I am such a landlubber now.
Well I did decide that this would be the Year of the Land. No trips on the Keewaydin, all spare money going to the garden.
True to my intent, I dug a garden and planted an orchard, and nearly two thousand other trees
I did make some pots & bought two nets, but spent more energy wondering when I'd get out there than actually fishing.
Last time I went out was so unplanned that I had no bait.
I HATE putting a pot back in the sea without bait. The next time out feels pointless. There was one shred of a fish-head left in one, but the other three were bare.
I got out there last night. It had been a hot, jetski sort of day, but by the time I got down to the beach, a sea mist was creeping in.
A mist at sea is magical. The sea is always a dream-space, but a mist crowns it. A bright halo, the mist equivalent of a rainbow hung over the rocks. Everything loomed, loomed large. Birds lingered long on their cliff perches.
Strange globular jellyfish bobbed up like large dead eyes.
I set a net. Then went to pull those pots and bait them.
A lobster! What an undeserved gift.
I cooked her for supper, with broadbeans and potatoes from the garden. The Strumble fog-horn sounded into the night.
Went early to retrieve the net. One mackerel in a sargasso of summer weed. That rubbish of summer. Oarweeds and twine and bleached bladderwrack.
Next time I will try one of my bottom-set nets. Will risk the curse of the Spider.
Back to the land. The certainty of the land.
Holding the magic of that misty evening in my heart.
Deaded
I thought that this blog had run its day.
I gaze down now on Aberbach, pausing from the garden or scything around the trees. I have tried a few desultory attempts to reconnect to fishing but seemed ever thwarted.
I started well, buying two surface nets, which this time were surface nets: I don't know what happened last time I ordered. I set them and caught mullet & bass first shot. The next three attempts were empty. As their white floats are so apparent, I am loathe to leave them out too long.
Also I bought twine and rope for new pots. The winter had been a clean sweep, so I was starting from scratch...
Made four. Lovely blue braided rope. They looked very pretty. Like tents from an Arthurian joust.
I set them, and immediately lost one pot. - I hadn't tied it properly. Then, when I went to check them, it was spiders, spiders, spiders, and two of the pockets were fouled up where they had got caught.
The garden was a more receptive arena for my attention.
Last week I noticed gannets diving. The sea looked more alive and hospitable, after weeks of tiring westerlies. It has been cold too.
Today I got my rod out and went down to the sea again.
The first pot had four lobsters in it. Three were size, but in my insane haste, I threw one of those back. Still, two is a blessing.
One for me and one to share.
The next held spiders.
Then I noticed deep-sunken buoys out to sea. I paddled to them, and they were mine, from last year, shrouded in seaweed. I pulled them and there was a pot, still holding a lobster!
There was a breathless, offshore breeze today, but I must do a grand tour of this coast in case more have survived...
Too windy to hang about dangling a rod. I never really believe I'll catch anything like that anyway.
What a perverse coast. Paucity to plenitude.
My forearms are white with salt and my hands smell of fish.
Maybe the garden can get along with less attention for a bit.
I gaze down now on Aberbach, pausing from the garden or scything around the trees. I have tried a few desultory attempts to reconnect to fishing but seemed ever thwarted.
I started well, buying two surface nets, which this time were surface nets: I don't know what happened last time I ordered. I set them and caught mullet & bass first shot. The next three attempts were empty. As their white floats are so apparent, I am loathe to leave them out too long.
Also I bought twine and rope for new pots. The winter had been a clean sweep, so I was starting from scratch...
Made four. Lovely blue braided rope. They looked very pretty. Like tents from an Arthurian joust.
I set them, and immediately lost one pot. - I hadn't tied it properly. Then, when I went to check them, it was spiders, spiders, spiders, and two of the pockets were fouled up where they had got caught.
The garden was a more receptive arena for my attention.
Last week I noticed gannets diving. The sea looked more alive and hospitable, after weeks of tiring westerlies. It has been cold too.
Today I got my rod out and went down to the sea again.
The first pot had four lobsters in it. Three were size, but in my insane haste, I threw one of those back. Still, two is a blessing.
One for me and one to share.
The next held spiders.
Then I noticed deep-sunken buoys out to sea. I paddled to them, and they were mine, from last year, shrouded in seaweed. I pulled them and there was a pot, still holding a lobster!
There was a breathless, offshore breeze today, but I must do a grand tour of this coast in case more have survived...
Too windy to hang about dangling a rod. I never really believe I'll catch anything like that anyway.
What a perverse coast. Paucity to plenitude.
My forearms are white with salt and my hands smell of fish.
Maybe the garden can get along with less attention for a bit.
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