Best fish or fishing trip

[islandgun]

Sitting on a rock today freelining a live coalfish in some deep water for big pollack got me remembering what fishing has done for me over my life, from catching stingray up a creek in the Blackwater estuary Essex, Bass from a storm beach on the Lleyn peninsula n Wales, some toothy mackerel from a pier in western Australia, or small Crucian from a muddy pond as a boy, Does anyone have a special memory of a great fish or fishing trip in their life ?

[felly100]

When I was about ten years old,we were on a family holiday on the Broads.

I got up early to fish off the back of the boat,the float went under and after a minute or two a great slab of a bream surfaced.

I shouted my Dad,no answer,put the rod down,ran to his bunk,smashed my head open on the low door beam, woke my Dad,landed the fish,and started a love of fishing that if anything gets stronger.

The fish weighed just under 3lb so not that big really.

[cobber]

The first time my son caught on the fly on his own steam.He caught the first fish of the day and then decided to go round and inform all the other fluff chuckers on the lake where they were going wrong!!!

[islandgun]

The first time my son caught on the fly on his own steam.He caught the first fish of the day and then decided to go round and inform all the other fluff chuckers on the lake where they were going wrong!!!

A proud moment for both, now his hooked for life, it will be interesting to see were this passion will take him !

[birdsallpl]

My most memorable days fishing was just off the coast of Albania. I had got myself invited onto a small family run boat. It was just me, the two brothers that run the boat, the manager of the only hotel and a local policeman. The day was absolutely amazing. It was dead lining for miles and miles. We were ( they were) after the sword fish that had hooked themselves and we brought up some massive fish, it took two of the guys to drag some of them on board. Most of the sword fish had died of exhaustion before we brought them on board. Sharks were a different thing all together. As soon as the boat got near you could see them in the depths going crackers. One of the brothers would just cut the leader and let them go. We also caught a massive turtle, the guys weren't to happy with this and tried desperately to release it as it was tagged and apparently they would have got into trouble. They managed eventually to release it unharmed and that was beautiful to see swim off back in the depths. It is one of the most memorable days of my life let alone fishing. I have cut this short but could go on about it for pages.

[Penelope]

Holy Trinity.

Paul Stapley.

As this book is to be dedicated to Simon King, I thought that I would start off this tale with a species and venue that was very close to his heart, the chub and the river Lea.

 

The following events are all set in 2005, the year I achieved, what to me is the holy trinity of river species captures.

 

At the time I was working in Grays, Essex and as I drove to work I was able to have the kit in the car allowing me to do short evening sessions on the river after work.

 

One evening in mid-February, the 10^th I believe, I left work just after 5pm to join the madness that is the M25 for the 15 mile journey to the river. Fortunately the trip was uneventful and I arrived in the middle car park before 6 o’clock. I was still suited and booted, so changed into my old fishing clobber and set off to introduce same bait sample into 3 three swims with the intention of fishing them in rotation. The bait in question was a milk protein base, with 2 tubs of Richworth blue cheese and garlic Xract powder, 1ml of Scopex and 6 drops each of black pepper essential oil and N-Butyric acid. It was originally developed as a long term barbel bait, but chub everywhere seemed to love it, and they were the target tonight as this stretch of the river was known to hold some very big fish.

 

I chose 3 swims in the middle section of the river along a wooded length, all with over hanging willows. 6 pieces of bait, which had been boiled in 14mm sausages for 30 seconds just to skin it, as this was in the days before the massive crayfish explosion made using such soft baits nye on impossible, were dropped underneath the marginal willows and left to work their chubby magic whilst the tackle was readied.

On this night I was using a pound and a quarter 12 foot Shimano avon style rod with a beautiful mellow action and a recently acquired ‘rolling’ pin loaded with 8lb line; a bit heavier than I would usually use for chub, but given the snaggy natural of the swims and the distinct possibility of a rogue barbel turning up it was appropriate. The rig was very simple, 15 inches of 8lb Dacron, with a size 6 Super Specialist at one end and a swivel at the other, and a three swan shot running link for casting weight with a buffer bead.

No hair rig, as I am of the opinion that they are detrimental to connecting with chub bites as they have a tendency to pick baits up in the extremity of their lips, dropping it if they feel the resistance of the rod top, so I like to have my hook in the bait with the point and part of the bend exposed.

 

I quietly settled into the first swim and swung the hook bait out to land just underneath the trailing branches of the downstream willow, laid the rod in the rests and crooked the line over my finger and sat awaiting the tug that I hoped would ensue. After 20 minutes nothing had happened so I moved 20 yards down to the next swim and once again swung the bait the rig out under the willow.

This time, within minutes there was a sharp pull and a rattle on the rod top, but nothing else developed, so the bait was reeled in, replaced and placed back into the same spot. No sooner had the bait settled than there was a more determined pull, one that warranted striking and one that was met by the thump of a good fish, almost immediately the fish made an attempt to seek sanctuary in the lumber yard that was the snags, but pressure from the rod and the 8lb line told, and the fish was steered away from the hook robbing sunken timber, it made repeated attempts to get in amongst the snags but each time the tackle told and the struggles became less until it swung out across the flow and in front of me.

It was now swirling on the surface, ripples and splashes moving out from the fish’s location within the tight confines of the swim, and from the size of those swirls and splashes it looked a good fish, although it was too dark to see it. Up and gulping air the fish was ready for netting, the head torch was switched on to reveal a chub of huge proportions. The net was pushed out into the flow and this beast of a chub pulled over the rim.

It grew as it was laid onto the unhooking mat, easily my biggest chub at the time. The hook, nicely imbedded an inch back in the mouth was popped out and the fish enfolded in the cloying folds of the weigh sling, to be hung on the hook of destiny below the scales. The reading on the scales? Well, the needle bounced around the seven pound marker, finally settling one ounce over at 7lb 1oz, a new personal best.

 

I now needed to record this fish for posterity and get some photos, so rang my good friend Mark who said he would drive over to take the photos. In the meantime this mighty chub was placed into a retention tube and settled down, whilst the tackle was packed away, allowing me sit and wait, bathing in the glow of the capture of such a great fish.

 

Mark arrived about 20 minutes after the call, the camera gear arranged and the fish removed from its temporary prison to be admired by us both. One thing that struck me was Mark’s comment,

“No wonder they can be difficult to catch, look at the size of its eyes, they must see even the thinnest lines and smallest hooks”. It did have huge eyes.

 

 

We now move on a few months to autumn on the same river. After a pleasant spring and summer which saw some good fish, in particular an 11lb tench from a local gravel pit, it was now time for barbel fishing.

 

I had found a few barbel inhabiting a particular double ‘S’ bend area, with one fish being a lot bigger than most. I had fished the swim from late August taking a number of fish including a few doubles to 12 and a half pounds, but not the biggy yet.

I arrived before dusk with a view to fishing until 8:30pm which was the time anglers had to be off of the river, so no moving about this evening.

The weather was perfect autumnal barbel angling conditions, warm and mild with intermittent showers, with the river slight up on the week before but not holding much colour.

Having fished the swim many times since late summer, I knew the spot in which to lay the bait, a mid river depression.

 

During my time tackling this area I had developed a technique that seemed to be working well which was to throw six 14mm halibut pellets a few yards upstream of the hole and drop the hook bait in behind them.

During some of my earlier sessions in this swim I feel that I had applied too much bait, and it wasn’t until this was cut right back that the results came.

This was all done with minimal fuss and I settled down to wait for the bite or should I say wrench from the barbel I was confident of getting.

 

Tackle for this and the preceding trips was a 12 foot pound and a half rod with a through action and the faithful ‘rolling’ pin, this time loaded with 12lb fluorocarbon, two feet of thin 12lb micro braid tied to a strong size 8 carp hook and a swivel as a stop, above this was a buffer bead and one of the breakaway run rings, with a flying back lead stopped by two rubber stop either side six feet up the main line to pin it all down. Bait was a 14mm pellet on a short’ish hair. All fairly straight forward stuff for the time really.

 

Darkness drew in and the wind and rain increased, packs of wigeon flew overhead as they travelled up the valley looking for grass fields with flood water gravy on them, the sharp wheezy whistles of the cock birds coming and going on the wind, a reminder of the wildfowling to come that winter. Conditions were looking better by the minute, the only downside being the amount of blanket weed coming down river and wiping out the tackle, some of the clumps were nearly 6ft long, which required the whole lot winding in and stripping off. Blanket weed has become something of a regular problem on this stretch of river in recent years, caused by the low summer levels, quick run off, high abstraction and increased enrichment.

 

Sometime just after 7.30pm the rod flew round, a hard fighting fish of about 7lb the culprit. The hook was slipped out and the fish held in the current to recover although this was not for long. With only an hour’s fishing left I decided to replace the 14mm pellet with a 22mm one, the thought being ‘big bait, big fish’. Once again, the tackle was swung into mid river, and once again it was wiped out by a mass of blanket weed, the pile beside me getting quite big now. I was annoyed at the disturbance to the swim that the constant reeling in and casting out was having, but persevered. I’m glad that I did, because at around 8.15pm whilst sat with the line over my finger and my eyes closed there came the most savage bite from a barbel that I have ever experienced, this was not the often spoken of ‘three foot twitch’, this was the five footer, and it kept going.

Up on my feet, I had to find all the side strain I could muster to keep this torpedo from the downstream willow jungle, the centre pin gave the odd short scream as line was ripped from it, the ball of my thumb started to cramp due the pressure applied to the rim of the reel, neither of us giving in.

For what seemed an age, but was most likely nothing like that, there was a stalemate, the fish thumping on one end, and I, grimacing on the other with a thin bit of nylon and a floppy bit of carbon joining us together.

Eventually the fish tired of this, turned and came plodding up past me, hugging the far bank and then swung into mid river where the stalemate resumed, me taking a foot of line, and her taking it back again, over and over. It was then that near disaster struck; I felt rather than saw a huge mat of blanket weed strike the line and wrap it’s self around the back lead, throwing the advantage back to the fish, and boy did she take it, slamming the rod over and hurtling back down towards the nearside willow, which stretched half way over the river, full of timber beneath.

 

The first half of the battle was repeated again, only this time I had a huge lump of green triffid hanging six feet up the line, sodden with water and more than doubling the weight on the line, but with no control of the fish, which pivoted about on the weed ball.

With the line going down to the 5 feet tress of blanket weed and the fish careering around, I knew that I had to do something and tried to lift the weed from the surface; half way up and the fish bolted, dragging the weed back down to be picked up again in the flow.

 

After a couple of more failed attempts I took decisive action, and thanks to the centre pin’s cranking abilities, wound the tip of the rod down to the weed and heaved; up it came, all the way, water pouring from it, lightening the load and allowing me to regain contact with the fish, now on the surface a rod length and a half away. It was now or never, a few more turns of the reel and hauls on the rod, the net pushed out, one last pull, the weed fell off and an immense barbel was safely netted.

 

She was big, almost certainly the large fish seen in the area since the summer. I unhooked and staked her out in the net whilst I got the scales and sling together. She went 15lb 2oz’s, a very big fish for the river, solidly built in tip top condition, the only blemish was a well healed diagonal scare about 2 inches long behind the dorsal on the right flank.

 

Once again I had the dilemma of being alone and no one around to take pictures. I phoned a few friends, some not answering, others not local, even a tongue lashing off of the wife of one for calling, as they were just off out for the evening. Eventually I got hold of Mark, another one, who was on his sixth pint in a local pub, but he said he would do the honours if I picked him up. The fish was in the net and staked out in the flow, whilst I made the record journey to town and back complete with wobbly photographer.

Unfortunately, a fault with the camera marred the photos somewhat, but the memory is still crystal clear.

So on to winter! The session during which I caught the big barbel was the last trip out that I had, due to insufficient time to get to the river and only being able to fish up to an hour and a half after sunset and having to plan, organise and supervise a complex series of office moves for my employer that ran from late October right up until Christmas and into the New Year.

Fortunately I had booked Christmas week off and planned to get some angling in. Having spent Christmas and Boxing Day with my family, Tuesday 27^th was the day of a long awaited trip to the Hampshire Avon. Three of us piled ourselves and our tackle into a friend’s van in the early hours for the 3 hour drive to Salisbury.

The day was cold, with a bit of freezing fog on the way down and a hard hoar frost that dusted the countryside like soft snow.

 

Arriving in the car park just as the sun rose, I felt that I had made a mistake in only taking bread flake and a stale loaf for mashing as bait and feed, as the day looked as though it was going to be bright, freezing cold and still. Not a day for big roach, my intended target, or so I thought. Luckily, the others had brought maggots, so I was able to cadge a pint from them.

We all set up our tackle beside the van, me, with a float rod, stick float and pin, Mark with his pike tackle as usual and Wayne in similar mode to me. I let most of my kit in the van and set off to explore the main river with the bare essentials, looking to move between swims trotting maggots for whatever came along, which is what I thought would be the best that I could expect on what looked like a poor day for angling.

 

I spent the morning and early afternoon pottering about, running the float through likely looking spots and catching a nice mixed bag of grayling, dace, small chub and little roach. Fun, but not what I had hoped for, but good enough given the bitterly cold conditions, plus I was able to provide Mark with a few live baits for his pike quest.

 

It was around two o’clock that I noticed a bank of heavy dark cloud out to the west and the temperature creep up a degree or two, so set off to track Wayne down and get the van keys to get some food and change the tackle over for the bottom gear. It was looking far more roachy now.

I had in mind an area on the main carrier that had some scrubby willows on the far bank and set off down there to take a look and decide on the actual swim to fish. There was one far bank spot that screamed out, a bay formed by the willows with a clearly defined crease across the front of it. It reminded me of a swim on the Kennet that I had caught some nice roach from in the past, so that where I dumped the kit.

 

The first thing to do was get the loaf in soak for mashing, so that was put into the weigh sling and dunked into the margins to soak, whilst I set the tackle up. This was the first outing for a new feeder rod that I had acquired, a 12 foot 10 inch beauty with a nice selection of glass and carbon tips. The rig I used was quite interesting, a float stop designed for pike fishing with braided line had both the three and half pound mainline and a nine inch length pulled through it. The short length had a couple of overhand knots tied in the down line end to stop it pulling through and a light cage feeder was tied on the other, forming an adjustable fixed paternoster rig. A foot of two and a half pound hook length with a size 12 Kamasan B520 was fixed loop to loop to the main line and the set up adjusted to three feet between the float stop and hook.

 

The rest of the tackle was laid out within easy reach and the rod rest set. I had a couple of casts with the empty feeder just over the crease line at the lower end of the small willow bay just to make sure the tackle held in the flow, which it did. I had positioned myself about twenty yards upstream from the head of the crease as I feel that bites from roach are easier to hit when quiver tipping if you are not right on top of them.

The weigh sling was removed from the margins and twisted tight to expel the surplus water from the loaf, which was then mashed by hand, a cold job as the water was chilly. I threw three walnut sized balls of mash into the head of the crease and then rolled and smoked a cigarette to give the swim time to settle down.

 

A pinch of flake just big enough to cover the hook and the feeder filled and a gentle lop to the downstream end of the crease was made. The feeder felt down, and few turns of line allowed to spill off of the spool to form a cushioning bow and the rod placed in the rests. The quiver tip took up an arc as the flow formed the bow, and no sooner had it settled than the tip bounced twice and pulled round slowly. A firm but controlled strike lead to a bump on the end, ‘Ah, it must be a chub to have taken so quickly’ I thought to myself. The fish bumped a few more times and then came to the surface in a shower of blued steel, silver and crimson. A roach! And what a roach!

With a tail slap, she banged her way back down again, and I having gone from blasé chub hauling, now to heart in mouth roach tickling.

This was some fish, one I surely did not want to lose. I knew that she was big, but not how big. The rest of the fight was uneventful as far as the fish was concerned, she just bump, bumped away, where as I was a shaking wreck. I wanted this one in the net so bad. It was soon over, she came up, spat some water and slid over the rim of the net, at which point I let out a loud ‘How’s that for a roach’ to everyone and no one.

 

There was another angler fishing on the main river which at this point is quite close to the carrier, and upon hearing me, came over to see what the fuss was about.

 

There on the mat, swathed in the mesh of the net lay a monstrous roach, by far my biggest, the question, not if it was a three pounder, but how much over? After popping the hook out the other angler took over, wet the sling, zeroed the scales and said the magic words,

‘Three pounds, six ounces’. I was numb, hearing the words, but not really taking it in. A three pound roach, a three pound river roach, a three pound Hampshire Avon roach, the spiritual home of big roach, the equal to any Redmire 40 or Savay 50.

 

I’ll give you that she was not the prettiest roach, but certainly an old stager, a warrior if any roach can be. She had lost the top lobe of her tail fin and carried a heavy burden of black spot, but she was my three pound roach. Quite simply the best fish that I have ever caught or am ever likely to.

 

She was placed in the landing net and held in the margins, whilst I called Mark, who I could see a few hundred yards down river. He was quickly by my side and marvelled at such as fish as the camera flashed to record this once in a lifetime capture.

Edited November 11, 2014 by Penelope

[johnphilip]

The first time my son caught on the fly on his own steam.He caught the first fish of the day and then decided to go round and inform all the other fluff chuckers on the lake where they were going wrong!!!

 

that looks like thronton stewart yes, near bedale,i used to fish it in the 80s when i lived in darlington , many happy days and evenings spent there . when we first started fishing it was about £2 0r £3 a day and had some lovely brown trout in there . the farm just over the dam wall belonged to colonel lemesurier the brother of john the actor out of dads army.

[islandgun]

My most memorable days fishing was just off the coast of Albania. I had got myself invited onto a small family run boat. It was just me, the two brothers that run the boat, the manager of the only hotel and a local policeman. The day was absolutely amazing. It was dead lining for miles and miles. We were ( they were) after the sword fish that had hooked themselves and we brought up some massive fish, it took two of the guys to drag some of them on board. Most of the sword fish had died of exhaustion before we brought them on board. Sharks were a different thing all together. As soon as the boat got near you could see them in the depths going crackers. One of the brothers would just cut the leader and let them go. We also caught a massive turtle, the guys weren't to happy with this and tried desperately to release it as it was tagged and apparently they would have got into trouble. They managed eventually to release it unharmed and that was beautiful to see swim off back in the depths. It is one of the most memorable days of my life let alone fishing. I have cut this short but could go on about it for pages.

 

when was this birdsallpl never imagined albania and swordfish turtles and shark would figure in the same sentence, doesnt/didnt anyone fish with a rod line ?

 

 

 

Great write up Paul you have a real talent and what an achievement, I caught a 3lb roach in the Chelmer as a lad, never caught a Barbel but always liked the look of them (giant Gudgeon)

[cobber]

 

that looks like thronton stewart yes, near bedale,i used to fish it in the 80s when i lived in darlington , many happy days and evenings spent there . when we first started fishing it was about £2 0r £3 a day and had some lovely brown trout in there . the farm just over the dam wall belonged to colonel lemesurier the brother of john the actor out of dads army.

[cobber]

Top marks for the id Johnphillip. Yes its Thornton steward. Its a little more expensive at £20 these days but a cracking place. It's mainly rainbows but I had a cracking chubb out on a fly a few years ago. Its fishes best on naturals and drys normally. On the day the boy was adamant that the biggest ugliest red fritz would work. I laughed and gave the sage advice that a black spider would be better.. 4 fish later in half an hour he proved me wrong!!!

[birdsallpl]

Hi Islandgun it was in about 1988, the boat was run by two brothers who did the fishing for the the village restaurants, so it was a kind of commercial boat. I got talking to one of the brothers who also owned a restaurant about hunting, shooting etc and we seamed to click and he invited me. There were no rod and lines just mile after mile of dead line. The fishing was just north of the straits of Corfu, in the Adriatic I assume.

[islandgun]

Hi Islandgun it was in about 1988, the boat was run by two brothers who did the fishing for the the village restaurants, so it was a kind of commercial boat. I got talking to one of the brothers who also owned a restaurant about hunting, shooting etc and we seamed to click and he invited me. There were no rod and lines just mile after mile of dead line. The fishing was just north of the straits of Corfu, in the Adriatic I assume.

wow ! sport fishing for swordfish is big money and a great way to fill your hotels

[birdsallpl]

wow ! sport fishing for swordfish is big money and a great way to fill your hotels

I wouldn't exactly call it sports fishing because it was dead lining, but as a fantastic experience yes. I have done sport fishing in the caribean for Marlin and the experience was nothing like going out with those guys for the day. Probably because I didn't catch anything to talk about.

[fenboy]

My most memorable trip was on Yarmouth north beach with my father on new years eve 1985.

The weather was blowing a good one and it was as much as we could do to get the 8oz leads more than 40 yards out .

 

Other than us the beach was deserted and we had the cod session of our lives , 12 good cod the smallest around 7lb and 5 in double figures , a feat it is unlikely I will ever repeat, its such a shame the outer harbour they built all but killed the cod fishing on what was my favourite beach.

[islandgun]

I wouldn't exactly call it sports fishing because it was dead lining, but as a fantastic experience yes. I have done sport fishing in the caribean for Marlin and the experience was nothing like going out with those guys for the day. Probably because I didn't catch anything to talk about.

thats what i mean instead of linning change to sport

 

My most memorable trip was on Yarmouth north beach with my father on new years eve 1985.

The weather was blowing a good one and it was as much as we could do to get the 8oz leads more than 40 yards out .

 

Other than us the beach was deserted and we had the cod session of our lives , 12 good cod the smallest around 7lb and 5 in double figures , a feat it is unlikely I will ever repeat, its such a shame the outer harbour they built all but killed the cod fishing on what was my favourite beach.

Thats brilliant Cod fishing Ive caught a couple of doubles off the beach in Suffolk over many years, and again in a strong Northely close in Im envious

[Tim Kelly]

The only fish that has ever really made me shake was a 5lb 4oz smallmouth bass I caught a couple of summers ago in Canada. I was dropshotting in about 50ft when it hit and on just 6lb line it was a nerve wracking fight getting it to the boat. Had to give myself a bit of a talking to afterwards just to calm down!

 

 

Another fish that had a profound effect on me was a 5.04 perch (my favorite size it seems!) that I caught a few years ago. It was the only bite of the day and was the culmination of a few weeks fishing where I'd had a few big fours, but to get the five was a real milestone.

 

Edited November 11, 2014 by Tim Kelly

[islandgun]

nice one Tim dont know much about the (freshwater) Bass but thats one fat Perch

[Aled]

Nice write ups guys.

My son and daughter both caught firsts this year, my son his first sewin (sea trout) (picture on Llandeilo Angling web site), and my daughter her first brownie, i was well chuffed for both.

However my "best" fish was a sewin of 6.75lb which i caught back in 2003 it was not the biggest i'd caught, but was one of the most satisfying. A dear friend (sadly no longer with us) of mine had asked for a Welsh Sewin to eat with new family members the day after her daughters wedding.

After fishing hard all night, i had lost 2 good fish, and caught one red fish of about 7lb which was not fit for the table so was returned. As i was going through the pool for what i thought was the last time, and i was starting to think i was going to have to use the worm at dawn, when a fish jumped above me in a spot i knew to hold "takers". It was getting brighter by the minute and i knew i had 20mins max to reduce the size of my fly, put on a lighter leader on, and wade into into to position. When i put the small silver tube "under the tree next to the concrete slab", and everything went solid it was pure delight. The fish was netted in daylight and was shinning silver. The wedding do that evening was pretty good to.

Tight Lines

Aled

[kent]

You know, there are many I have in mind. My first born getting her first trout, the three little Perch that I thought were massive (must have gone at least 1-2 oz) as the first fish I caught with hook and line as a kid. First Big salmon, first really big one on the fly ( dawn on the morning of a house move), Bass in the salt. The Pike adventures I used to have, the trips to foreign places catching new fish and bigger fish etc.etc.

Out of all of these I figured it wasn't the fish by size or by species, it was by the memory of the event itself which is something I cannot explain or understand fully and certainly not explain fully in written format. Something that will never occur again under the exact same circumstances if you tried for the rest of your life. It is in short something personal though we can flower it up an write down the numbers

[islandgun]

You know, there are many I have in mind. My first born getting her first trout, the three little Perch that I thought were massive (must have gone at least 1-2 oz) as the first fish I caught with hook and line as a kid. First Big salmon, first really big one on the fly ( dawn on the morning of a house move), Bass in the salt. The Pike adventures I used to have, the trips to foreign places catching new fish and bigger fish etc.etc.

Out of all of these I figured it wasn't the fish by size or by species, it was by the memory of the event itself which is something I cannot explain or understand fully and certainly not explain fully in written format. Something that will never occur again under the exact same circumstances if you tried for the rest of your life. It is in short something personal though we can flower it up an write down the numbers

I know what you mean Kent, its being there, soaked to the skin and not noticing, finally getting it right, the same things can be applied to every fishing situation, from canals to rough days on the high seas, the memory stays with you all your life, specimen or tiddler, The amount of satisfaction of getting it right is also often connected to the amount of effort you have to put in, much like life really

[Aled]

Kent, i get it big time.

Tight Lines

Aled

[maxie]

The first fish I ever caught was a 14lb cod, beach fishing on the N.Kent coast.I had a Woolworths rod and reel and it was in a northerly gale.I doubt if the bait was 25yards out because it was my first ever trip out and I didn`t really know what I was doing.I brought the fish home and no one believed I caught it off the beach,my dad said I bought it off a fishing boat,but I knew the truth.That was 40 years ago and I remember it like yesterday.I will take that memory to the grave with me.

[islandgun]

Well I believe you, thats a fish of a life time for most of us, also remember the woolworths gear it went up-market when John holden designed /put his name to it

[KFC]

Two fishing experiences stick in my mind.

I was on detachment with the RAF to Midway Island in the Pacific, off Hawaii. Two of us gave a bottle of whisky each to a CeeBee who owned a boat and he took us outside the reef to fish for Wuahoo. We didn't catch any Wuahoo but we did get plenty of Yellowfin Tuna. The skipper showed us that we could cut a chunk off a Tuna and eat it raw.

It was amazing to see flying fish running ahead of the boat all the time and we watched a tiny but intense storm rushing across the sea about a mile from us. It showed that it's possible for small craft to get hit by one of these and disappear without trace.

 

Having moved to a different Squadron, we went on detachment to Orland in Norway twice a year. In the winter it barely got light but in summer it never got dark. We would set a fire in the rocks on the edge of the Trondheim Fjord, bait up with fresh caught crab, then catch big Cod to put straight on the fire for a BBQ.

 

Mmmm, makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

[birdsallpl]

Two fishing experiences stick in my mind.

I was on detachment with the RAF to Midway Island in the Pacific, off Hawaii. Two of us gave a bottle of whisky each to a CeeBee who owned a boat and he took us outside the reef to fish for Wuahoo. We didn't catch any Wuahoo but we did get plenty of Yellowfin Tuna. The skipper showed us that we could cut a chunk off a Tuna and eat it raw.

It was amazing to see flying fish running ahead of the boat all the time and we watched a tiny but intense storm rushing across the sea about a mile from us. It showed that it's possible for small craft to get hit by one of these and disappear without trace.

 

Having moved to a different Squadron, we went on detachment to Orland in Norway twice a year. In the winter it barely got light but in summer it never got dark. We would set a fire in the rocks on the edge of the Trondheim Fjord, bait up with fresh caught crab, then catch big Cod to put straight on the fire for a BBQ.

 

Mmmm, makes my mouth water just thinking about it.

Some fantastic experiences there. I wasn't in the military forces but guess the opportunities as you described are life long memories and a perk of all the bad stuff you guys have to do.