How big..? Not very. But I don't care as I take a quick picture, snick the hook out and watch it bow-wave back into the sea.

A few chucks later, I hook into another one that makes a better fight of it but comes off just out of reach of my fingers as I grab the line to beach it. I check the hook and it's James Blunt. As I'm sharpening it up again, there's a big splash 10 yards out, right in front of me.

This is starting to get exciting now - caught one, lost one and seen one all in the space of 10 minutes' fishing. I swap the spoon for a Thunderstick and buzz it over the spot where the fish topped. After a few casts, there's a big swirl behind the lure as I start to retrieve it.

I change lures a few times, Dexter, Toby, Piranha, before returning to the silver foil spoon I had the fish on. But the action's over as quickly as it began.

I pause to drink in my surroundings before I head for home. The day's just breaking and the sea's flat calm. It's a beautiful morning and I've crowned it with a bass.

I so, so want to catch one of these

Fancy going tomorrow..? Matt texts me a picture of the bass I missed seeing by just 10 minutes, shining like a bar of silver on the shingle.

I so, so want to catch one of these, I tell myself, as I return to messing about with my lures, fixing up the ones that took a beating today, changing hooks, tying up a couple of new leaders.

I keep looking at the picture. I so, so want to catch one of these, I explain to the wife.  That's nice, she says. Aren't you meant to be painting the bathroom tomorrow..?

Matt nails one in a big old blow

The northerly wind's got up and the surf's building, sending big, grey breakers crashing up the shingle. Spray flys in a salty mist. I'm struggling to get the lures out or control them.

Matt's got two bait rods out, lug and peeler offered on two clipped-down rigs that seem to fly half way to Norway compared to how far I can heave a Dexter into the blow.

Around high water, his rod top bounces and he reels in a dab. This is the first fish I've seen anyone catch in the sea this summer. Not exactly summery, my hands are so cold I can barely feel the braid to feather it.

I know there are meant to be bass coming out along this part of the coast, but I can't see it happening today. There must be 30 other people fishing up and down the strip and most are sitting snug inside those beach buddy things.

I'm the only idiot lure fishing. By 10 to two, I've had enough. The lures are getting bashed to bits in the shingle. I make my excuses and trudge back to the car.

When I pull into the supermarket half an hour later, I notice I've had a text. Just had one, 44cms, says the text from Matt. I look at the time he texted me - five past two, as in barely 10 minutes after I left.

Guess where I'll be fishing tomorrow, I text back. And well done.

What matters - tides or timing..?

Puzzling out the tides, they don't look too bad as a run of days off kicks in. I'm still not sure if the tide's the most important thing, as in fishing either side of the top.

People catching bass seem to be out before dawn or after dusk, regardless of what the tides are doing. So maybe I need to just concentrate on being there at the right time, as opposed to around high water.

Apart from seeing a fish the other day, as in your real, actual fish etc; I learned quite a bit about the creek.

Maybe I'll hit it near the turn of the ebb this time, and back-track as the tide starts flooding it.

I reckon that'll give me enough time for a bag of chips and a pint of Shuck somewhere, before I hit somewhere else at high tide.

I saw a fish - as in your real, actual, genuine...

The wind's gone round to the west but it's still blowy and there are rain squalls sailing in from seaward. That means I've got the place almost to myself as the ebb quickens and the creek drops back between the sandbanks.

I wonder if this will put me in reach of a fish, as they must surely find themselves in the confines of the creek as the tide retreats from the beaches on either side. This is the latest of my many bass fishing theories,  one of which will hopefully prove to be a goer sooner or later.

I walk downstream with the tide, working my way through my lure box, covering different depths and speeds. Dexter, Toby, J13, Jointed Thunderstick. The latter comes back all the way without catching bottom, as beds of wrack and other green stuff become visible as the sun peeps through the clouds.

I've found my rhythm, casting and retrieving the lure with the rod high, watching it snake into sight, flashing in the sunlight. Roseate terns flit up and down. The first swallows flash past.

What's that..? A dark shape follows the Thunderstick as it snakes into the fast flowing shallows - I nearly jump out of my skin. A fish..! As in your real, actual, genuine, definite, one hundred and one per cent fish, a yard or so behind.

It turns away in a swirl. I think it was a mullet - I reckon a bass would have put its foot down and hit the lure instead of bottling it. I cast again, but it doesn't reappear. Well, at least I've seen a fish. It peps up my interest enough to fish on into the rain as the squall rounds the dunes.

The wind's fierce by the time I reach the shoreline. I turn tail and trudge back towards the car. I've seen a fish - as in your real, actual, genuine etc etc. I've also got my head around the creek a little more, as far as the lie of the land's concerned. Good day all round, really.

Wasn't this windy when I was digging me worms

"Wasn't this windy when I was digging me worms," says Matty, as we look at the swells crashing onto the beach. "Don't know where this wind's come from."

Lincolnshire, in a word. As in blowing almost straight across Mussel Bay right in our faces.We plump for a bit Matty fancies anyway, me on the lures, he on the lug.

It's hard work casting the lure, with the biggest Dexter in my box again the only thing I can cast any distance. There's no current between the groynes that stretch 40 or 50 yards out from the Prom. The sea works itself up into a foaming chop as the tide builds instead.

I can fish, sort of. The turbulent water throws the lure around and I've got no control over its speed or depth. I can see the braid stretching across the wave troughs between the tops of the breakers.

Matty's landing his bait near the end of the groynes with what looks like an effortless lob with his beachcaster and multiplier slung low on the handle. He misses a rod-wrencher - the only bite of the evening.

As high water arrives, the waves are bouncing off the sea wall and colliding head-on with themselves, sending explosions of foam into the air. It doesn't take us long to get soaked, despite retreating up the concrete slipway.

For all the frustrations the last few trips have brought, they've also whetted my appetite and left me thirsting to crack the sea - or at very least catch something. I look at the beachcasters gathering dust in a corner of my study and wonder whether I'd be better off resorting to worm or crab, propelled out by six ounces of lead, until conditions change.

But I decide to stick with the lures, perhaps with a tweak or two including lighter braid so I can add a few yards to my casting. I've also murdered a new hook on the lure I was using tonight in little over an hour's fishing.

I sharpened the points up every time they were blunted by bumping into the sand or the hand-sized lumps of chalk and carrstone that litter the beach. You can only touch up the points of chemically-sharpened (etched) hooks so many times before they're beyond salvation when it comes to getting a decent edge to them.

I'm gradually changing lures over to singles, but encountered a problem I hadn't expected with them when I briefly tried a surface lure rigged with two of them tonight - they seem adept at catching around the leader when you cast into the wind.

A slightly different kind of sea

The wind's moved a few points further to the west and the sea's a different kind of sea tonight. There's a rolling surf building on the last push of the flood and for the first time I find other people fishing my intended spot.

I check where their lines are and move 50 yards or so up the beach. This puts me out of range of the feature I fancied - the end of a patch of rocky ground I'd spied on a recce, where the sea's scoured a deeper gully.

That means I'm in the rough stuff, with five or six feet of water over the top of the rocks. Ideal territory for diving plugs, when the wind's not this strong. No chance of getting them any distance into the gusts blowing into my face, so on goes a Dexter, which flies out like a good-un.

There's no finesse or presentation to this. As soon as it hits the water 40 or 50 yards out, I have to wind like mad to collect the slack braid the wind's blown into a big bow, and then crank the lure in fast enough to stop it fouling the rocks.

It looks too crude to me, but I know people catch on these lures, worked fast like this. Perhaps not when the wind on the braid and the swell make it kite off to the side. I can feel what the Dexy's doing through the braid, but I've no control as it carreers along through the crests and troughs of the waves.

I remove the hook for a few casts, to see how slow I can go before the lure bumps the rocks. A lot slower than I thought, before I feel the tell-tale ding and the hook-less spoon comes back with a few fronds of green weed around the swivel.

As the tide turns, the pull of the water quickens as the wind pushes the ebb along. Too late in the day, I decide on a move. One of the anglers a little further along tells me he caught two bass this morning.

A text from a mate says someone else had three off the same tide half a mile or so away off another feature. I check the tides and decide to try again first thing.

Too rough tonight

It was what you might call a little bit on the rough side tonight. High water just before 7pm, with a big-ish tide sounded promising. But when I got there, the gale was blowing along the shore and the sea was an ugly maelstrom of mud-coloured waves and spindrift.

The waves weren't that big, compared to the swell you get on a big, northerly sea. There isn't enough fetch - the amount of open water for the wind to blow along - to form big breakers when it's coming sou-westerly up the estuary. The waves don't travel far enough to build.

It was pushing the surface along against the tide instead and there was a foaming running chop along the beach. I'm not sure what was going on under the surface, but the water looked cold and turbid.

I don't see how you could fish this churning, surging sea with lures or bait and abandoned the idea without even putting a rod together.

I know a few had tonight pencilled in, but one texted to say it's going to be a waste of time and the fancied spots were all deserted. The only people out were a few wind surfers racing along off the esplanade.

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.

Single hooks on lures

I've had a mess about with a few lures and re-rigged them with single hooks. Pluggin' Singles have big eyes, so you can fit them on a split ring. They're quite expensive, as in a Lady for eight hooks, but they're pin-sharp and have a tiny whisker barb.

Assuming I ever manage to actually catch any bass this summer, I plan to return most of them. So instead of a couple of trebles on my lures, I'm going to try singles on some of them, to see how they fare.

You can get them in sizes from #1 to 2/0 from Veals. I bought a pack of each size, but only the 1/0s and 2/0s look big enough to do the business.

Depending how they perform, I may keep them on a few lures when I start pike fishing again - I reckon two singles on a lure the size of a Rapala J13 or a single on a spoon would be a breeze to unhook. That's assuming they go in - and stay in - when you get a hit.