Ain’t nothing like a smoothhound
Aug 15, 2019
3 minutes
WE’D chugged out of harbour and were now anchored about a mile offshore. Fortunately, I’d given the pep talk months earlier: “It may be lumpy, so if you suffer from seasickness bail now.” A few had, the remainder swearing they were rock-hard sea salts, all Cruel Sea bods capable of tying a double sheepshank while swallowing thick cocoa and fatty bacon sandwiches. Now, however, some faces had a chameleon match with the surrounding sea and they needed a distraction.
Adam the skipper had set course for a species day and the bass had sugared
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