THE PROSPECT OF WHITBY.

I like Whitby, It's the sort of place where you can completely relax, so when my wife told me she had accepted an invitation from our eldest daughter to spend a week at her holiday home there, I was delighted. We'd been before of course, and always enjoyed ourselves immensely. Shopping in York, picnics on the moors, hours of chatting about everything in general and nothing in particular and the exchange of family news was something we looked forward to. Most importantly though, we would be able to spend time with our four grandchildren and of course there was the fishing.

As a fisherman I can think of no better place to visit than Whitby. I explained as much to my son-in-law. We could, I told him confidently, "Catch a different type of fish every day, they were all there, cod, dab, haddock, mackerel." They could all be caught from either the beach or a boat. "Think how impressed the family will be when we being them home for dinner." I tempted him. "It'll be a great week, you'll see." Strangely he had been there many times but it had never occurred to him to go deep-sea fishing, I never could understand that.

He is a big chap, played rugger a lot at quite a senior level. He's physically very strong and tackles everything he does with enormous enthusiasm. But he had never been fishing, not proper fishing. Like everyone else he'd fished in the local rivers and ponds when he was a boy, activities I dismissed scornfully as "Chasing tiddlers". I told him. "They don't count, until you've had a heavy fish on the end of your line in a choppy sea you can't say that you've been fishing." Now in the expansive mood all fishermen get into when talking about the subject to those who have never been, and fuelled by the thought of he week to come I developed the point further. "I'll show you how it's done and I bet you get as hooked on the sport as I am. We'll hire a boat and fish offshore. I hope you're a good sailor. You're in for a fantastic experience. There's nothing quite like it."…..Well there isn't is there?

He was by now very keen on the whole idea of having a go at a new sport, particularly fishing. He pointed out that his two boys would want to go fishing when they were old enough. It's all very well having a Granddad that knows about it but any self respecting Dad should be able to hold his own on the subject too. I completely agreed.

We got all the beach-casting rods and tackle from the shed and spread it all over the lawn the weekend before we were due to go. I didn't intend to get caught with half the gear missing. I'd never hear the last of it. Everything was there and it all checked out perfectly. All that was lacking was some bait and that would be no problem, we could get some from the superb tackle shop behind the market in Whitby. No tackle would be needed for the boat trip I assured him, everything would be provided by the skipper. He seemed impressed and was getting keener by the minute.

I didn't think it a good idea to practice beach casting in the garden. I had visions of irate neighbours being asked if we could have our weights back, or worse still the sound of breaking glass and the irate neighbour returning the weight without being asked. No, on balance I recommended we took all the practice we needed when we arrived in Whitby. The advice was too late" His usual enthusiasm had got the better of him and two and a half ounces of lead weight vanished over the back garden fence, at the same time a birds-nest of fishing line developed around the reel. Not a good start! I put the scrambled line into a plastic bag and threw it into the dustbin. The lead weight? We never saw it again. Neither of us would have had the nerve to try to retrieve it even if we had known where it finished up. I suggested it would be better if I tied the knots in future.

We already had tickets for a football match on the Saturday we were due to leave. So it was decided that my wife and daughter were to go on ahead with the children; we were to follow on Sunday morning. It meant of course that the potential for fishing on the Saturday evening would be lost to us but you can't be in two places at once and this was a cup-tie, definitely not a match to be missed. We were glad we didn't miss it, even though it was a draw, it was a damned good game of football.

High tide in Whitby was to be at two o'clock Sunday afternoon. We needed to set off early if we were to catch it. Unfortunately we both overslept and left much later than we had intended. We drove as fast as we sensibly could didn't make any stops on the way and luckily the traffic was light, we arrived we thought just in time to catch the tide.

Pulling into Whitby with our expectations as high as the temperature we were irritated to find ourselves stuck in a monster traffic jam. It was caused, we discovered, by the swing bridge needing to stay open longer usual because with the high tide had come a veritable fleet of boats, big ones, small ones, in-between ones. It seemed every yachtsman on the East Coast had decided to come to Whitby that weekend to celebrate Captain Cook's Week. I was beginning to think it a pity he hadn't sailed from Southampton.

The bridge finally opened to traffic and we all poured across. On arriving at their house we found the whole family was out and the place securely locked up. It wasn't until we had finished unloading the heavy luggage, the light stuff had gone with the others the day before, we realised that in our rush to get away "Early" that morning we had rushed out and left the keys on the kitchen table. We wouldn't be able to get into the house until the family returned. Worse still the fishing gear was inside so our plans for that day were clearly doomed. On reflection I should have noted then the early warning signs that things were not going to work out quite as planned but I didn't. We found the family on the beach a couple of hours after the tide had turned. The ice creams were good though!

Someone in one of the shops told my wife and daughter that it was easy to find Whitby jet on the sea-shore. That was bad enough but my eldest granddaughter was present and heard every word. Although aged only nine she has already declared her intention of becoming a archaeologist when she grows up, and the idea of finding a piece of beautiful jet just lying on the shore prooved irresistible to her. On Monday the entire family was required to scour the beaches on both sides of the estuary, which of course can only be done when the tide is out. The girls simply didn't seem to understand that fishing trips whether from the beach or from a boat must be planned to coincide with the tide. You don't just go off fishing at any old time. Although I must admit it was a great day out it was still another write off as far as fishing was concerned. Anyway we missed the tide again on Monday. We didn't find any jet either!

Tuesday went much the same way except that we went to Runswick Beach to collect ammonites. They, we were assured by a local shopkeeper were, "All over t' place Just pick them up off the beach luv, there's 'undreds of 'em." Well if there were they are still there, we didn't find any and from the comments overheard in the car park afterwards no one else did either. I suppose you just have to know what you are looking for. Perhaps when our granddaughter has qualified she'll come back and have another go just to prove how easy it really is. I'm told that the bruise on my left hand will fade quickly, I got it trying to smash one rock against another in the hope that it contained one of the elusive ammonites. It didn't of course. By the time we arrived back at the house the tide had gone so no fishing that day either. Still as was once famously said, "Tomorrow is another day".

Wednesday we had to keep a long-standing promise to the children to show them The Moors. We drove to Goathland Moor and arrived back very tired and very late. The Moors were fantastically beautiful, the colours, smells, wildlife and the views were spectacular. The feelings of space and freedom were like being re-born. What struck most forcibly though was the silence, not a person in sight, not a car, not even an aeroplane crossed the sky, just the sounds of nature as they have been since time began. But wonderful as all that undoubtedly was I was now becoming quite concerned that half the week had slipped by and there was not a wet hook in sight let alone a fish. I decided to take a firm line and announced at dinner that evening.
"We are going fishing to-morrow come hell or high water".
"No! No! Dear," my wife said sweetly "Not to-morrow, we have absolutely promised to take the children to Robin Hood's Bay and then on to the Abbey."
"Well Friday then." I said just as firmly but rather more hopefully. "For certain!" All agreed Friday was fine. The girls pointed out rather gleefully I thought, that high tide was to be at a quarter past six in the morning. "Well that's OK," I said. "Fishermen are used to getting up early. In any case that gives us time to get back here for lunch time and we can hire a boat and fish offshore this afternoon. We'll probably catch enough for dinner." The looks exchanged between my wife and daughter suggested that they had doubts about our ability to provide enough fish for dinner. "We'll show 'em!"

The visits to Robin Hood's Bay and the Abbey were marvellous…well for the children anyway, I found the day exhausting, climbing over rocks getting stuck in areas of very soft sand (I lost a pair of my fishing wellies in the process), then climbing all those stairs up to the Abbey! And down again! The children demanded burgers and chips (YUK) both at lunch-time and for dinner and the day closed long after the tide had changed……I felt I had run the London Marathon in record time.

And Thursday night was one of the worst nights I can remember. The children, from about nine thirty onwards, were all violently sick and needed to rush to the bathroom every ten minutes or so. Their mother not to be outdone joined in just after midnight and before long my wife became so ill that I seriously considered calling a doctor to see her, an action she vetoed firmly declaring that it must be something we had all eaten. (I told them not eat the bloody burgers!). I'd eaten, not burgers though, fish and chips for me, we were at the seaside after all and I was alright, though becoming more concerned by the minute.

About five o'clock on the Friday morning they all subsided into a restless sleep leaving only my son-in-law and I fit enough to move. At five-fifteen the alarm went off to remind us of our plan to go fishing, some hope of that! By now neither of us were in a fit state to tackle even a tiddler let alone the size of fish we had planned to catch. To be fair even if we had been fit enough we wouldn't have dreamed of leaving the family in such a state. The afternoon trip? Forget it! It didn't happen, by then I was the only one left standing and feeling even halfway human, and I was required to perform other duties….which I won't bore you with.

Saturday we left early to get home as soon as we could, so we were not able to go fishing then either, after all it was pointed out, some had to go to work on Monday. My son-in-law is still very keen to try out the sport of sea fishing but he seems have formed the opinion that getting there is more difficult that doing it!.