A last minute decision to get on the water at Seatown again yesterday afternoon provided yet another great few hours on the water. Flattest I have seen it all year and after catching a few plaice a few hundred yards out, we decided to make the most of it and paddle a mile or so out into deeper water in the hope of finding some Black Bream or Red Mullet. I trailed some tiny (size 8) Sabiki Feathers on the way out and hooked but lost a Garfish. Various drifts threw up plenty of fish including a nice Thornback Ray on one of the baited Sabiki hooks which put up a very nice scrap before being put back. Plenty of wrasse of varying species and the inevitable and disobedient Dogfish showed themselves, but it then went all mysteriously quiet. My paddling buddy Phillip Maggs had prepared himself for this and quietly set up a squid jig and proceeded to catch them in increasing numbers. Not like the little things you see in super markets - these ones were a foot or so long and were attacking aggressively and in numbers. Envy sunk in and I felt like a complete fool for dismissing the squid jig that Phil had very kindly given me before heading out. I had left it on the dashboard! The squid had clearly come in and terrorised the fish into hiding so I rather desparetly attached the only lure I had onto the 4oz ball lead and sent it plummeting. The squid hit it but I couldn't get a hook up. The lure was a very big plug with size 0/2 trebles so the hooks were being easily avoided. At one point a cuttle fish followed the lure all the way to the surface. In the end I settled for the fact that there was nothing for me to do other than try to get some of the rare kayak squid fishing experience on camera. I kept the lure out 'just in case' as I moved my boat to get the best light onto Phils Yak for the photos/filming, when all of a sudden the Plug got hit and the rod (and muy hand!) thumped down against my boat as line pulled off of the reel. I say many stupid things and my shout of "Bloody 'ell these squid don't half pull" was just another to add to my growing list. When it sunk in that I was connected to a fish I thought it must be a Bass, but it turned out to be a very chunky Pollack that barely fitted in my net. The trip back to shore was a chore and the cramp when I woke up this morning was excruciating, but the great memory of the mini fishing adventure is another one that will stick around for much, much longer. (Thanks for donating me a squid Phil - was fried up in garlic and butter when I got home and served on top of some fresh Cod. Very different to the squid that commercial catering industry sells to restaurants - thicker, more textured and perhaps a bit more similar to octopus. Bloomin' delicious!).

A whole day afloat and fishing on my Hobie kayak yesterday (Saturday 8th August) with no camera (or phone) reminded me that I spend most of my life taking pictures to capture my memories, often under the false instruction of my ego and the misled assumption that others will be keen to see or 'like' them. It also led me to realise that despite having hundreds of pictures, they rarely capture the experience. Even so, it felt odd to set off in pursuit of fish without a camera. The sea was flat but a swell and crunching wave on the steep beach of Seatown threatened to capsize me and boat before I even got started. Another kayak angler was already stood there, looking uneasily at the breaking wave with a greasy green look to his face. "I wasn't expecting this" he said with his eyes still fixed on the water. It's not the fear of falling in that worries kayak anglers - it's the fear of snapping rods, irreversibly drowning fishing reels or fish finders in the corrosive salt water, or losing entire tackle or lure boxes. It was definitely worrying me too. I nodded with him in agreement, stroked my chin and quietly assessed the water through narrow concerned eyes and with a healthy dose of my own hesitation as I wondered what to do. Out of the corner of my eye I then saw two children a hundred yards or so up the beach launching into the sea on their 'toy' kayaks with no problem whatsoever. Half inspired and half feeling like a complete gutless fool, I gave my kayak a good shove into the swell, waded up to my middle, jumped on, and padded like stink to get past the next breaking wave. It worked...just! The other guy stood on the beach became a small dot as I paddled...(or peddled I should say), for about 45 minutes towards the offing in the middle of Lyme Bay. A photo wouldn't describe the butterflies, adrenalin rush and relief of a successful launch onto lumpy water; or the speed at which all thoughts and stresses fall away as faith and life is placed in a piece of over priced floating plastic, weather forecasts and the mood of a cruel sea (that tragically took a life of a man two days earlier on the infamous shifting pebbles of Chesil Beach further along the bay). A panoramic photo wouldn't capture the humbling feeling that I get as I become increasingly small and insignificant on a growing expanse of open ocean either. When I eventually turned to look at the shore, I had Lyme Regis to my left and Portland to my right with the cliffs of Charmouth, Seatown, Eype, West Bay and Burton Bradstock lit up by the strong morning sun. I was so far out that even the cliffs looked small. The depth on the fish finder said 70ft. I probably should have dropped anchor but at that depth, and drifting quickly, it's a lot of cord and weight to bring back up again if it proved to be a duff spot. I baited a set of feathered hooks with bits of Ragworm and Squid in the hope of catching my intended dinner: A Black Bream - a fish that is highly prized for it's eating, and according to Nick Fisher, known locally as the 'Bastard Fish' due to it's ability to peck hooks bare without getting hooked. Almost immediately, the rod tip rattled in a classic Black Bream fashion and I lifted into a firm tug of a fish. Hook holds can be notoriously poor on these fish, so I gingerly brought it up but when it surfaced, I found myself looking at a little plump Ballan Wrasse with a fatally gassed up swim bladder. I took it off the hook and watched it drift away to it's imminent death, putting a temporary downer to my morning. A sad end to the fish, but a delight to the young Herring Gulls that swooped down and ate it. Perhaps I had prevented one or two of them from choosing to move inland to feed on bins that day? Karma was rebalanced and I also remembered (albeit too late) that a friend had once told me that a tiny pin prick with the hook point on a gassed up fish will allow it to return to the depths and heal up. How true that is, I don't know. Next cast and I got my Black Bream. Throughout the day, I also caught Cuckoo and Gold Sinney Wrasse; Thornback Ray; Scad; Mackerel; Plaice; Pouting; and the inevitable Dogfish. I got on the water at 10am and got off at 8pm. In between, time had become irrelevant. A mild but steady side wind had me peddling throughout most the day just to keep myself in position. Probably the equivalent to a week at the Gym, but if I ignore the £30 set of pliers that I accidentally knocked into the water, the day cost me £4 for a parking ticket and a couple of quid on bait. Coming home punch drunk with exhaustion and jelly legs for a hot shower, match of the day and an ice cold can of cider made the end to a perfect day. Not having a camera made it all the better as I could get on with my fishing uninterrupted, but more importantly, it forced me to reflect more carefully on the events of the day that I enjoyed so much and perhaps savour them that little bit more