HEAVYWEIGHT CHALLENGE
A shore session in the Highlands of Scotland proves to be a contest charged with high emotion…
Highland fishing charged with emotion.
After a solid six hours of driving, the dense pine forests and large lochs that had kept my dad and me company along the way eventually dissolved into vast, rugged terrain with impressive towering mountains. The transition of scenery was staggering as it quickly evolved from pleasantly smooth and easy on the eye to breathtaking, almost aggressive-like structures towering above us.
As I weaved us through the wild landscape, I glanced into the seriously hard countryside, in particular a valley that coursed a route between vertical rock faces. I imagine that this place probably hadn’t changed much since it was formed millions of years ago. Quite simply, the Highlands of Scotland is one of the most majestic and awesome places you’ll ever see in the UK.
I was heading for Lochaline, located on the Sound of Mull at the western fringes between Oban and Fort William. The water here is extremely deep and, generally, it’s the local charter skippers that claim to have the best fishing. This leaves the relatively few shore anglers who venture here to pick off the occasional decent fish from any of the abundant rocky platforms.
However, over the past decade or so, many more shore anglers have decided to target a species that has provided most of the charters up here with their business… the huge common skate.
Let’ s face it, shore tackle has vastly improved over the years, and with modern-day rods and reels now easily capable of dealing with a common skate possibly in excess of 100lb, the success rate of landing such a creature is on the increase.
SKATE QUEST
I had arranged to join up with Ryan and Harley Thompson, who live in Jarrow, Tyne and Wear. Last year, we chatted long into the night about doing this trip, during a week-long shore trip with Guided Fishing Norway in Bodo.
The deep fjords around Saltstraumen had got Ryan thinking, and by using virtually the same tactics in the Scottish Highlands, he reckoned we stood more than a good chance of catching a common skate from the shore. I agreed and was definitely up for it.
Eventually, and after what seemed like an eternity, the long drive concluded when we ran out of road at Lochaline pier.
I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and have my first look at the venue, but before I could even remove the seatbelt, the passenger door slammed shut as I saw my dad hot-footing it down to the pier.
Quickly following him, I saw young Harley swinging a fish in on his light tackle. The seven-year-old soon unhooked a small cuckoo wrasse, looked at me with a big grin and immediately returned it.
“Hi Paul, I’ve caught loads of fish for my species hunt,” he told me with more than a hint of excitement in his voice. This lad
simply oozes a genuine enthusiasm for fishing.
Harley’s dad Ryan wandered over and I could see he was glad to see us. Then came the news that really set my pulse racing: “I’ve had a couple of serious runs that failed to connect,” he revealed.
This was fantastic, and the fact that there could actually be some common skate feeding in front of us was just what I needed to know.
Before I could say “Fancy a cuppa dad, after that eight-hour drive?” I was way too late with my timing. He was already at the car, unloading his kit and obviously itching to get a line in the water. To be honest, I didn’t blame him because a new venue always increases the excitement levels.
SLIDER MECHANISM
We had brought a coolbox full of frozen mackerel to use as bait, but before I could even attach a reel to my rod, the water below us burst into life. A large shoal of mackerel began smashing into baitfish just as Harley dropped a string of sabikis smack bang into the middle of them.
Within seconds, he’d hooked a full house, and fresh bait was now readily available to us. A couple of casts later and we had a dozen fresh mackerel to use for bait. Job done!
The plan was to use two rods each and fish a smallish chunk of mackerel on one rod, that would hopefully attract spurdogs and rays. The second rod would be used in conjunction with a slider mechanism. This set-up meant that a huge bait – and when I say huge, I mean huge – like two or three whole mackerel, would be positioned and fished effectively, hopefully attracting a giant common skate.
The water is incredibly deep in front of Lochaline pier and a moderate cast of around 60-70 yards will put you easily in a depth of 300 feet. Cast further and it just becomes deeper – up to 400 feet.
As you can imagine, in such depths, once the rig has settled on the bottom, the mainline inevitably ends up heading straight down under the rod tip. Our knowledge and experience gained from fishing those deepwater fjords in Norway definitely comes in handy here.
“Harley, quick, you’re getting a bite,” shouted Ryan. The youngster hurried to his rod just in time to see the tip bending in the tripod.
He held it while focusing on the rod tip and, suddenly, with a few turns on the reel handle, he lifted into a decent weight. It looked heavy as he slowly pumped the rod, gaining a little line on his fixed-spool reel each time. It was a long way down and whatever he’d hooked wasn’t putting up too much of a fight.
Ryan looked at me and with a smile he silently mouthed: “I think it’s a doggie.” Nevertheless, in this depth of water even a humble dogfish can certainly burn your arms. Eventually, a dogfish broke the surface and I have to say, we all gave Harley a big pat on the back for reeling it in on his own. I know some grown men who’d have certainly struggled.
Over the next three hours that followed, we only caught dogfish so decided to call it a day
and head to our digs at the Lochaline Hotel – located just 50 yards away.
NEW SPECIES
The following day, we had breakfast early before heading back to the pier. The weather was dull, a little blustery but extremely warm.
A couple of other anglers who had turned up to target mackerel soon had their fun and left, leaving the venue free for us to exploit.
Harley got down to his mini-species hunting as Ryan, my dad and I prepared our rods and carried on where we left off.
Very quickly my rod showed signs of life before signalling a really good bite. Another good lunge followed by slack line and I was in, and this was certainly not a dogfish.
A few moments later and my first-ever spurdog appeared on the surface. Not a big fish, possibly 4lb, but I was happy to add a new species to my list.
The bites were coming quickly now as the spurdogs started feeding midway through the flood tide. Then, my rod containing the slider and armed with two whole mackerel flappers, started to bend. I was excited as I watched the bite develop. Sadly, it wasn’t the run I was hoping for but a hungry strap conger had taken the bait instead.
Ryan then chipped in with a lovely spurdog that was possibly over 7lb, Harley winkled out a codling to add to his growing tally of
species. My dad added another spurdog and I bagged a couple of bonus thornback rays too. I was beginning to think that our chance of catching a common skate was fading.
Things suddenly went quiet as the tide showed signs of slowing. It was around an hour before dusk when Ryan bolted quickly for his rod.
“Here we go,” he shouted. As I watched, he was hanging on to his powerful Century beach rod, leaning back while braid quickly spilled from his large fixed-spool reel.
“This is a powerful fish…it must be a common skate,” he revealed. At last, the action we hoped for happened. Ryan leaned back further in an attempt to slow the fish – and it worked too.
Slowly Ryan collected mainline back on to the reel, and after only a short time his rod buckled over once again as the huge fish made another blistering run. A big smile fell across his face as he was obviously enjoying the whole experience.
Suddenly, just as excitement can pump the adrenaline and fill you with joy, it all came to an abrupt and horrible conclusion. Ryan was worried that the fish was going to spool him. As it ran 400ft below him, and taking more line as it powered off at pace, the fish was suddenly gone.
I can’t print what Ryan said as his head dropped. This was a disaster, and totally hard to bear. What do you say to someone in a moment like this?
In fairness to Ryan, he’d done nothing wrong, losing the fish wasn’t his fault. On inspection of his bait after reeling in, the common skate had simply grabbed the wrong end of a large bait to where the hook was.
LOSING ON POINTS
It was now dark and totally still with not a breath of wind. Lights twinkled on the shore of the Isle of Mull opposite us, with a few anglers’ headlights offering the odd flash now and again in the blackness.
Slowly, my rod tip started to bend seawards…and it kept going! The rotor of my fixed-spool reel sprang into life as it started to turn while braid was being pulled from it.
My heart was in my mouth as I grabbed the rod, struggling to remove it from the tripod. All I heard was my dad, who was sitting next to me, say “wow!”
It was my turn, and just like the fish Ryan had connected with earlier, the sheer power was immense. All I could think about was letting the common skate run and then wait – or hope – for it to stop.
It did, so I pulled back on the rod. This only resulted in the fish heading off again, so I tightened up on the drag slightly, hoping to slow it. This was possibly risky, but it worked. Even with a tight drag on the reel, it still managed to pull braid from the spool.
My heart was pumping and I gradually began to bring the fish closer to me. It was extremely heavy, with intermittent heavy nods as I leaned hard on the rod. Then, everything went solid as the fish went to ground. I reckoned the skate was hooked well and decided to place the rod back in the tripod and wait, careful not to give it any slack line at all.
We were all gathered around watching and waiting, and 15 minutes later, the skate made a run for it. I was back in the fight, but by no means doing well, possibly losing on points at this stage. All I could think about was how on Earth am I going to beat this thing?
After ninety minutes playing the skate, my line broke. “You have got to be kidding me?” I thought to myself. Actually, my shockleader had been sliced halfway by what I was later to find out was a ledge around 30 yards out.
It was close to midnight when we decided to trudge back to the hotel for a conciliatory