I'm Floundering in Mud & Blood!

This week I have mainly been messing around in mud, very often in the pursuit of fish you have to go through a bit of pain for that ultimate gain, this week was definitely that. The first trip was back up the Bristol channel to Burnham for a spot of Thornback Ray and Congering. Chris hadn't experienced the joys of the channel mud and during my last trip up there for sole I had put out a whiting bait that was quickly ripped from the hook. The night before what was to be an all day trip I had prepared all my baits, bluey sections wrapped with squid, extra oil was added and the tub re-froze, I then discovered I had broke the eye on one of my rods, darn these cheap eyes. I picked Chris up at 9.30am and we set off up the M5 to the destination, the wind was a brisk easterly but the beach should be fairly sheltered. I parked up and we strolled down the steps for a quick look at the beach, Chris was concerned he could see no water, I pointed out the chocolate stream in-between the lighter brown slabs of mud. The tide was still retreating and high tide was predicted for 18.30, this would give us the final 2 hrs of the flood in darkness, perfect. With the bitterly cold wind and the plan to stand out in it all day, I had took the gamble and put on my thermals, as I added the rest of the layers and my waders, I felt it had been a wise choice. We loaded ourselves up for the 15 minute yomp to the waters edge, the first hundred yards was a pleasurable experience and we spoke of the strange beauty that radiates from Burnham light beach. Then we hit the sludge and I learned that no two trip to the Bristol channel are the same, my last trip the mud had been firm and easy to walk on, this time each step was like escaping from a vice of silt. The sludge was not content with just gripping your legs, it also threw in deep undulations, that were filled with liquefied slime to try and make you slip over. This area of the beach was the domain of the sludge monster and I am sure many an unwary angler has been sucked down into the primordial ooze. We then reached the third zone, the sloppy, slippy mud, whereby only the top 2 inches were soft, this was like stinking brown ice that could quickly put you on your back. We reached the sea and were already plastered in muck, the bitter wind drying the goo, causing it to set on the rods and tackle. I know that after a good storm this beach is considerably more pleasant as the soft mud is washed away exposing the harder core, clearly we hadn't had a storm for a while.

With the ground around being so treacherous everything you do has to be considered and done steadily, any rash or sudden movements would instantly result in a Burnham Beach Bomb. We got the rods baited and cast, finally able to relax and look forward to getting that first fish under our belts. Chris managed to break one of his tip eyes on the first cast, so we both now had broken rods, cant wait till Christmas when santa brings me my Tronix!

The sea was at this point just a river as the low tide was still 45 minutes away, and the rapidly ebbing water brought large clumps of weed with it, consequently the lines were quickly covered. I had brought in my rods for the third time to clear the clumps of weed and decided to wash the muck of my still intact bait at the waters edge. I walked to the edge of the water where I had waded out safely only 10 minutes previously, took one step into the chocolate soup and slid straight down into the sea. The shock of going under the freezing water was instant and fortunately I had been wearing my fishing floatation vest that prevented me from staying down. I managed to dig my fingers into the mud on the seas edge and drag myself back onto the beach, water poured from every item of clothing and I struggled to get my breath in the cold clothes. Chris was now helping me up the beach and urging me to strip off, not for the first time I might add! My main concern however was my phone that had been in the pocket of my flotation vest, I retrieved it and placed it in the sun before removing all my top layers. My trousers were wet in places and I could feel water around my feet in the waders but they had largely sealed me from water ingress. My top clothing however was drenched and I removed it all and rang it out, Chris kindly giving up his hoodie to give me at least one layer to put on. The sun was shining and I necked a couple of steaming cups of coffee to get my internal temperature back on track. Chris stated right we better pack up and get you back home to dry out, " no way pedro" was my answer, " we came here to fish and we will be staying to fish". Sometimes you really need to know when its time to go as bloody mindedness is no good to you when your in hospital with pneumonia. Anyway I had made my decision and we fished onwards, it wasn't long after that Chris succumbed to the brown ice, doing a triple twist on the way to the ground. He was now looking like a potato in gravy but at least his hoody wasn't covered in mud! Fortunately for the second trip in a row Chris had brought along his catering size flask of coffee and as the sun dropped so did the temperature making Catering Chris's flask choice a wise one.

The tide was now pouring back into the area and the shallow gradient requires a constant retreat, walking backwards across the sludge fields was precarious to say the least. I did say to Chris that the vast sludge flats were quite stunning in the setting sun almost like a perfectly iced chocolate cake, he however was uninspired and in no hurry to return.

We still hadn't had so much of a bite and with the baits coming back untouched it was just another frustration in a pile of frustrations, bloody fishing! I had decided to put out two big perfect baits and leave them there while we retreated, these baits ended being out over 250 yards at the end of the tide. Despite our suffering, hard work and determination to stay to the bitter end, we never got so much as a line bite. With the darkness enveloping us I was suddenly aware of how dam cold I was, my feet had long since become numb, my body shivered uncontrollably, it was time to head home. We packed up concerned we may get in trouble for taking home this much beach with us, the mud caked everything, and fishing in mud is something I wouldn't be doing anytime soon. I decided to get KFC on the way home as despite the heater being on the volcanic setting I was feeling really cold and needed to shower, change and eat as quick as possible. We spun round the drive through in Exeter and were back onto the M5 within minutes, 5 minutes later we were stopped by a barrier of brake lights, an accident only a few hundred yards from our junction. This lead to us sitting in the dark on the M5 for over 2 hours waiting for the road to clear and there are only so many of Chris's amusing anecdotes that are actually amusing . Eventually we got home cold, tired, hungry and vowing never to fish in mud again, or at least for a good while.

The next trip was scheduled to be back up the Bristol channel this time though from the safety of a boat, aboard Osprey alongside some of the Happy Danglers, the target Cod but for me a Spotted Ray. The forecast had looked iffy all week with strong east north easterly winds reaching 30mph, however Nick Smith sent the message to say it was on in the morning. I spent Saturday afternoon preparing baits, tying rigs and getting the kit ready for the morning. However late that evening Nick messaged to say the weather had taken a nose dive and the trip was off, frustrating but safety must always come first, I for one didn't want to find myself back in the Bristol Channel, its too darn cold! So plan B was needed and I knew exactly what I wanted that to be, I just needed to convince Chris. We were going to have a go for Flounder up on the river Taw in Barnstaple, this was a species I needed for my challenge and I knew a few had been coming out. Chris was fine until I mentioned we may need to dig a bit of bait, this of course meant once again scrambling around in mud. Chris was keen to purchase some Ragworm rather than dig it and to that effect he was happy to drive to Summerlands tackle at Westward Ho first. We bought £10 worth of King rag and made our way over to Pottington Industrial Estate, in Barnstaple where the river is close by. Surprisingly there were several anglers fishing up and downstream and rather than scrawl down in the mud close to the river we set up on the concrete meaning a longer cast. The group to our left in the deepest of the mud were catching consistently and even the anglers to our right reeled in the odd fish, our rods remained painfully still and this was becoming the norm on our trips. We were then approached by a couple of anglers who had planned to fish the area, but as it was busy they would move on, I recognised one from our trip aboard Bluefin earlier in the year. He enquired how my challenge was going and offered advice, which included the point that it might be worth using the smaller ragworm abundant in the river. They took Chris away with them, must be crazy, and helped gather us enough fresh ragworm for the rest of the trip, really great guys who's help we greatly appreciated, apologies for not remembering your name. Chris returned like a child with a new toy clutching a writhing mass of gooey worms, he reeled in to re-bait only to find a flounder had hooked itself. This being Chris's first ever Flounder he was suitably excited and just as importantly it had ended our run of poor results.

With that fish landed it created a bit of positivity in the area we were fishing, however the guys to the left were still getting several fish, eventually packing up having landed 10 flounder between the 5 of them. Despite the thick mud both Chris and I knew what we had to do, get over to that mark and wallow in the glory of hitting the target species. I grabbed my tackle and moved across to the new swim, the concrete slope at this point was covered in green slime and slippery as an eel, I left the box on the concrete and took the tripod and rods into the muck.

With everything set up in the new area and being so close to the waters edge we could see just how shallow the channel was becoming and there was surely only a few feet at the deepest point. I had decided to check my baits every 15 minutes, I was paranoid about the crabs steeling them or indeed casting the soft ragworm off the hook. I started reeling in the right hand rod and I noticed it was kiting right and the rod tip knocked every now and then, sure enough the Flounder I needed splashed angrily on the surface. That was it, species 76 and it was so nice to get a bit of reward for a quite a lot of effort over the last 3 trips.

I recast the rod and hoped we could extradite a few more before calling it a day, after all we hadn't fallen in, or broke anything on this trip. With the tide still ebbing away I wasn't to sure if the flounder would continue to feed but then as if to answer my query the rod tip bounced vigoursly as a flattie pounced on the worm bait. I lifted into the fish and the second flounder of the afternoon was landed, a quick photo, then it was released to fight another day.

Chris had noticed a wading bird walk past his baits indicating he was actually fishing in less than 6 inches of water, a quick recast was in order. This paid off as Chris's rod bounced indicating some interest, he too brought in his second flounder, happy days.

The sun was beginning to set and the haunting warble of the Curlews echoed across the mud flats, it really did feel like autumn.

We decided to call it a night the darkness was upon us and the area was quite treacherous to move around on, especially the slime covered slope. Chris had managed to break his unbreakable flask and it was surely only a matter of time before one of us took that tumble. As I returned to retrieve my second rod from the tripod I slipped on the last bit of green concrete on the slope, falling straight onto the rocks below. I had put my hand out to cushion the impact and in doing so caught it on the rocks, I was covered in mud and so too were my hands however the blood still found its way through. At first I thought I had broken my wrist as the pain was like getting freezing fingers hit with a hammer and my whole hand throbbed. Chris packed up my kit and then shouted gleefully from the waters edge, " I've got another one", if my hand wasn't so sore I might well have put that flounder somewhere Chris wouldn't have wanted a flat fish to be! I washed my bloody hand in the muddy water and knew I needed to get it cleaned properly sharpish, fortunately Chris had a first aid kit in the car and a few alcohol wipes had it nice and clean in no time.

We packed up once again covered in mud and in my case tears, once again taking solace in the local KFC, a few lemony wet wipes cleared a bit more of the wound, I could now see I had taken the top off my nail also. What this has taught us over the last few trips, as you get older falling over hurts a dam sight more, fishing with a mate just might save your life, and always carry a first aid kit with a way of clearing a wound, otherwise infections are inevitable from dirty water. When I fell in the channel I was kept upright by my flotation vest but if I had failed to grasp the bank I would have been taken in the swift water out to sea. Tragedy takes seconds to happen and a lifetime to get over, we all need to be careful out there and take nothing for granted. These last few trips have really taken it out of me and maybe I have been trying a bit too hard as the species options dwindle, 80 would have been great but I may have to settle for 76. If anyone has a suggestion for a species that is still catchable please let me know, Spotted Ray and Dragonet are still a possibility and so too is the Tub Gurnard.