THE LURE OF THE CORNISH COAST
Dom Garnett discovers an epic holiday retreat at Mullion Cove in the South West, where his wife Paulina gives him a fishing lesson...
WHILE much of Britain is blessed with great seaside locations, there is something altogether more epic when you reach the extremities of the South West.
Forget the placid bucket and spade beaches; things get rocky and rugged here.
There are more craggy, secretive rock marks than you could try in an entire summer, but nowhere is quite like Mullion Cove. On a calm day you can see for miles, but on a stormy evening it is pure drama.
Perched on the craggy heights, Mullion Cove Hotel is an irresistible place to stay for a short adventure. And even if the elements prove a little too rowdy for fishing on our first night, seafood and cocktails at the hotel bar are guaranteed to keep the wife happy.
Next day, conditions are more favourable as we pick our way down a Jurassic looking path to find Mullion’s little harbour.
It’s impossibly cute, with a grand total of one traditional working fishing boat.
There are also two arms to the place, from which you can easily fish with light tackle. Bass are so often the draw from the Cornish coast but, for me, the most entertaining way to fish is to use small lures and scented artificials to tempt smaller species from the walls.
You only need an hour or two to get bites, and you never quite know what to expect.
There’s a curious contrast then, to be scratching for smaller fish in this daintiest of harbours, when surrounded by massive cliffs and rolling waves. Even inside the harbour, there is quite a swell as I drop a scented section of Isome worm, weighted with a couple of split shot, just under the wall.
It is Paulina, my wife, who strikes first. And second, and
third, picking out crazy little rockfish and blennies.
These look cute, but are brimming with bad temper. A couple of them try to bite me as I unhook them.
The feathers are now out as a shore angler heads straight for the end of the wall. Meanwhile, the wife continues to show me up. By the time I catch a blenny she adds a corkwing wrasse and it’s 4-1. I love my wife, but this simply won’t do.
Time is running out as a slightly larger lure is taken in a rocky corner. The bite is giddily decisive, as for a few thumping seconds I wonder what I’ve hooked. The wrasse is nothing like as big as its attitude in the end, but you couldn’t find a more perfect fish for this rocky cove.
The sun begins to set over the coast. The bass never show as I try casting a plug, but it’s too beautiful here to even think about going home in a hurry.