Tough trip into a beautiful world

I've just returned from two weeks in Devon, the first of which was spent almost exclusively in waders, fishing. By the end of it I was quite desperate to avoid having to put my waders on again but now that I'm back at my desk, in a funny way I miss them. Being in waders is a bit like being a child and donning wellingtons; you know lots of splashing about is going to ensue: it's playtime.

One of the first things I did on arriving in Devonshire, was to go sea-bass fishing. I say we, but really it was my fishing buddy who had organised it with David Pilkington of the Arundell Arms. I'd read in the AA's own newsletter last year that David took people out salt-water fly fishing but that it was "quite arduous". "Arduous" and "holiday" didn't really go together for me. Plus I had visions of scaling cliffs, something I've managed to avoid all my life (I wasn't far wrong, one of the places he takes people does involve cliffs ; "and," David told me later, "the last 40 foot is down a rope"). Nevertheless, armed with my new salt-water fly-fishing rod, we met him at noon, at a secret location on the north Devon coast. We were to fish the Taw estuary.

We walked over a field, then over rocks, then over loads of seaweed, then sand. Then we got to a bit where David said, "The sand wobbles here, you'll feel yourself sinking in, just keep walking and don't panic". I started to panic. Tides and quicksand are not my favourite combination. David assured me he'd had no casualties, yet. You do sink into the sand, it is a bit scary at first because the wet sand quakes beneath your feet and you feel like you'll just keep sinking... but you just have to keep moving until you get to a more solid bit. It's physically demanding (a great way to lose weight) but after you get used to it, quite fun and terra firma seems rather boring afterwards.

By this time we were quite a way out and the landscape was spectacular. It felt like we'd stepped into a painting of shades of blue and sand. Although you could still see the land in the distance, all around were sand dunes and water. And, in the distance, the sea roaring to come in. It was alien, and beautiful. We started fishing. "D'you want a popper?" David asked. Blimey, I thought, it's a bit early in the day to do drugs but I said yes anyway and David produced a rather crude "fly" made of polystyrene. It sits on the surface and as you retrieve it, it pops in the water. It is this disturbance which attracts the fish. The added bonus of a popper is that weever fish – which have a poisonous spine on their back which can give you a very nasty wound – don't go for poppers. It took me a while to get used to my new rod and we all fished away happily, about 20 feet away from each other.

Then the tide started to come in, and the certainty of fish increased. We started to move up, finding a place to fish until the tide forced us to move up again. And so we continued. David kept saying "see, a fish, over there, do you see him?" but it took me a while to accustom my eyes to what was fish, and what was just general sea movement.

Although the others had caught the odd fish, as the tide fully turned you could just "feel" the fishy activity going on in the water in front of you. Then there was about half an hour of intense catching of fish but with it came an ever fast moving tide that meant you only got a few moments at each "station". I got even less than that, being so short, so just as the fish started to bite (as they came in with the tide), I got out of my depth and had to move back. However, I did get two takes, both of which I missed because I was unprepared for them and didn't get the "strike" right. David caught one which was over 36cm (less than this and they have to go back) which he kindly gave to us for dinner.

After four hours we were all utterly exhausted and retreated. I had a very brown right hand, lots of freckles and salty lips. What a way to spend a Tuesday! If you do try this fishing – and I thoroughly recommend you do – do go with a guide the first time. They'll not only know where the fish are but if you're not familiar with the topography, the tide can cut you off.

Bring a line tray. I'd never used one but it helps enormously, otherwise you're having to cast out with line that the tide is pulling in the opposite direction to your cast. A peaked hat and sunglasses are a must (my bone fishing glasses were at last in their element). And have someone to drive you home – you'll be too knackered to see straight.

David Pilkington can be contacted via the Arundell Arms (tel: 01566 784666) and charges from £50 per person. Depending on the weather, the season for sea-bass lasts until about October.

a.barbieri@independent.co.uk