Win your spurs!
Winter and deep water offer the best chances for seeking these rugged members of the shark family
Into battle with winter spurdogs.
Three types of fishing really excite me. The first is catching big fish, the second is bagging lots of fish, and the third is getting a species of fish for the first time. It’s probably true that most anglers feel the same.
Although I have caught plenty of spurdogs afloat in the Bristol Channel during the mid-nineties, up until the end of 2016 I was yet to encounter this species while casting a bait from the shore. This all changed during an end of year trip to the North Devon coast under the guidance of friend and local expert, Kevin Legge.
A plan was hatched to tackle a deepwater mark over low tide where Kevin had been enjoying some recent good fishing. Honition SAC member Darren Bell was also keen to come along for the ride, so the three of us met up in the middle of nowhere one black and blustery night by the light of our head
torches.
As Kevin led us across fields and muddied tracks, our attention was drawn to the bracken on more than one occasion as woodland animals prowled the undergrowth. As we began a steep climb, my heart rate quickened and my breath was evident in the chilly air.
This was a new location for both Darren and me; our headlamp beams scanned the surroundings and we muttered to each other between catching our breath, noting points of interest along the way. To me, this is as big a part of an angling adventure and the cover of darkness only serves to add a further mystique to the winter landscape.
Finally, we arrived at our destination, in awe as ever at our clifftop surroundings and the angling opportunities that they presented to us.
RIGGING UP
Spurdogs are members of the shark family. They’re not dissimilar to the smoothhound at a glance, aside from the fact that they are equipped with some savage armoury in the form of a mouth containing razor-sharp teeth and a menacing spike (spur) on each dorsal fin.
Those teeth mean that the use of a wire trace or, at the very least, a heavy mono one is essential. Mine were tied with the former; if I was fortunate enough to encounter a spur, I wanted to have the best possible chance of landing it.
Of course, to land a fish, it has to be hooked in the first place. This can be something of a frustration, although I don’t recall this being an issue all of those years ago when targeting the species from the boat. Bites, said Kevin, are often fast rattles, much like a whiting, and notoriously tricky to convert into hooked fish.
The durable, super-sharp, single octopustype hooks were my choice. A neat trick to complete the set-up is to slide a sleeve of luminous tube over the hook shank. Not only does this possibly offer some additional visual attraction, but also ensures the bait elastic, used to whip the bait to the hook shank, bites into the tube ensuring it cannot be pulled away.
The old-faithful pulley was my choice, and a powerful rod paired with a workhorse Daiwa Saltist multiplier completed the outfit. A selection of bait was left in puddles on the rocks to defrost, but it was a half fillet of garfish that took my fancy on the first cast. It was lobbed 50 yards out into the darkness and I sat back to watch that rod tip.
FISH ON!
I have to confess it was a slow start. All three of us sat beneath the cliff gazing at our rod tips, occasionally distracted by the sight of a shooting star. Every now and again, the wind, coming from behind us, would swirl around in the bay and cause the lines running off the rod tips to lift, but for no more than a few seconds at a time.
Darren’s rod sat alongside my own in the stand and suddenly began a violent dance. He stood up and we both looked on as it continued to bounce. Picking his moment, Darren raised the tip and made contact with what he said felt like a strap conger. Soon Kevin was off down the rocks clutching a long-handled landing net. In a few short moments a glowing eye appeared through the swell and we all realised this wasn’t an eel.
Sure enough, a spurdog was captured in Kevin’s waiting net. Making his way back up the rocks, he explained that the fight of a spurdog is very similar to that of a small conger so he had been fairly certain that Darren had made contact with the target species.
Noting the position of Darren’s first cast, I retrieved my rig, clipped on another baited trace and sent it out with renewed hope. Within minutes, my rod tip was also twanging away in the stand. The bites were hardly impressive, but certainly could be when compared to those from whiting. I swiped the tip through the darkness and met with feisty resistance. Kevin reminded me that there were a few snags at short range and that it was wise to keep the fish up in the water; the last thing I wanted to do was apply too much pressure and risk what might have been a light hook-hold.
ACTION STATIONS
Once again, Kevin was in position as Darren looked on, our headlamps now trained on my emerging shockleader. A better-sized spurdog
was soon in our sights, and no sooner had the fish landed in the net, the hook fell out. Had I applied excessive pressure, the hook would have undoubtedly pulled; I thanked my lucky stars that I had taken my time coaxing it to the landing net. The scales registered the fish at 9lb 14oz and I was pleased enough.
While Kevin snapped away with the camera, Darren, who was winding in at the time, let out a confusing yell and pointed to the water. Having been preoccupied with my catch, Kevin and I ran to the edge yet missed the commotion. As Darren was in the final stages of retrieving a small whiting, a sharklike shape had emerged from the shadows and tried to rip his hooked fish away.
Darren’s told me: “It was either a small tope or a very big spur”. Either way, it added further enthusiasm to a session that was shaping up rather nicely. I added to my tally with a small huss that took a fancy to the whiting head that remained from Darren’s encounter; I’d cheekily pinched it straight from his abandoned trace.
Kevin went on to land a further two spurdogs and dropped a third, proof if it was needed that there were a few fish on the prowl that night.
The hike back to the car was full of talk of the mystery monster that came from nowhere and returned to the same place. Darren has a catch phrase – “We’ll have him next time! – that’s become part of every fishing trip. It was particularly appropriate on this occasion.