drowsed myself awake at the ungodly hour of 6.00am, give or
take the shake of a lamb’s tail and in my bleary mind
I remember that today is going to be sunny and I wonder whether
a visit to the sea front would be productive. I had had an inspiring
few hours of photography at the Neath valley waterfalls yesterday
and a good sunrise shot would start the day off very nicely.
So I arose, perhaps that sounds too majestic but anyway I threw
on some warm clothing and shot off for Mumbles. It was a clear
sky apart from a low bank of cloud over England so realism told
me that the potential was limited, the sun would show itself
later and there was not much in the clear sky to light up and
create some magic.
we have to be prepared so the camera bag and tripod come out
of the car and I take my position leaning against the railing,
my gear lying on the seat behind me. I am quite fond of this
part of photography. My mind can drift wherever it wants to,
the waves lap gently against the sea wall and seagulls wail
quietly. About ten yards away a fisherman stands sentinel over
his two rods with optimistic thoughts of a good breakfast, I
look over the bay at the lights of Swansea still in its slumber.
I am as warm as morning toast with just a coolness of the morning
air on my face.
has been a while since I wrote my last story and I wonder when
I will get the next trigger, the last couple of times when I
have been on watch at the lookout have passed without incident.
Many funny or even silly things have happened but nothing to
make a story.
look up from my wave-gazing and I see the fisherman walking
towards me and wonder what he wants.
just lost my rod,” he says “it was a heavy duty
I thought, how on earth could that have happened? Perhaps it
was snatched by a lightning fast jogger pushing a stolen Co-op
trolley and gathering up all he passed under the illusion that
he had won some trolley dash competition. I glanced to see if
he had pinched my camera bag and tripod too! Oh, what a relief,
they’re still there!
continues “There it was leaning against the rail when
suddenly it was yanked up and it dived into the sea!”
heavens,” I said “would you be able to get it back
when the tide is out?”
I tried to hook it with my other line,” he said “but
it was gone.”
I realised that it would still be attached to the fish.
must have been a really big one,” said the fisherman,
measuring it with his hands, “if I’d strapped the
rod to the rail that could well have been the best yet!”
commiserated with him and he strolled back. At least he has
a good fishy story to tell his mates now.
lean back on the rail and my mind starts to mull it over (sorry,
should that be ‘mullet over’? A thousand or more
apologies, that really is awful!) and I have a picture of a
large bass zooming around the coast with a heavy stratocaster
fishing rod skimming along the waves like a manic one-legged
ski. Would this be a danger to shipping? Should I let them know
at Worms Head lookout to keep their eyes open for it.
a different slant to ‘the one that got away’, I
turn to go home and get this written up and I see that the fisherman
is sitting on the seat with the handle of his second rod firmly
between his legs. If he gets a bite now he really is in trouble!