Never went boat fishing after a scare in the Western Channel, fishing out of Brixham in 1979, for the winter cod run. An ill-omen before we embarked, as the boat we, (the New Inn Sea-Angling and Gentlemens' Ale-Swilling Club), had originally chartered was now resting peacefully on the bottom out there somewhere, after her winches pulled her under with the nets snagged in a wreck, ( probably a WWII bomber, there are hundreds out there which didn't quite make it back). We'd hardly cleared the lee off Berry head when it blew up rough, and I mean rough, Channel style, straight off the Atlantic. Skip had to keep her bow into the seas, so we ploughed on unable to turn back. Eventually, it eased enough for us to turn, one second cresting enormous Atlantic waves, the next at the bottom of a huge dark grey pit in the ocean. Sick? I never knew you could be so ill, or turn so green! The skipper and crew treated it like a quick trip up the Thames from the Embankment! "T'was only a bitty squoorll", says skipper in his Devon burl, and most of the daft 'app'orths ( halfpennyworth, a cretin ) went out again! Not me and Jummy, we went 'trawling' for a pub, and found us a nice wooden settle by a roaring fire with a couple of pints of the landlord's best medicinal ale, followed by fish and chips, mushy peas, bread and butter and a mug of tea to replenish our digestive tracts.
I got some beach casting gear after that!
Alan
[This message has been edited by Alan Belson (edited 08-16-2005).]
