When persistence pays off

In April and May bass are thin on the ground and widespread, and no one should expect to catch on every session

How to keep catching when the bass are scarce.

Every year when it gets to April and May I get lots of emails from keen anglers saying that they’ve been trying bass spinning but haven’t had a sniff.

Of course, it’s not surprising that it’s a bit slow so early in the year, and I usually suggest that anyone new to this branch of the sport waits until June before giving it a serious try. It’s easy to become disillusioned with things when the fish are few and far between.

In a way I suppose that I’m partly responsible for the emails because I often publish quite a bit about bass catches on my website from early March onwards. This doesn’t mean that fishing as early as March is either easy or, indeed, a good idea; bass at this time of the season, at least in my neck of the woods, are thin on the ground and widespread, and no one should expect to catch on every session.

MAXIMISE CHANCES

The best bet is usually to stick to tried and trusted lures - Jointed Rapalas, Marias, Red Gills, Black Minnows and the like. It’s also wise to fish over spots that are known to produce reasonably consistently, and to fish at the best states of tide and conditions.

I often get up well before dawn to try and maximise chances - which makes it all the more galling when I don’t catch. Of course, you do have the pleasure of seeing lots of wildlife and hearing the best of the dawn chorus, but it’s not the same as catching bass.

For example, one year in March, having had an email from a pal saying that he’d had a fish and lost a bigger one, we went fishing on the following day when conditions looked even better. However, when we tried it, walking miles in the process, it was, to say the least, a bit slow. All we managed was a few halfhearted knocks and I landed one small bass, hooked at maximum range. That’s early bassing, I’m afraid; if you go, be prepared for disappointment, but the success, when it comes, is all the more satisfying.

This, of course, is the trouble with looking at other people’s fishing catch reports. They always seem to be catching something. In truth, it’s never really like that, and everyone has blanks at times.

Sometimes it seems like a curse; once, having had a fishless week or so, I consoled myself with the thought that it hadn’t been a complete waste of my time. As it happened, my pal and I had spent most of the time doing a bit of independent exploring with a view to finding some new spots.

Early in the week I went for an early-morning fishing session, but the place I chose was more or less dead. I ‘popped’ a large slider for a good half-hour without seeing even a fin of a bass. Then, having decided that it was going to be futile, I thought I’d have a walk to see whether I could find any likely places for the future. It was hard work hiking up and down the cliff path with my rod and my heavy bag, and although I had a good view of the sea, there was nowhere, as far as I could tell, that I could easily get down to have a closer look.

At one spot I saw a big flock of terns fishing for sandeels, and the place just shouted ‘bass’, but I was still hundreds of feet above the sea. What a downer.

When I got home I rang my pal and told him what I’d seen, so he said he’d go later in the week and look for a way down to the shore. In fact, he did better than that, he asked a friend who knew the area, and then he went down to explore the feasibility of the proposed route. He said that when he got to the cliff path it was raining.

The path, although passable, was covered in sticky, horrible clay but, undaunted, he slithered his way down to the sea. He was rod-less and the sea was pretty rough, but he confirmed what I’d thought about the fishing potential.

At the weekend we decided to give the new place a go. We descended to the shore fairly quickly, but then found that it was a slow process picking our way over the rocks to suitable stances. There was a strong crosswind and the sea was still very rough. The occasional hungry-looking tern flapped along, but none of them were fishing.

A lot of weed was washing about in the surf, so we made our way along to the most sheltered area we could find. We split up to fish two different places and, using almost identical shallow-diving plugs, we began to cast. It was not too difficult, although on almost every chuck the lure came back adorned with strips of kelp.

We flogged away for perhaps half-an-hour then, suddenly, I felt a hard double yank on the line as a bass grabbed the plug. I was only in contact for a couple of seconds as the fish boiled on the surface and then came unstuck and made good its escape. I was gutted. Neither of us had another sniff, despite fishing on for some while longer.

MAGGOTS MEAN FISH

However, about 10 minutes after my ‘missed bite’, I suddenly heard a loud splosh above the roar of the wind and waves. Looking down I saw, right in the edge, a huge fin flapping out of the sea. For a moment my heart seemed to stop, but I realised that it couldn’t possibly be the biggest bass in the world and, sure enough, just as I was thinking this, up popped the head of a large seal. It must have been grovelling among the rocks for a fish and waving its flippers in the air. The seal bobbed about and watched me for a few seconds, as they do, but as I turned to grab the camera it dived and disappeared.

One week later I went back with two more pals to give it another try as it was coming up to the top of the spring tides. After the last lot of springs the heavy seas had covered most of the beaches feet-thick in weed. This usually means maggots, and ‘maggots mean fish’. Sure enough, the sea was already lapping the seaweed middens and the water was thickly laced with maggots. Perfect! I caught nothing, but one of the other lads had a reasonable bass and the other had a big mullet on the fly.

The following morning I was fishing at the crack of dawn. Almost at once there was a yank on the line and I found myself playing a bass. Good start! Over the next half-hour this was repeated 10 times – excellent stuff.

None of the bass were large (best about 3lb), but they all fought well. As the light improved the fish stopped biting. I got the message and packed in but, clearly, it pays to persist in the early part of the year.