The Hunt for Turbot
The day began in spectacular fashion as we watched the winter sun rise from the depths of the North Sea as we made our way out from Eyemouth, en route to ‘The Hirst’ in search of some infamous east coast Cod.
The day faded away in similar fashion as the sky turned to an inferno of pinks and blues. What happened in between however, was unfortunately, far less spectacular.
Vast hope and optimism were gradually replaced by an ever-increasing sense of dismay and disappointment, as drift after drift we failed to find any substantial numbers of respectable Cod.
To further our demise into, what was essentially a colossal huff, a brisk off shore wind meant a quick drift, and over rough ground that meant only one thing; gear loses. Every one of my carefully pre-made, ‘one up, one down’ rigs were lost to Davie Jones’ locker, a terminal tackle graveyard, and were never to be seen again.
This can be expected when fishing over rough ground and generally this is where the fish are. However, when the fish are refusing to give themselves up and one seems to be, literally throwing away gear, it can sometimes be hard to take.
As the wind, and in turn the wind chill increased, the call to head for harbor was, somewhat thankfully heard, and a long, cold, wet and bumpy ride back to shore was endured.
Once back on dry land and in the warmth of the car, many people’s thoughts of a warm bath and a hot dinner may have taken priority. Although the though briefly crossed our mind, we were determined to salvage some pride and make the long journey home more bearable. We were in search of redemption.
The plan was always to hit the beach for an evening’s ‘Flattie Bashing’, in particular, in an attempt to find the illusive Turbot. Upon our arrival on the vast sands of Tyningham Beach, our decision to persevere was well and truly rewarded with a stunning sky illuminating the wet sand in a multitude of colour. It’s interesting how uplifting and encouraging a sight like this can be, as immediately we were once again filled with the never distant, hope and optimism.
For the first 2-3 hours, fishing was pretty quick with plenty Flounders and Coalies taking our baits, fished at close range in the surf. Nothing of any great size, but we were catching fish and not losing gear. At around half-tide the bites dried up and happy with out attempts at redemption, we made the call to head for home.
The Turbot is a fish that’s proving hard to find, but we know they’re there and believe it is very much a numbers game. Eventually, after wading through the Flounders, one is sure to show up.
An Eternal Angler.
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