‘This was clearly no ray, it was a fish that could fight a bit. ‘Cod’, I thought and my friends also reckoned it was a big cod as well. It just had to be. Slowly I began to get some line back on to the reel. This wasn’t the sort of fish that could strip line off a reel like a bonefish, salmon, carp or pike but it was a dogged fighter’
One Friday morning in July 1966 I got a call from John MacDonald at Deal: “Can you get down? I’ve found a mussel bed that is covered in plaice.” I had a word with my editor who agreed I could leave early on the understanding he himself would receive a brace of plaice. I called John back to say, “I will be down and would you get me ten score of yellow-tails?” Yellow-tails were the local lugworm and highly prized by anglers and fish alike. John replied that he had already got me a bucketful of fresh lug, having guessed that I would come down once I heard the news of the plaice. It was going to be a neap tide so I could use light tackle which meant leads of between four and six ounces, a line of twenty pounds strain, a small Penn multiplier reel and Milbro Neptune boat rod.
We, that is Frank Edmunds, Arthur Sayers and I, arrived at Deal in plenty of time. We parked the van, then went along to Jim Heard’s tackle shop to pick up a few bits and pieces (isn’t it amazing how we always end up having to buy tackle we already have back at home?). Then it was into the cafe for tea and toast, where John also joined us.
The weather was kind, with a light wind and warm sun; perfect! Days like this make up for the ones when either you have to hold on with one hand for fear of being blown overboard or, otherwise, you can’t even get afloat. Once in the boat, a clinker-built job that had the engine in the centre, we slid down the shingle bank and into the sea. It was a half hour trip out to the mussel bed and during that time we set up our tackle. Our end rig was a spreader made from stainless steel, with two, size 2/0, fine-wire, long-shank Aberdeen hooks baited with yellow-tails. We were ready…
Once over the mark, down went the anchor and after a couple of minutes John said, “Okay, it’s all yours.” I put the spool out of gear and lowered the baited hooks to the sea bed, then flicked the reel back into gear. I must have waited for all of ten seconds when I felt a fish mouth the bait, and then another one. I struck, and winched up two plaice, each being around two pounds. It was as easy as that. I rebaited and dropped the tackle down again and soon two more fish were being brought in. Frank and Arthur were doing just as well, and that’s how the fishing was to continue for the next three hours, with some of the plaice weighing over four pounds. We put back those under two pounds whenever they were lip hooked. It was wonderful sport; plaice fishing at its best.
By eight o’clock we had had enough and headed for shore, booking the boat for the next afternoon but that trip was to prove to be a disaster because a trawler went over the mussel bed early in the morning and scraped it clean. Between the three of us we had just two bites from small dogfish.
My biggest cod
This did not come from my favourite fishing spot of Dungeness but from a boat-fishing trip out from Deal. It was one of those lucky fish which we catch now and then; I wasn’t fishing for cod, but for thornback rays. It was around four o’clock in the afternoon, the tide was flooding and conditions were good for the rays. I was fishing with a twenty pound line class rod, twenty-four pound strain line and a size 4/0 hook on a thirty pound strain nylon trace. I don’t like to use wire when fishing for rays; I think it’s a mistake to do so.
With an eight-foot flowing trace and a fillet of mackerel as hook bait, bouncing well away from the boat, I lifted the rod to work the bait a bit further down the tide when the rod was savagely pulled down There was no need to strike, the fish had hooked itself and next tried to move down tide. Grudgingly the reel gave line and I could feel the fish shaking its head in an effort to shed the hook.
This was clearly no ray, it was a fish that could fight a bit. ‘Cod’, I thought and my friends also reckoned it was a big cod as well. It just had to be. Slowly I began to get some line back on to the reel. This wasn’t the sort of fish that could strip line off a reel like a bonefish, salmon, carp or pike but it was a dogged fighter.
Slowly I pumped the fish towards the boat. When it surfaced about ten yards from the stern, I gasped; it was hooked only lightly in the scissors—a big fish of thirty pounds, I thought. It opened its mouth, the tide flooded in and the fish went below the surface. I continued pumping and then suddenly it was there alongside the boat, looking huge. Brian put the net under and scooped it out: it was mine! The big cod coughed up four crabs and a partially digested flatfish. When we put it on the scales they pulled down to 28 lbs 7 ounces. I was thrilled.
Writing & Images Martin James MBE, Late Summer 2026
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