Many years ago, on fine summer days when the height of the tide was just right, the old road bridge crossing the Loughor Estuary was packed with anglers fishing shoulder to shoulder attempting to catch the grey mullet which packed the holding pools just down-water from the bridge. It was common practice to load a silver Mepps spinner with bunches of maddies and allow the force of the ebbing tide to lift the bait just below the surface, tempting the mullet to take the juicy offerings. More often than not, most of the anglers caught a fish or two except for one regular participant who never caught any. His nickname was Dai Lightening, so named because of his propensity to strike. Dai would constantly lean over his fishing rod, legs astride waiting to pounce whenever he thought he had a bite. With a wide, sweeping movement he would dramatically swipe his rod backward over his head simultaneously shouting “fish on, fish on” and darting backward into the roadway, endangering both himself and the passing motorists – his lead weight often flying alarmingly backward over our heads.
Dai’s behaviour was a perfect example of how not to strike a fish. We have all been there: a rod tip continuously knocking furiously or displaying small, regular, jerking movements over and over again. Convinced that we have captured our
