Rocks, Waves, And Weed At Pwllheli:

Welsh Fishing Adventure: Bass, Blisters, and a Bee Hive Pod:

There’s something magical about waking up at 4 AM. I don’t sleep; I go to bed at about 9:00 p.m. and lie there. I get so excited about the forthcoming trip as I have the enthusiasm of a Labrador seeing a tennis ball for the first time.

This is it, I told myself, today’s the day I conquer Pwllheli’s rocky marks. The forecast promised a south wind, a decent surf—everything a surf-caster could ask for.
It turns out, the sea had other plans. Instead of fish, I was greeted with what can only be described as an underwater salad bar—lettuce weed everywhere. Not a single bite. Just me, my rod, and the haunting realisation that I had left my warm bed for this. Still, breakfast was good: My wife’s lovely pre-made egg on toast and coffee so hot it nearly welded my lips together, went down well.

Frustrated by the weed-choked rocks and lifeless water, I decided enough was enough. A short walk led me to a more sheltered spot- less dramatic, but sometimes fishing is about adapting, not stubbornness.

Then the magic. Two dolphins arced through the water, herding baitfish that flickered like silver confetti across the surface. Bait fish and dolphins are nature’s fish finders. I thought. If they are feeding here, why shouldn’t I?

A few speculative casts later, the rod tip jolted- no, not a monster but a spirited little bass, its flanks flashing in the morning sunlight. Not a trophy bass, but a small victory all the same. Sometimes the dolphins point the way. And sometimes, just showing up and paying attention is the best tactic of all.

From Big Waves And Slippery Rocks To Relative Calm:

The two-minute walk paid small dividends and a little win: A Savage gear Seeker and an Eddystone eel teaser matching the hatch (baitfish in the area).

After a further two hours of flogging the water like it owed me money, I admitted defeat. Time for Plan B: a scenic 35-mile drive to an estuary that, in my head, was teeming with bass or at least it used to before the netters destroyed it. I was hoping the estuary had recovered and that the Bass were waiting to throw themselves at my lure.
A good reminder: when the fishing’s tough, move, watch, and let the water tell you its secrets.

The Estuary: Where Sand Fights Back:

Fishing the ebb tide meant a long, long walk—45 minutes of soft sand that sucked at my boots like quicksand with a grudge. Then came the gully. Chest-high, freezing sea and mountain water, and with sand holes lurking like booby traps. One wrong step and I’d be explaining to the coastguard how I got stuck in a hole of my own making.

The forecast promised a mild 18C with gentle breezes – “perfect drying weather conditions,” I told myself. Waders? Too bulky for the soft sand. I opted for lightweight trousers and boots, envisioning a comfortable session where the splashes would vanish in the warm, almost tropical wind like the mist off waves. I felt the wind on my thighs, shins, and chest, but still, there’s something oddly satisfying about embracing discomfort for the sake of mobility – until the shivering starts. Next time, I should pack an extra top and shorts.
But oh, the reward of this tough walk out.

The View Is The Best in the World, This is why I Fish:

The walkout, although arduous, is worth it. This is one of my happy places, even if the fishing is tougher these days. In the distance, two medieval castles frame the sea, stunning mountains, and Caribbean-like white sandbars stretching out like nature’s own fishing platforms. Memories flood back from the many childhood holidays I enjoyed here.

An hour casting into the current, allowing the lure to swing left to right and back, not one sign of a bite. nothing (have the netters left any bass?) And when you start to think this was a bad idea —bang—a hard-fighting 55cm bass decided to play (caught using a Komomo11 in Chameleon in Flashing Plate),

This Bass Made My Day, All You Can Ask Is For One Half Decent Bass During Any Given Session:

Why the Chameleon K11 in Flashing Plate Is Special?

There’s a moment burned into my bass hunting instincts – when a stubborn Welsh cloud finally cracks, and sudden sunlight stabs the water like a spotlight. That’s my cue. No hesitation. The hand goes into my lure box for the Chameleon Flashing Plate Komomo11. It has a polished surface, practically humming with potential. Time and again, I’ve watched that flicker of light through the waves trigger something primal in a bass. Every wobble of this lure becomes a “try me”; it taunts bass into hits. This is my blank-saving lure in daytime bright sunlight.

After a proper scrap, I released it into a shallow pool so I could admire my prize a little longer. It flicked its tail, gave me what I swear was a nod, and vanished. Worth every step.

The Bee Hive Pod vs. The Tent of Doom: Perfect For A Dedicated Fisherman:

Back at Penrallt, I faced a critical decision: sleep in my tent (forecast: monsoon) or the Bee Hive pod (forecast: dry and cosy). I chose the pod because at 63, I’ve learned that waking up in a puddle is only fun if you’re a duck.

As the sun dipped, I hobbled back out for a night session. The darkness delivered—three more bass, up to 54cm. By the time I trudged back to the car, my legs had officially filed for divorce.

Caught At Distance In A Strong Crosswind, Using A 155 Hunthouse Lure:

The Aftermath: A Body in Revolt:

50,000+ steps and pouring rain on my way back to the pod. A backpack that felt like it was filled with bricks. A fishing rod, a staff, and a net that doubled as a full-body workout. The next morning, standing up was an Olympic event. But here’s the thing—I’ll do it all again. Because chasing bass along Welsh coastlines isn’t just fishing. It’s an obsession, a borderline-masochistic love affair with the sea.
And next time? Maybe I’ll pack a mobility scooter.

Sleeping in the pod is like no other, no hum of traffic, no glare of street lights, just a distant whisper of sea wind and the odd cry of a night bird. Finally, you crawl onto your floor mattress and plunge into the depths of a deep sleep. The sea took my energy today, the pod gave it back.

Tight lines all (and better knees),
Abbo.