Of a Tide of Fish
Clive Gammon
A Tide of Fish
. . . a few extracts from Clive Gammon's superb sea fishing book,
beautifully illustrated with lino-cuts by John Richardson
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea.
Thomas the Rhymer
However much we sea-fishermen owe to fine nylon line and the pleasure of using it with light rods, and the considerable interest of discovering more and more about the fish we seek, there is much more radical impetus somewhere in sea-fishing, and it has something to do with places like the pier and the grey and silver light on the sea around it. It is not a simple emotion: it has very little to do with picturesque or even beautiful surroundings. It has much to do with an attempt to identify oneself with a mysterious element to the extent of playing a part in it.
Although what I have been describing is the basic motivation of the sea-fisherman, the whole sport - I would prefer to say occupation - is a complex pattern of other pleasures as well that lead from it, ones that are shared to some extent by the other branches of fishing.
The sea-fisherman gradually accumulates a fund of knowledge that is indispensable to success. He learns very much about tides and the ways in which their movements affect fish. He learns a great deal about the sea bed, the position of a tiny patch of sand amongst low-lying rock where feeding bass come, or a gravel bed where he can expect cod in the winter. He learns where there are sandeels or soft crab or lug to use as bait. He will aim at knowing where and when to expect fish and what they are feeding on, and of course he will never reach such absolute knowledge. All this is not easy, but it is immensely rewarding.
Thus, when I began this book, my only intention was to write about sea-fishing against a background of the beaches and cliffs of Gower and South Pembrokeshire that I know so well; but since they are so much more than a mere background, it was inevitable that I should be thinking more and more of the way in which their natural beauty is threatened with destruction by industry and by the self- seeking ‘developers’ of the coast. I hope that sea-fishermen will not grow impatient at my references to the way the fight against the exploiters is going, for they, with yachtsmen, wildfowlers and naturalists, are the outer sentinels, and often the only protesters, against further encroachments.
The coastline I intend to describe begins at St Ann’s Head on the northern shore of Milford Haven and runs eastwards to where Swansea Bay marks the real beginning of the sheltered waters of the Bristol Channel, a division with which geographers might disagree, but which is plain to the fisherman who sees the contrast between the ocean surge of the Gower coast and the mild seas that begin in the shelter of Mumbles Head and, with little change of character, extend along the shore of the Vale of Glamorgan.
Although what I have been describing is the basic motivation of the sea-fisherman, the whole sport - I would prefer to say occupation - is a complex pattern of other pleasures as well that lead from it, ones that are shared to some extent by the other branches of fishing.
The sea-fisherman gradually accumulates a fund of knowledge that is indispensable to success. He learns very much about tides and the ways in which their movements affect fish. He learns a great deal about the sea bed, the position of a tiny patch of sand amongst low-lying rock where feeding bass come, or a gravel bed where he can expect cod in the winter. He learns where there are sandeels or soft crab or lug to use as bait. He will aim at knowing where and when to expect fish and what they are feeding on, and of course he will never reach such absolute knowledge. All this is not easy, but it is immensely rewarding.
Thus, when I began this book, my only intention was to write about sea-fishing against a background of the beaches and cliffs of Gower and South Pembrokeshire that I know so well; but since they are so much more than a mere background, it was inevitable that I should be thinking more and more of the way in which their natural beauty is threatened with destruction by industry and by the self- seeking ‘developers’ of the coast. I hope that sea-fishermen will not grow impatient at my references to the way the fight against the exploiters is going, for they, with yachtsmen, wildfowlers and naturalists, are the outer sentinels, and often the only protesters, against further encroachments.
The coastline I intend to describe begins at St Ann’s Head on the northern shore of Milford Haven and runs eastwards to where Swansea Bay marks the real beginning of the sheltered waters of the Bristol Channel, a division with which geographers might disagree, but which is plain to the fisherman who sees the contrast between the ocean surge of the Gower coast and the mild seas that begin in the shelter of Mumbles Head and, with little change of character, extend along the shore of the Vale of Glamorgan.
It is one as various and beautiful as any in Europe. First there is the great storm beach at Freshwater West, that faces the Atlantic swell in the south-west corner of the Castlemartin Peninsula in South Pembrokeshire, and behind it, Milford Haven cuts deep into the land - not an estuary, but a deep inlet of the sea that drowned the valley through which the two Cleddaus flowed. To the south and east are the lesser beaches, Broad Haven, Barafundle and Freshwater East which, lacking the sheer magnitude of the western Freshwater, are no less beautiful with their high cliffs and white sand.
Once past the coves of Swanlake and Manorbier, the coast is within the protection of Carmarthen Bay, and the beaches at Tenby and Saundersfoot are the most easterly in Pembrokeshire. The dark shale cliffs beyond Amroth are inside the Carmarthen border and yield to long shallow beaches and a dune country that is dominated by the estuary of the Towy and the Taf, until another river mouth divides Cefn Sidan sands from the Gower Peninsula. Here the theme of Castlemartin is repeated: great limestone cliffs dominate the surf beaches and there are many coves.
Last of all is Swansea Bay and the docks of the town, the piers and the tumbled boulders of the breakwater where the coast is almost subdued to the needs of man; and even then there is fishing.
For most of us who fish the surf in the south-west, there is really only one quarry, despite the rich variety of species that come inshore, and so I do not feel the need to apologise for the fact that the bass, Morone labrax of the Mediterranean and the West Atlantic, has been given far more attention than any other fish. It is handsome, silvery, bold, surf-haunting, game in battle, difficult to hook and land; and to all these virtues it may be added that it is a fine fish at table. Lately however, my south-western coast has yielded a new kind of fishing which is entirely different from the others and has some claim to be amongst the most exciting of all. But how it developed, and the story of our successes and failures will emerge in due course.
Once past the coves of Swanlake and Manorbier, the coast is within the protection of Carmarthen Bay, and the beaches at Tenby and Saundersfoot are the most easterly in Pembrokeshire. The dark shale cliffs beyond Amroth are inside the Carmarthen border and yield to long shallow beaches and a dune country that is dominated by the estuary of the Towy and the Taf, until another river mouth divides Cefn Sidan sands from the Gower Peninsula. Here the theme of Castlemartin is repeated: great limestone cliffs dominate the surf beaches and there are many coves.
Last of all is Swansea Bay and the docks of the town, the piers and the tumbled boulders of the breakwater where the coast is almost subdued to the needs of man; and even then there is fishing.
For most of us who fish the surf in the south-west, there is really only one quarry, despite the rich variety of species that come inshore, and so I do not feel the need to apologise for the fact that the bass, Morone labrax of the Mediterranean and the West Atlantic, has been given far more attention than any other fish. It is handsome, silvery, bold, surf-haunting, game in battle, difficult to hook and land; and to all these virtues it may be added that it is a fine fish at table. Lately however, my south-western coast has yielded a new kind of fishing which is entirely different from the others and has some claim to be amongst the most exciting of all. But how it developed, and the story of our successes and failures will emerge in due course.
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A Tide of Fish
