Hooked, Dropped, and Off to A&E – A Session Gone Sideways
Conditions at a Glance
Tide: Big spring tide, start of the ebb
Wind: Light breeze, manageable
Water: Full of floating debris from the shore
The Session
With the big tides running on the Wexford coast, I knew it was going to be tricky at the start of the ebb. Sure enough, a huge amount of debris was streaming off the shore and floating on the surface, sticking to the braid and fouling almost every cast.
The first hour was quiet — just one blow-up and weed on nearly every retrieve. Still, I kept moving, looking for a bit of flow that would carry the rubbish away and open a lane for the lures.
The Action
Persistence paid off with a little schoolie to open the account. Just three casts later I was into a better bass — a proper scrap, rod bent, drag ticking, the kind of fight that keeps you obsessed with shore lure fishing for bass in Ireland.
I bent down to see how it was hooked, and that’s when everything unravelled. The bass thrashed, the hook slipped, and next thing I knew it was buried in me.
The Chaos
The pliers were still clipped to my belt on my right-hand side. I had the fish awkwardly pinned with my left forearm and was trying to reach across with the same hand. The strap was still fastened, but I couldn’t see it — and with adrenaline making my hands shake, it took me forever to realise why they wouldn’t budge.
Meanwhile the fish thrashed, the hook pulled harder, and then my phone slipped out of my pocket. It landed on the sloping rock, sliding toward the edge. I tried to pin it with my elbow, then even went at it with my teeth — careful not to spear myself on the dorsal spikes just millimetres from my face.
I lost that fight. The phone slid into the drink. Instinct took over and I jumped after it, still tangled up in braid, hook, and bass.
In the end, it took me half an hour to work the split ring off the hook buried in me, doing it all with the wrong hand, shaking with adrenaline. By the time I got free and unhooked the fish, it was too far gone. I had to keep it — never how I want a bass fishing session to end.
The Aftermath
What had looked like the start of a good evening ended up with me sitting in A&E, typing this one-handed with a hook still embedded.
One all, Shirley. One all. 😆
Reflections
Bass angling on rugged Irish coastlines isn’t just about the fish — it’s about the risk, the lessons, and the respect the sea demands. Sometimes the tide, the terrain, and your own unpreparedness combine in one big mess. That night it was all three.
Next time, the pliers won’t be strapped down, the pocket zip will be closed, and maybe — just maybe — I’ll bring home only the story, not the scars. 🏴☠️🎣