Early morning paddle to Boscastle this morning for spot of fishing and wildlife viewing.
Caught about 8 pollack (yawn) and a couple of mackerel (slight yawn) on a trolled toby, but major highlight of the trip was sight of one of the elusive pufins that nest on Short Island. I’ve never seen more than three there so complex mathematics would suggest two pairs maximum.
low profile PUFFIN
OK this hasn’t got much to do with fishing, but while ruminating on my kayak recently, waiting to catch a lunker, I couldn’t help but notice the huge number of Painted Ladies.
Of course there have been even huger numbers over land but I have been surprised to see several of these fast-flying orange butterflies zip past my kayak every minute.
They have apparently hatched out in vast hoards in The Atlas mountains and their northward migration coincided with that exceptionally warm weather (and favourable winds) last week enabling them to get across the English channel.
To demonstrate their abundance take a look at this pic I took when I ACCIDENTALLY pressed the shutter during my Lands End kayak trip last Friday. A Painted Lady just happened to be hurtling past.
Painted Lady off Lands End
No, it’s not a kite.
For the last week in May 2009 a representative sample of the Bude Old Gits Kayak fishing club headed north on their spring migration. Most were sea kayaking near Skye, but Richard and I opted for an 80 mile paddle down the River Tay.We camped the night near Crianlarich after our rendez-vous with my brothers James and Tim and Tim’s chums Callum and George.
The next morning we set off on the insubstantial River Fillan near Crianlarich and within five minutes of departure narrowly avoided being stampeded by a psychotic (or maybe just lost) Aberdeen Angus heifer.
Thunderous beastie
James,Tim and Ben More
We passed through the shallow Loch Lubhair at the foot of the great bulk of Ben More and into the River Dochart, where we encountered our first major rapid. Nasty and rocky so we portaged.
The white water King
A canal like section then followed and lulled us into a false sense of security and Callum and George tried to harness a bit of wind power…….
Callum grapples with green energy
before the river plunged into more wild water. We shot the first section but had a long road portage through Killin to avoid the falls of Dochart.
James and Tim about to get wet
Coachfuls of Saga holidaymakers looked on quizzically as we dragged our kayaks through the streets of Killin and Tim hurled himself headlong into the main street when he twisted his ankle on the kerb.
James and Tim (before his ankle twist)
Paddling into Loch Tay was simply perfect. Not a breath of wind and crystal clear. We clocked up a few miles then camped right on the shore-idyllic.
Loch Tay
The cloud was lowering as we set off the next day with two extra paddlers-Toby and Alexander, but the wind remained light. OK so it rained a bit. I caught 4 or 5 brown trout on my mini jointed Rapala and Rich caught the same number on a Mepps spinner, including fish of the day.
We exited the Loch after about five hours of paddling and were thrown straight into a beefy rapid which saw Callum and I have a lengthy swim. When the River Lyon joined up things bacame a bit more sedate and we stopped to investigate a gull colony on an island. In expert Stuka fashion one sprayed me with foul smelling stuff, all over.
Then we were hurled into the renowned Grandtully rapids and somehow I holed my unholeable plastic kayak on a rock and it virtually sank. Instant major depression when I pulled out my wet sleeping bag-what could be worse?
However some positive thinking from Tim, a rubber patch and a nearly empty roll of tape supplied by a semi hippy type called Wes , effected a reasonable repair. We camped at Grandtully and Day 3 brought much more sedate waters.
We even had time to admire the best bluebell display I think I have ever seen:
Bluebells near Dunkeld
Campsie Linn heralded the start of the final sequence of white water.
Alexander and Toby looking good
We called it a day at at Stanley weir, after Richard had been consumed by one of the fearsome whirlpools at Campsie. Wes had warned us that a kayaker had once been sucked down by this whirlpool and spat out after a couple of minutes looking like a ‘white puddin’ ‘.
Final camp at Stanley
The final day dawned with moans and groans from various tents like a scene from Apocalypse Now. Callum’s bruised thigh, George’s cracked ribs, Tim’s twisted ankle, my left buttock I had thumped on a rock while shooting the weir the previous evening (without kayak).
We mustered up the energy to negotiate the intimidating Hell hole corner before smart detective work by Callum diverted us down a tiny mill leat which took us a couple of miles through thick woodland smelling of garlic.
Commando Rich
The designers didn’t have kayaks in mind (they probably hadn’t been invented) and a woman who had lived in the house at the end for ten years said she had never seen anyone paddling in the leat!
Tim gets limbo practice
Having avoided being sucked into the generator at the end of the leat we rejoined the main river and had an easy final stretch before hauling out for the final time beside the first bridge in Perth.
The Motley Crew
Just a 600 mile drive home.
TOP TIP: repackage supplies to make them more robust and camping friendly. For example I have repackaged and rebranded a well known single malt , at the same time cutting out all that 80 years old rubbish so that ‘it does what it says on the tin’. (well, sample bottle, to be precise)
3 June 2008
Super flat and warm at Cambeak. Me,Pokey,Derrick and Andrew. I didn’t catch anything for an hour but went to investigate a bust up amongst a flock of seagulls and swung my wildlife rescue skills into action. An immature Herring gull had got in a fix with a fishing lure:
Double ouch
I released the hook from its mouth and foot and after a while regaining its composure it flew off, and will probably stick to terrorising chip eating tourists from now on. Distant whoops of delight from Pokey accompanied his first pollack.
Derrick and I were half asleep when our rods were thumped by a pollacking feeding frenzy way below on our mackerel feathers. I pulled up three fish that must have totalled nearly 10 lbs and Derrick hauled up a 5 lb beauty.
Derrick gets fish of the day (sorry, Pokey)
I also dragged up a small ballan wrasse whose eyeballs didn’t cope with the change in pressure awfully well.
Pokey doesn't get fish of the day ( sorry, Pokey)
Andrew sneakily hauled up a sizeable fish without making a fuss, so we all went home happy (and smelling like Grimsby market).
Happy hunter gatherers
5 June 2009 PORTHGWARRA TO SENNEN AND BACK
The rare combination of a day off,little wind and little swell lured me down to Land’s End for the next installment of my round-the-southwest-paddle. I was just a bit excited as I was about to tackle the most stunning paddle in the U.K. (if not the world) and I was about to have some legendary fishing and wildlife encounters…..
Gwennap head
I started to let out a rubber sandeel to troll and immediately caught a pollack about 1lb. Pollack really are quite dim. They give absolutely no thought to what they might be consuming and wolf it down so that often the hook doesn’t engage till it is deep into their stomach. Then when you are trying your best to delicately remove the hook they regurgitate a load of half-digested sandeels all over your trousers that smell worse than an unidentifiable portion of food that has been at the back of your fridge for a couple of months.
I let the fish go but it lay at the surface regaining its composure for a second too long. A Great Black-backed Gull appeared out of nowhere and downed it whole. There’s something sinister about these very large and aggressive gulls. They sit on every headland and watch you go past. You feel that if you show the slightest hint of weakness or vulnerability they will have your eyeballs out. I tried to sit up straighter and paddle harder although I was indeed feeling a bit small in BIG scenery and lumpy conditions.(This is rated a Grade C paddle-the most challenging).
Off Carn Boel I hooked a whopping fish in the middle of a surging tide race.By the time I had struggled it aboard I had been swept back and had to battle through the race all over again.
Another Pollack (yawn),but it's a whopper
This could have been my biggest fish ever-I would guess about 7lbs. I put it back to fight another day.
On the final run in to Land’s end I caught loads more pollack around every dramatic headland with it’s surging race. The last was the ridiculously named Dr. Syntax’s head. Hang on a minute, wasn’t he the guy who wrote the children’s book called Rotting Spam and Ham, or something.
I was suddenly into a different world of flat calm seas and no swell and caught my first bass of the season only a few yards away from Land’s End proper.
First bass of the season
On the last headland before Sennen Cove I gawped at the rockclimbers and tombstoners and they gawped at me. I moped about offshore soaking up the sun in Whitsand Bay, landed another (smaller) bass then headed for home.
Land's End.....at last
I headed for the great swirling current on the seaward side of the jagged island with the very satisfactory name of ’Armed Knight’ and I waited in anticipation for something to grab my sandeel in the most dramatic location and one of the biggest tide races around. Right on cue my reel buzzed out and my rod bent over in a very impressive manner and for the first time I almost felt like a real fisherman. This was a serious fish in a serious place and needless to say it got off.
So I caught a snivvling mackerel instead.
Land's End mack
Back around Carn Boel I hooked so many pollack I had to pull my lure in , as every time I got swept back around the point and had to start again.
Yes, you guessed right, somehow the current had changed direction and I was battling into the teeth of the waves, just as I was only an hour beforehand , only the other way. Bad planning, you might think. Well, no actually-this just exemplifies everything I find irritating about smuggy pleased-with-themselves nautical know-alls and the books they produce.
I have spent dozens of hours working out the best time to do this trip using chart datum from a nautical almanac. (even that stupid jargon grates on me). For a start you have to use tides at DOVER for reference.What a load of bunk. Dover is three hundred miles away. Why not use Penzance which is just around the corner, then at least you’d have a feel for whether the tide is high, low or somewhere in between.
And then they slink about in those daft blue deck shoes with white rims.No-one wears deck shoes in Holsworthy. We wear dealer boots. You can’t leg it after an escaped bullock wearing a pair of deck shoes.
Anyway, I was just about to call it a day after a sensational four hour twelve mile trip when things got even better. Over half a mile offshore did I catch a glimpse of a dolphin’s fin?. I headed out to investigate and was soon beside myself with excitement……
Basking shark
I sneaked up on the classic triangular dorsal fin of a big basker-its tail fin was a good eight foot behind. It dived and while I was looking around for it heard a splash behind me and the vast beast passed right underneath my flimsy and insubstantial craft touching with its back. Yikes. I was the best part of a mile offshore.
Thrills over, or so I thought , I headed for shore but encountered another shark on the way in and tried out my hand at underwater photography. The trouble was the subject is so huge I couldn’t fit it in!
This shark, like the first seemed to find me , or hopefully just my kayak, attractive, and came round to investigate………..
Time to pack it in as it was starting to get dark and the tide was fast drifting me towards Nantucket. But I met up with one more big fish on the way in and had the chance to get a pic of the legendary cavernous gape….
What a cakehole!
Top trip!
FOOTNOTE: If I make the grade for reincarnation I will NOT be volunteering to return as a sandeel……look at how shredded my rubber eel got after only an hour!
6 MAY 2009- the Bude old gits Spring kayak fishing trip was cancelled due to bad weather (aaargh-not again) but when I awoke with the first peep of the Blackbird outside the bedroom window I was itching to go somewhere so opted for the sheltered waters of the Dart.
I dragged a mini Rapala plug rather half-heartedly, and completely unsuccessfully, for much of the twelve miles down to the open sea. I do enjoy this type of trip though-from a freshwater inland river with nesting swans and ducklings, down through beautiful sweeping wooded valley with egrets and herons, and then out through the busy coastal town into the open sea.
Smooth paddling at Dittisham
My heart squelched when a seal exhaled very loudly inches behind my kayak. This happens alot but it still makes me jump. This particular seal was very friendly and swam on its back just underneath the surface looking up at me, before stopping to sniff something on the nose of my kayak.
Overfriendly seal
Dartmouth is probably the most interesting town I have yet paddled through-bustling and noisy ( I am convinced that every boatyard has a very powerful audio system playing a CD of the whine of a sanding disc while the unseen workers within sit around drinking tea and watching Britain’s got talent) and loads of colourful houses stacked up the hills on both sides.
Dartmouth ferry
I switched my lure to a rubber sandeel when I emerged into the sea and had soon caught a couple of smallish pollack. Do you never catch anything else,you ask? Mmmmm….its a fare question. Generally not would be the fare answer. But wait! Not all pollack are the same-one of these had miniscule black spots on its back:
Dotty pollack
I flogged round a headland towards Stoke Fleming into a howling headwind. Not sure why ‘cos it wasn’t much fun. I got fed up so about turned for the mere fifteen mile homeward journey.
Aha , my first mackerel of the season during a five minute bottom fishing break.
Nice to be able to have fresh mackerel fillets on toast again. Keeps your brain cells healthy with all that alpha omega oil stuff. (actually they sat in the fridge for a week then went out for the local badger).
The return journey was long. The sun had not come out as had been promised and my Somerfield fruit loaf did not match my total fuel requirement. Also the peace and tranquility of the upper reaches were ruined by a monstrous river cruiser bulging with nouveau riche types with safari jackets and booming voices. Top trip,though.
Dartmouth scene
17 April and it was flat calm on the North Cornwall coast. Woop-blooming-pee….about time. Anyway the hulking pollack that lurk around the reef off cambeak and had remained unfished for the previous months were about to get a nasty shock.
Today’s fishing squad comprised Pokey,Austen,Tim and yours truly,all in different yaks. OK,if you must know they were my Scupper pro,Austens Perception,Pokey’s Prowler and Tim’s smart new Malibu X -factor.
Pokey's pollacking brace
Pokey struck first with a couple of pollack that brought a smirk to his face. Tim’s handline got attached to something BIG….was it a mighty shark that makes Cambeak famous or was it a rock? Austen’s cerebral planning paid dividends when he hauled in some decent fish on his big sandeel paternoster, including fish of the day weighing in at over six pounds.
Austen scoops again
I got a sunburnt nose.
Sorry folks I have no tale to tell about a successful winter fishing trip.Actually I suppose it’s officially Spring but the forecast for last friday was still distinctly festive. So we (me ,Austen and Keith) were pleasantly surprised when we rolled up at the slipway at Calstock at 5.30am to find the river flat calm, with wispy misty bits and a cacophony of birdsong making it all very pleasant.
Our plan was bold,some might say stupid. The sickeningly early start was to enable us to ride the high tide to the weir at Gunnislake and then use the outgoing tide to whisk us the 20 miles down to Drake’s island. Once there we would have no option but to coerce our groaning arm muscles to paddle back to Calstock. No pub till Calstock,we vowed.
Approaching Gunnislake
The first bit was a dream-cruising up through the steep sided wooded valleys topped with mining chimneys leaning at unfeasible angles.Past the equally unlikely Morwellham quay, which springs upon you just when you think the river is about to end in a muddy creek. Then a set of impressive crags and so many major changes of direction you could easily get lost. (er…well..if you weren’t following a river)
Dramatic cliffy bit
At the tidal weir we headed back downstream with increasing tidal assistance. We clocked up speeds in excess of 6mph although our true paddling speed was a steady 3.5mph.
Calstock viaduct seems to get bigger every time I paddle under it.It is a stunning engineering achievement and the navvies who sweated to construct it would break down and cry if they saw the piffling little trains that creep over it nowadays.It would be quicker to swim.
Past Cotehele quay there is another five miles of sweeping bends,sloping fields and winter woods before the yacht moorings of Weir quay herald a change to civilisation. The giant Tamar bridge dominates the scene an hour before you paddle under it.It’s a pity the modern suspension bridge shields the view of Brunel’s original railway bridge built in 1859.
Tamar bridges
The four miles to Plymouth sound now have a distinctly military flavour and it is best to look straight ahead as long as you keep clear of the line of submarines and warships down the left hand side and the refuelling depots on the right. Oh, and the ammunition barges in the middle…..and the police boats every few hundred metres. Don’t get in a panic or you may come off second best to one of the three Torpoint ferries who don’t care for little kayakers.
Torpoint ferry hazard
Before exiting the Tamar into Plymouth sound we demolished a vast slab of Somerfield fruit cake. Cold sandwiches on a winter kayak trip don’t seem to hit the spot but a huge chunk of cake dotted with raisins and glace cherries certainly does.I wonder if it wouldn’t be so good without the glace cherries…..mmmm?
Devil's point
We emerged into Plymouth sound and hauled up onto Drake’s island as we had an hour to kill before the tide turned. However we got battered by a squall and opted to get paddling as we started to get chilly.It was a nasty tiring paddle back to the shore into the wind and rain.
Around Drake's island
So all we had to do now was paddle the fifteen miles back up the estuary to Calstock. Why not just do a one way trip? Many times I have asked myself this question. Unless you have got some poor mug to pick you up, by the time you have shuttled cars backwards and forwards (and remembered to leave your car keys at the correct end) or waited for and caught the bus, it is probably quicker to paddle anyway. And of course yuo’ve got that slab of Somerfield fruit cake to burn off unless you want to look like a lardy.
Past Devonport
Fortunately the flood tide zipped us upstream even faster than the ebb tide had sucked us out so we were back in Calstock in the very hospitable environs of the Tamar Inn, rehydrating, by 4 o’clock.
Unless you are a really serious fisherman you really want to forget kayak fishing in the late winter and spring. Surely it’s better to keep fit and do a stunning trip like this and look forward to the explosion of sea life that will happen starting at the end of April (hopefully)
A good excuse to eat a huge chunk of fruitcake,anyway.
What a complete contrast to the ghastly weather only two days ago.The wind had dropped and more remarkably the swell had also virtually vanished, allowing access to the open sea for the first time for months.
Unfortunately the rain had left the inshore water cloudy so my efforts to catch a bass by trolling were in vain. Fortunately I foul-hooked a pouting when I switched to mackerel feathers. Of course I put it back after a photo shoot….
Pouting
Red-throated Diver
Although winter marine wildlife is a bit more thin on the ground than in the summer, I was treated to a flypast of several Red-throated Divers.
What do you do if you are desperate to go for a paddle but a howling wind has messed up the sea and torrential overnight rain means the rivers are also innaccessible?
You swallow your pride and go canal paddling. I plumped for the Grand Western Canal at Tiverton because it should offer the best shelter from the wind. My trip started off well as I had a close encounter with a kingfisher…..
Unusually friendly Kingfisher
It was good to be flogging along at a good lick in my Paddleyak Swift but I am at fault in thinking I am Olympic class and burn myself out too early.
Perfect canal paddling
Today was no exception so by the time I had thundered up to Tiverton and half way back again I had to have an emergency stop on the edge of the golf course. This part of the canal is actually rather stunning as it executes a huge loop following the contours of the land in an effort to avoid having to have a lock. Irritatingly I ran into an area of thick duckweed which had a treacle like effect on my progress.
The green slime
I soon demolished a couple of ham sandwiches,which never taste too good on winter kayak trips,and downed a thermos of coffee which was a mistake as my drysuit has no comfort zip.
I like my wilderness experiences so was a bit irritated that the canal towpath had been turned into part of the national cycle network and was buzzing with cyclists and walkers with yippy dogs. One which was a bit like a rabid wolf hurled itself at me as I paddled past but fortunately it lost all its ferocious zest once in the water and just looked like a floundering doormat.
I passed a family of swans and the enormous cygnets still made a ridiculous squeeky babyish whistling noise. They’ll get a nasty shock when they get their marching orders from their parents in late winter.
Swan Family
I was determined to paddle the entire eleven mile length of the canal but it was hard to pass my car at the seven mile mark and carry on. A deep cutting containing the old lime kilns culminated in the very narrow Westcott tunnel and just peeped through before heading for home.
Westcott Tunnel
The one hour return paddle to my car was interminably tedious as only canal paddling can be .I was fairly pooped anyway and it was made worse by a nasty squall and accompanying headwind,and another ferociously yapping,but tiny,dog that wanted to cock its leg on my kayak as I got out.
Was it really worth paddling 22 miles on such a grotty day?…….as always, Yes.
