Posts tagged: pout

Whiting Biting

By , 12 September, 2010 19:49

It was off to Seaford beach again last night, this time in company with some time fishing pal, Phil. We arranged to meet at Edinburgh Road at about 8pm to fish from low water up to an probably over high water. I got there a bit early, so wandered over to have a quick look. Conditions looked good with a fair bit of movement in the water being agitated by a brisk Westerly breeze. The forecast said the wind would die down at about 10pm, so we had to make the most of it.

I kitted up and set up at a spot just East of the parking area. Bass was the main quarry  of the night but, as usual, I can’t resist having another scratching rod out. Bass rod was a running ledger ending in a 5/0 pennel which would be baited with whole squid. Although conditions at the same weren’t suitable for live-baiting, the rig had provision for this should the conditions change later. The scratcher had a size 4 two hook flapper baited with lugworm.

By the time Phil arrived, after his ahemm… detour, both my rigs were in the water. From the off, it was obvious that whiting were going to be a pest for the whole night. Although not there in the numbers they were on my last visits, they were still there in their thousands. They hit the worm baits quickly and had a go at the big baits close in too. Didn’t matter how far or in what the direction you cast, the robbing barstwards had the bait every time.

Apart from a small ray caught by Phil and the odd pout, it was whiting all night with not a sniff from anything else. Gluttons for punishment, we stuck it out and tried all sorts but the main target was not going co-operate with us on this. Phil stuck it out just after high water at about 2.30 and and I, like the fool that I am, stayed for another hour before saying bollocks to it and packing up.

So, another disappointing night on Costa Del Seaford.  I am thinking about going somewhere different next time, maybe. So if you see a strange bloke wandering around your neck of the woods carrying rods and far too much kit, mumbling that he’s frightened and lost, take pity on him and either show him where the fish are or point him in the direction of Seaford and give him a bloody hard push.

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