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.

Snap up some of these

I'd never quite found the right thing for attaching lures to my leaders until I stumbled on these Tronix snaps.

They're just that bit stronger than some of the other clips I've used and much better than a cross-lock type connector.

Changing lures is a breeze, just snick it on or off. The eye's also just the right size for the 15lbs fluorocarbon I tie up bass traces with. The ones I use are Size 2, they're 99p for 10.

You could use them for freshwater lure fishing - just stick a split ring through the eye of the jighead/lure and off you go.

Shortage of Silverheads

I feel a twinge of guilt when Matt rocks up with Leanne. It's blowing a gale and worse still, the sea's full of weed. Three blokes were setting up as I got to the spot. They all sacked it after a few casts.

The wind's blowing north-westerly, blowing the braid into a great bow as the lure flies. I can more or less get the distance with the biggest Dexy in my box, but I can't control it on the retrieve. Go fast enough to feel it bite and it comes to the top, skimming the waves. Go slower and it dings the rocks, covering the hook with wrack.

Matt gets out his rod, Leanne gets out her Kindle. We know we're not going to catch, as we strip the lures of weed and cast into the teeth of it. I change to a Silverhead and lose it on a rock first cast. I'm down to three of the favoured 45g size which seem the best on the coast.

After adjourning for a latte at a cafe terrace, I head for the tackle shops. One has just one selection pack of Silvers - three I don't want, one of the size I do for £6.99. Mick doesn't have any in the last of his closing down sale stock.

Everyone's been buying them, both shops say. People swear by them. I'm going every day next week and I have just four of the go-to lures left. This doesn't bode well, bearing in mind you lose or damage at least one most trips.

  

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.

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.

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.