Southwest Sea Fishing Blog

Finally, we’ve got that long awaited break in the bad weather and I’ve been able to get out and do a spot of shore fishing. And with a forecast of sunshine and light westerly’s it seemed the perfect opportunity to venture further afield without much risk of being rained off.

After hearing many favourable reports about East Portlemouth, South Devon recently, I thought I’d try my luck down there. It’s a bit of a pig to get to with all the narrow country roads, but by god is it a great venue to fish.

 Although the beaches at the mouth of the estuary have been pretty productive recently (including a new British shore record for thornback) I decide to bypass these and head around the corner and fish the open coastline. It’s a bit hairy getting down to some of these marks, but with calm seas, dry ground underfoot and the bare minimum of gear in my backpack I thought I’d give it a shot.

Like in so many other places, the views from the Southwest coast path around the Salcombe area are absolutely fantastic, and even without the fishing to look forward to it’s a day out in itself. Despite this, the fishing was the real focus do I made my way down the Gorse covered slope and out onto the rocks.

Just before you get to the first gate on the main path it’s possible to break left and follow a lightly trodden path downward, which I did. Hairpinning to and fro I tentatively made my way down and out onto the little plateau. I fished from low to high tide so arrived when the platform was at its biggest, but before I unpacked I had a quick scoot round to make sure that there was no chance I would be cut off later on! It was all good so I set up.

I had high hopes for today’s session – I thought of the reports and the talk in the tackle shop and set up my main rod for Thornbacks. Since it was mainly rough ground (although there are some tasty little sand patches too) I went pretty heavy with 60lb braid on my Abu 7000 and terminal gear to match. First off I went for a pulley rig with rag and a big fat prawn.

With that out, I banged out a second Pennell pulley loaded with ragworm and mackerel – surely even if there weren’t any takers on the first rod I’d be in with the chance of a dog on the second, I thought. As it happened though, I had no real interest on either! There was definitely some small stuff down there though as the fish and prawn were getting chomped by something, and by the tiny knocks I don’t think they were crabs doing the damage.

I thought maybe Plaice on the sandy patch (hopeful as ever) or possibly rockling. With this in mind I set up a light spinner with a running ledger, a few beads, size 4 hooks and smaller cocktails and tried my luck again. This time though, nothing but gear lost in the rough! Ah well, at least the trip back up the slope would be a little easier with less gear...

With the big baits still out, I turned my focus to the rocks around the edge of the platform. For a while I spun frozen eel and head hooked rag around the features I could see through the clear water in the hope of a Pollack but nothing materialised – so then I went Wrassing.

Almost as soon as my gear hit the bottom it got hit – and hit hard! I’d only just had time to set the drag before I was duelling with a crash diving Ballan. Fantastic! The place was absolutely alive with them – all over 1lb, but some were getting on for 2lb, maybe even more. It was a cracking wrasse mark.
Anyhow, after a few of these I turned my attention to my other rods but still no joy. I tried a few different spots and switched to ragworm and squid, prawn and mackerel and various other combinations but still nothing. Still, you’ve gotta try these things...

After the wrassing I thought I’d have a toot at a bit of float fishing in the hope of a Mackerel or Gar but no joy there. I flung some feathers for ½ hour or so too, trying different depths - but again, all I got was arm ache.

Well, with the tide all the way in and the sun getting low I thought it best to pack up for the day to allow me to negotiate the return journey in at least half light, but it turned out to be far from a wasted day. The wrasse were great fun down there, and I’m sure that if I return in a week or two I may just end up with that illusive Raymond. Next time...

After heading back to the van I decided to take the smallest road back around to Southpool (the one that hugs the estuary) to case out a few possible marks for another time and, man, am I glad I did!

Just before you join the main East Portlemouth road once more, you run along the tail end of Southpool Creek. I looked over into the creek (now full at high tide) and from one bank to the other it was absolutely alive with fish. Naturally, I pulled over and talk a walk down to the bank to check out all the commotion! As it turned out, all the splashing and ripples were caused by Mullet tight to the surface. There were hundereds of them – nothing that I saw of any major size, but you never know what lurks below.

In an instant I’d already decided to return again when high tide coincides with sundown, but this time with my mulletting gear! I tell you, I’m excited already. If it turns out to be any good I’ll plot the mark on one of the SWSF interactive maps for you to check out. In the meantime, email me if you are interested in checking it out yourself.

Well, what a perfect end to a great day – and in my opinion, although no records were broken, East Portlemouth still remains right up there with the best South Devon Sea Fishing Marks.

Until next time.

Last month, Mike Johnson of Paignton SAA caused quite a stir among Westcountry sea anglers by breaking a British Shore Angling Record with his 22lb 12oz Thornback Ray landed from the beach at East Portlemouth.

Now, like many of my fellow anglers, I read these announcements and feel an overwhelming urge to hit the venue and try my hand – and usually (and, as I’ve slowly grown to realise, foolishly) I do.

But why don’t I ever learn? It’s always the same old story: I’ll hurriedly chuck my gear in the van, race to the venue with only the briefest of pit stops at the bait shop (not even stopping for half a cup of coffee), handbrake turn into the nearest parking area, jump out Starsky and Hutch style and proceed to trip and stumble over my rods, rests, bags, lamps, bait box and beachbuddy in the frenetic scramble to close the distance between myself and the next potential British record.

However, as I clear the final brow between myself and the latest red-hot mark, all thoughts of rod bending leviathans are dispelled in an instant and replaced instead by a more immediate consideration: Where on earth am I going to fish?

As ever, it would appear that I’m not the only one gripped by record fever. As I near the mark, the tiny gaps in the wall to wall carpet of anglers grow no larger. Row upon row of hopefuls continue to rain leads into the recently productive swim. There’s hardly enough room to swing a cat let alone a 6oz gripper.

But after driving for an hour and a half to get here, I’m damned if I’m going to turn around and go home empty handed. Instead, I’ll dodge leads and tangle lines for six hours and only then will I go home empty handed.

And so it happens, in almost script-like fashion, I pick my moment to cast (when the monofilament spider web before me is at its thinnest), we then all take it in turns to retrieve each other’s gear and exchange forgiving words and, in one of the many quiet moments, we tell one another how a British record was caught here only yesterday. I don’t know if we discuss it because it makes for great small talk, or simply because it stops us from losing the will to live during these typically dire post-record sessions.

Upon being enthusiastically re-briefed on recent events for the 40th time, I can’t help but think back to the one, solitary pouting caught between the twenty or so anglers throughout the whole session. With each subsequent 'big fish' comment I glance down at my supersized landing net, my fully charged camera and pristine electronic scales and die a little inside.

Could we see 2 British records caught from the same mark in the space of one week? Deep down we all know that it isn’t going to happen, but record fever is a curious thing. All it takes is one column in the Western Morning News to trigger a ripple effect that rings through the tackle shops and culminates in 35 anglers converging on a mark about the size of a rig wallet.

This I know, as I’ve been #35 many a time. But not anymore – I vow never to be caught up in the hysteria again. Well, maybe just once more – but next time it’ll be different, you just wait and see.