Conditions for mullet fishing this summer had so far been frustrating to say the least, with weather, tides and even weed conspiring to thwart my efforts to build on last season's 11th hour success (I landed my first thick-lip on the last tide of the season!). The welsh estuaries had offered me a number of close calls, but as I like to split my time between home turf and old stomping grounds, it was time to go back to the south coast and have a try there. The bass fishing had been ridiculously prolific a few weeks ago, and I'd seen mullet a-plenty, so there was no doubt that fish would be present. The deciding factor was an invite from Soldier Palmier, aka Colin, to join him on a three-tide stint last Friday and Saturday. Colin had come to stay with me a few weeks prior to explore the south wales coast which had culminated in us fishing a vast, deserted beach which was positively foaming under the combined movement of thousands and thousands of Golden Grey Mullet. Perseverance was the critical ingredient to success and ultimately our aspirations were met. Incidentally, There's a rather nice write-up in this month's Fly Fishing & Fly Tying penned by Colin recounting the trip.
The huge sand flats of South Wales harbor enormous numbers of Golden Greys...
...which made Colin's trip!
and kept us both busy at the same time!
Anyhow, this time it was my turn to travel and Colin's turn to host. 3am starts are never generally welcome, but constant reports of mullet success and amazing conditions from Colin had my brain fizzing with adrenaline and after a paltry three hours fitful sleep I rose like Lazarus and departed. I arrived at our rendezvous early and decided to refuel my flagging senses with a coffee, only to find that my wife had soaked the flask in washing up liquid after it's last use and hadn't rinsed it. Taking a large mouthful of frothing, anti-bacterial vaguely coffee-flavoured soap is a sobering experience. Spitting it out whilst clawing ineffectually at one's tongue in full view of a horrified early morning lady jogger is not 'cool' by any measure. Still, you can live with a mouth tasting like industrial waste if the prospects for fishing are good, and good they were. 'Were' being the operative tense. Heavy rain the previous day had had it's effect. When Colin arrived and we made our way to estuary, the water clarity was poor to say the least, and in stark contrast to the
gin-like clarity Colin had been enjoying in prior days.
Still, undeterred, we tied on our favorite shrimp-like flies on dropper rigs and set about waiting for the hoards of ravenous mullet to arrive. And wait we did. Eventually splashy pods of feeding fish did show, but not in the numbers that had been enjoyed by my host recently. I was hoping this wasn't going to turn out to be a good old heavy dose of 'should have been here yesterday' syndrome. Suffice to say, we fished had right through the tide, stalking groups of fish in the estuary channel, open shore and even right up into the nooks and crannies of the local harbour with an interested audience of holiday makers, but to no avail. We even walked some distance to see if any Golden Greys had decided to show at another mark, hot work when wader-clad under a blazing sun. Eventually, in mid afternoon we decided to go back to Colin's and rest up before returning for the evening tide.
Refreshed, and amply fed by Colin's charming and undoubtedly very tolerant wife, we returned as evening fell and were quickly heartened to see that one tide-cycle on, the water had cleared considerably. It wasn't glassy by any means but there was significant improvement. Fish began to show, and eventually, as the last light drained from the skies, our strained vision could see a good concentration of extremely active fish sitting in a strong, outflowing current, lunging at food morsels as they swept past. We cast across the flow and let the flies tumble down towards the waiting fish, and sure enough, after 20 minutes a yell made it to my ear through the stiffening breeze and I could see Colin's rod raised in an arc against the last of the light. Shortly afterwards I had three successive strong tugs that I failed to connect to before finally lifting into the weight of a good fish. It shuddered and wrestled for five minutes or so - enough time for me to bellow across to Colin that I was in as well before the hook unceremoniously pulled out and left me rapidly deflating in the shallows. As for Colin, the fish lead him across the little system of pools and bays until some 10 or 15 minutes later he reappeared, net in hand, sporting a relieved smile. Finally, the first fish was hooked and landed in darkness.
Gotcha!
Hang on....there's something written on this one. It says....
'"mullet can't be caught in the dark" my backside'
The feeding died down not long after and we cautiously crept through the shallow water hearing occasional heavy splashes. It's worth mentioning that Colin hooked two
huge unidentified fish too, but both made short-work of the connection and shrugged him off effortlessly. Eventually I decided to have a few throws in the estuary channel. This bore no fruit. Colin approached and suggested we call it a night. The line had drifted right around in the current and now lay parallel to the bank on my side, hard up against the shingle. As I started to wind the flyline back onto the reel, there was a solid take and momentarily a heavy fish on the line. Caught totally off-guard I failed to set the hook and we both groaned. I resumed recovering the line and was exasperated when not 6ft further up, it happened again! Just not my day.
We retired, and I was consoled with a large Malt Whisky back at Colin's before gratefully crashing into bed at the end of a 22hr day.
Next morning we were back at 7.20am and more determined than ever. The cool breeze had stayed, and heavy clouds scudded across the sky, but the water was a little clearer. We met Steve (Portcullis) and the three of us set about the task at hand.
It seemed it was going to be a similar story. Fish did show, but they were sparse and easily spooked. Some hours passed until, fishing the same current as we had the night before when Colin had hooked up, I saw a single decent fish rise a couple of times further down-stream. I moved across to cover the water and three casts later had a solid, aggressive take and my strike met with heavy resistance. Mindful of how i'd lost one here the previous evening, I played the fish extremely cautiously in the cloudy water, letting it work against a firm but light clutch pressure for 15 minutes, steering it repeatedly away from the channel it was trying to access to get back to open sea. It made some doggedly powerful runs, even late in the fight, such is the stamina of these fish. I had little more than a glimpse of a waiving tail during the 15 minutes I played it out, but when I finally slipped the net under the fish and lifted it clear of the water, I could scarcely contain my delight - it was a corker! Colin had chosen this time to wander off into the distance to grab a coffee and was oblivious to my success. I could see him ambling back so, with fish safely netted, I towed it gently through the water in the net and went to show him my prize. He still failed to spot the net and as I approached, he asked if I'd had any luck. I simply lifted the net in reply and grinned massively at the look of complete shock on his face! Ah, it was a ser-weet moment!
Diawl Bach strikes again
A lovely fish indeed - 5.5lb!
The fish recovered quickly and was released. We fished on, but conditions did not improve, and light, sporadic rain fell from leaden skies. Between the three of us we covered alot of ground, following small shoals and presenting flies to them time and time again, but crucially, feeding did not seem to be on their mind. Eventually I wandered away from Colin and Steve and found myself back in the estuary channel. There were the merest hints of odd fish moving beneath the surface and my mind returned to my incident the previous night when retrieving my line. I'd already said to Colin that I thought there might be some mileage in trying that approach, so with a 'nothing ventured' attitude, I stood and watched until I thought I saw some repeated sub-surface movement on the far bank. I cast the flies onto the shingle opposite me and twitched the line until they fell into the water with a little 'plip' and bounced downstream hard up against the far margins. On the second attempt, the line suddenly tightened and I was in again! I couldn't believe I was going to get a second shot in the same session! This fish felt much heavier than the first and as I yelled across to the others, it put it's head down and 'dug in' for a stubborn, bloody-minded half-hour wrestle in the channel as it repeatedly took back every inch of line I gained time and time again, making the line sing and my arm muscles cry.
One of several runs
And a long, arm-aching tussle ensued
Colin assured me the hook would hold, but the longer it went on, the more nervous I got that the fish and I would part company before getting properly acquainted! Colin captured a few shots and then turned movie-cameraman as he shot some video of the battle unfolding. Eventually he grabbed my net and, camera still rolling, managed to intercept the fish (which still seemed to have plenty of reserve energy) and slip the net under it.
This one was a brute. Heavy-set and muscular, quite different to the longer, slender fish I'd had earlier. Again, the little red-headed Diawl Bach had worked it's mullet magic, and I was utterly elated!
Well over 6lb - what a fish!
Shots taken, the fish was released and Colin gave me hearty congratulations and expressed relief that I'd had such success, given the distance I'd traveled and the effort expended. I literally couldn't have been happier and thanked him profusely. However, Colin hadn't caught, and there was a distinct threat of a blank spoiling his recent run of success, so he moved up into harbour and began stalking fish feeding in the margins. On three separate occasions over the next hour, a groan from his direction signaled another missed take, but eventually, a commotion in the water lifted Steve and I's heads to see Colin connected to a fish. To say it lead him a merry dance would be to understate the comedy of watching him following the fish around in circles for 10 minutes, net outstretched as the mullet stayed juuuuust beyond reach. It was like watching a donkey following a carrot on a stick!
Finally Colin managed to scoop up his prize and was doubly delighted to find that he'd managed a nice 2lb Thin Lipped Mullet, proving that all three main species were a viable target along that part of the coast, and all could be successfully tempted on the fly. It seems the idea of a 'Mullet Grand-slam' has been born!
Introducing the Thin Lip
So, the trip ended on a high. I eventually departed utterly exhausted, but on a definite 'mullet high' as Colin would put it, and my enthusiasm for catching this enigmatic species is redoubled. Roll on the next trip!!
Joe
South Coast Mullet success!
Danny
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