Shooting Times & Country

Wreck ’n’ roll star for a day

Today, I’m standing on the deck of my boat: 25 feet of moulded fibreglass, 11 miles due south of Chesil Beach, 10 miles west of Portland Bill. Straight ahead, all is simply sea and sky. Nothing in between. Not a single other boat, just two hues of blue as far as my eye can see. This is why I’ve fallen in love with sea fishing: the calm, the peace, the solace. The aching aloneness of this place. A place of such tranquillity and wonder. A place that touches a part of my soul nowhere else can reach. At least, nowhere on land.

My eye catches a black shape breaking the oily, smooth blue of the surface. It seems to wave at me, like a slowly drowning man wearing a black oven glove.

I know from experience that the flipping-flopping, wobbly, thrashing motion is that of a huge single dorsal fin

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