MULLET ON THE ROCKS 

A story by Mike Bailey the Brixham "Mullet Master"
 

Any keen angler will know how frustrating the last month has been.  Plans to go fishing have been thwarted week after week, with gale following gale, and enough rainfall for me to consider starting a mini “Noah’s Ark” in my back garden, just in case.  Even the water companies have finally called off all their drought orders, so I know it’s been bad.

The upside of all this wild and wet weather has been the incredible mildness of the winter.  Sea temperatures are well up on normal and everything points to a very early spring and summer.  The other day the rain relented for an hour or so and I went for a walk down by the Brixham harbour-side.  For a change the water was very clear and dropping away to low tide; looking closely I thought I saw a flash in the water, so I stopped to observe more closely.  Sure enough, a few moments later, there was that characteristic and unmistakable golden gleam in the water.  A Mullet!!!   It was turning in the water and picking up weed and minute food items from the bottom.  This continued for a few minutes and then it was gone, just melting into the shadowy darkness.

I’ve caught Mullet in April before and it set me thinking that the season is nearly upon us, the time of the year when the first fish start to appear around the coasts and penetrate the river estuaries.  It set my pulse racing and made me think of an early season session last year……….

The sun was creeping upwards blood -red from a shimmering and silent sea.  Not a breath of wind stirred the stalks of the tufted clumps of pinks and delicate white blooms of rock -rose. Everywhere there was the heavy perfumed scent of a rich profusion of plants thickly carpeting the rocky ground.  The dampness of the heavy overnight dew left sparkling drops of water hanging from every stalk and leaf.  The stillness hinted of a very hot day to come. Already, early butterflies were stretching their wings out as they absorbed the first rays of sunlight.

Cliff Top View Photo courtesy of Mike Bailey

Standing at the top of the steep cliff path I could see it snaking down below to my chosen spot, lost in a tangle of massive and ancient limestone boulders.  Soon I was clambering down the twisting slope, picking my way down carefully until arriving at the remains of a long worked out quarry.

The tide was already flowing well up, the water slurping and gurgling as it slid powerfully and smoothly in gentle and regular swells.  The water was a beautiful greeny colour with visibility quite exceptional.

Rocky Cove Photo courtesy of Mike Bailey

As usual, I’d pre-mixed a large bucket of ground bait of bread and mashed up very soft mackerel.  Squeezing good sized balls of this foul-smelling mixture, I introduced them into the swim.  The groundbait exploded as it hit the water and then slowly disintegrated into a fine cloud of particles, oozing with blood and oils, before sinking into the depths and disappearing.

I was using my trusted 13 foot 2lb test “Drennan” Carp Rod.  This was matched to a strong fixed spool reel with very smooth and responsive clutch and 6lb. Line.  The water I was fishing into was over 20 feet deep so I was using a large ‘chubber’ float, attached only at one end, so that it would slide down to a small nylon knot on the line, thus allowing me to adjust the depth accordingly.

I was fishing close to the side of the rock platform and as a result had the shot spaced well out with a strong number 8 hook at the business end.  If it had been windy the shot would have been clumped close together to hold the bait out against the tide and the current.  Finally I greased the line to enable the strike to pick up and set the hook instantly.

All the while I had been steadily ground baiting the swim, but I knew that the optimum time for Mullet here would be around high tide … Get to know your marks, they all fish differently but I knew I had an hour or so before the best chance of a fish.

A sliver of Mackerel flesh was attached to the hook and a gentle cast saw the float landing in the midst of the slowly sinking ground bait.  I chose to fish at about 14 feet to start with confident that any fish that were lower down in the water would start to rise up after this stream of free food. The float ran through the line to the nylon stop and settled with just the brightly coloured red tip showing against the water.  The tide was flowing steadily from the sea into the miniature bay and conditions looked perfect.

The morning was so warm and still that it seemed as if everything had become immobilised in time.  This included the float which stubbornly refused to flicker or move.  More ground bait was introduced every cast but tense expectancy slowly changed to a state of watchful alertness and waiting.  The rhythm of the sea as it surged up and down was almost hypnotic as I watched the float and the fronds of seaweed slowly lifting and falling.

Suddenly, with no hint of warning, the float slid under very smoothly before disappearing completely from sight.  A firm strike saw the clutch screaming as a fish ran off in a dazzling fight.  No question, this was no Mullet; the speed and power announced that I had hooked a Mackerel.  On such light tackle this most sporting greyhound of the seas jagged this way and that before finally being netted.  Gleaming and shimmering in iridescent greens, silver and blues, the fish trembled from mouth to tail as it was gently unhooked.  This one was lucky as it was not needed; lowered back into the water it shot off like a jet-propelled rocket and was gone in an instant.

Encouraged, another ball of ground bait was launched in to the spot, and this was quickly followed by my re-baited hook.  The float barely settled before lifting sharply and moving off violently sideways.. A strike saw another furious fight from a lively Mackerel.  A shoal had arrived and for the next forty minutes or so it was a bite a cast.  In the midst of all this fishing mayhem my float lay flat and ran along the surface.  The next moment a silver torpedo shot clean out of the water, its flanks glistening in the morning sunlight.  A Garfish this time and a decent one too at well over the pound mark.  A different fight ensued, with the fish tail-walking acrobatically and twisting in mid-air.  Again the fish was safely netted and returned and I noticing the line had frayed with the sharp teeth of the fish, I stopped to remove some line and re-tie the hook.

Only the occasional bite followed with the odd Mackerel, but the shoal had moved on, and then quite suddenly they had gone.  The tide was approaching full when the float sank gently away.  A strike saw the return of an empty hook.  The next cast the float bobbed and lifted slightly then drew away.  A quick strike saw another missed bite and the bait stripped.  Without doubt there were Mullet in the swim.

The pattern continued for the next few casts.  As I kept missing bite after bite I became frustrated and decided to hold back the strike.  After the float had gone under I waited until I had counted, “1-2-3!”   This time there was no mistake.  The rod responded immediately and went straight into its test curve followed by a solid and shaking pull.  All the time the fish was taking off line and banging its head down as it tried to escape.  Side strain eased it away from a nearby rocky outcrop and once turned the issue was never in doubt.  A golden-silvery flash saw the fish turn on its side as it started to tire.

Tired Mullet Photo courtesy of Mike Bailey

A couple more runs and a nice fish of nearly two and a half pounds was safely netted.   The hook was only just touching the upper lip and fell out as the fish was lifted out.  Within seconds, after an admiring glance at its silvery lines, the fish was returned unharmed; it stayed motionless in the net for a few minutes but quickly recovered, and upon release slowly sank away into the depths of water before disappearing with a flick of the tail.

Safely Netted Photo courtesy of Mike Bailey

A few more dithery bites developed before a smaller fish was taken.  This spelled the end of the action; just like a switch the bites dried up and although I carried on for another hour the tide had well turned and the fish had gone.

It had been a slow start but by persevering, a good morning’s sport had ensued, with a variety of species taken.  Content, I packed up my gear and started the slow ascent up the cliff face.  Pausing for breath I was aware of a snow white cloud of feathers floating downwards from the azure blue sky. A piercing shriek split the silence and the blue-white barring of a peregrine falcon could be seen as it wheeled and plucked a rock dove right in front of me.  I watched spellbound as it descended to a remote rocky outcrop nearby, and started to leisurely devour its meal. 

The memorable end to a beautiful morning, with the promise of many more to come during the summer and autumn months; rock fishing brings many challenges and many rewards and once you know your marks rarely disappoints.  Even if the fish are scarce you can be sure you will be fishing in some of the most beautiful and wild parts of the coastline … just take common sensed precautions and be especially aware of wind directions and strength.  No fish is worth the risk of being washed away, there’s always another day!!!