ABERAVON JACKSTONES
Simon Smith braves the wind and rain to make a welcome return to the rocks at this simple and often overlooked mark near Port Talbot
Wouldn’t it be nice if we could wave a magic wand and make all of life’s responsibilities disappear? All those long hours spent working, running errands and chipping bullet-points off the to-do list would suddenly be available to open up to new fishing opportunities and endless possibilities: that long awaited session chasing a particular species, the club match you’ve been meaning to get to, or the exploration of a new venue that you’ve been planning to fish. Unfortunately, life seldom follows even our “best laid schemes”, leaving us with the need to compromise and re-tread old ground.
Following the easing of what had seemed the incessant rain we had endured of late, my wife, daughter and I grasped at every available opportunity to venture out in an attempt to soak up some of the watery winter sunshine. Despite the seasonably low water temperatures and the lingering after-effects of the recent damp weather, my enthusiasm for a fishing session was high and I could feel one of those schemes forming. Time, however, was very much at a premium, so where should I go?
Mentally, I ran through some of my reliable go-to venues but was forced to rule them out one-by-one for various reasons: nope, too long a drive; doesn’t fish well on the flood. Eventually, I had all but exhausted the list of possible venues until I was left with just one, a place I had not fished in years – Aberavon Jackstones.
e original, two-tier structure, made from wood, was in place on this famous beach in the Victorian era, but later years and the wear and tear associated with them saw the top tier demolished, a concrete platform poured in place atop the lower level and the platform surrounded by the concrete, four-pointed ‘jacks’ which give the breakwater its wellknown moniker.
A local landmark, this is the place where I, and so many hundreds of other anglers like me from the surrounding area, cut my fishing teeth over the years. A short drive from my home, it is a very easy venue to fish, offering numerous species from congers to smoothhounds depending on the season, though care must be taken on anything above medium-sized tides, as a decent swell will begin to cover the concrete platform from which most anglers fish.
As I packed the car, something at the back of my mind told me that I should take my fishing umbrella just in case and, at the last minute, I decided I could manage the extra weight as I would only be a short way from the car parking spaces situated very close to the breakwater’s base. at was to be the best decision I had made in a long time! e small car park is pay and display, although there are other free spaces available in and around the local streets if you do not mind a short walk. It will fill up quickly at busy times of the year, so it is worth fishing early or late to mitigate for this.
WINTER TACTICS
Arriving at Aberavon a few minutes later, I didn’t hang about, getting set up and plonking the baits out as quickly as possible. e jackstones don’t require any fancy fishing – a general two or three hook paternoster will suffice for most species here, with the general approach being one rod cast closer into the edge of the rocks in search of the bigger fish
and another cast out slightly further into the tide, though no great distance is required. Even though it had been some time since my last session here, I soon discovered that the old techniques held true when, after only a few minutes, one of the rod tips rattled away, eventually leading to my pulling in a dab on the shorter-range rig. A great start!
Remember that brolly? It was to prove worth its weight in gold as the breeze suddenly picked up, eventually strengthening into a stiff wind loaded with stair-rod rain. If you are going to fish the jackstones, you need to be alert for such changes in weather, as a sudden increase in the swell can make the mark unsafe very quickly, as mentioned earlier. In this instance, the tide was small enough to compensate for this, so there was nothing for it – I had no choice but to hunker down and take cover. I got my gas lantern pumping full blast, cracked open a flask of cinnamon hazelnut coffee and tucked into some sausage butties, staying within the confines of the umbrella’s span, only venturing out into the endless deluge to change the baits.
e next few hours passed in a blur of rain interspersed with another dab and some of the breakwater’s other staple fish – in this case a whiting and a dogfish, just enough to keep the session ticking over. I did not mind the slowness of the fishing as it allowed me to look around at all the familiar spots and think back over some of those tides and tales from years gone by, as well as the knowledge and techniques I’d picked up along the way.
SUMMER SPECIES & TACTICS
Down amongst the rocks themselves, I’d spent hours as a kid chasing the big bass that carry out their smash-and-grab raids amongst the rocks, float fishing live joey baits or freelining chunks of squid down in the dark gaps that seemed to breathe and sigh with the swell of the rising tide. is is always an exhilarating form of fishing, though care must be taken at all times, especially in wet conditions. More than one angler has fallen foul of the rocks here!
Just at the end of the breakwater, I recalled flicking a running leger adorned with a string of brightly coloured beads and baited with mackerel slivers out toward the mussel bed that runs parallel with the river Afan as it empties into the estuary off the end of the rocks. It didn’t take long to discover that gurnards liked to frequent this ground, and I’d quickly chalk them off my species list every year by fishing purposely for them in this way, a little angling secret all my own.
So many other sessions sprang to mind on the back of these first recollections: lure fishing for bass and sea trout, feathering for mackerel, fishing for the elusive cod and the occasional conger with a livebait rig and a pouting jagjagging on the end; I even recall the first time I cast a sandeel bait on an up and over rig back toward the surf tables, managing to get amongst thornback and small-eyed rays that hunted there.
ree hours later and it was time to call it a night. Everything, it seemed, had done its best to conspire against me, from tide to weather, but by simply going back to that familiar place, with all its memories and deceptive variety,
I had once again tapped into the potential of this simple venue so often disregarded and overlooked in favour of others. As I left I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that my return to the rocks would not take half so long next time. ■