Back to sea fishing and Stewart Calligan sets up his rods at Dimlington, East Yorkshire where he meets a hound shark

Undeterred I set off for the coast at Dimlington. My seemingly enhanced senses saw the hedgerows as many shades of lush spring greenery with white blackthorn, lace blossomed hawthorn and scented pink and white wild roses.

Walking lanes and footpaths from car to cliffs, the gulls and a hawk were thermalling where land meets the sea, rabbits and a pheasant sauntering into the field of barley and the sweet, sickly smell of the cow parsley which reminded me of my mother saying: “Don’t bring that into the house, Stewart. Its mothers-die.”

The light must have been as clear as the impressionists sought in the South of France. I could see for miles but was being given a display right under my nose of 20 or so small, white seabirds diving, vertically into a shoal of sprats, emerging gulping down their catch as rapidly beating wings carried them aloft.

It was among all these goings on that I set up my rods, baiting with some long-frozen peeler crabs, tipped with a sliver of long-frozen mucky squid. I cast out into the coloured water where it met the crystal-clear blue sea about 100 yards out. My acute hearing picked up a croaking, over the din of the surf crashing onto the shingle. The croaking was a raven or rook with its awkward gait as it searched for scraps along the tideline.

There was not another soul on this beach and I was taken aback as my right-hand rod was pulled off the tripod and crashed on to the shingle. I snapped out of my stupor and began to wind in. Something quite strong resisted at the other end.

A delicate struggle ensued as whatever it was, it wasn’t going to be bullied. There was a sandbar directly in front of me and the quarry hunkered down on the far side, possibly a clump of weed or a boulder. I moved along the beach to my left about 20 paces. If the tide running from left to right had snagged my line round an obstacle, then I could possibly free it by moving left and sure enough it released and I could wind in again.

Eventually, a very photogenic shark appeared in the surf – grey sleek back full of sharky fins and a white under belly – a truly handsome fellow.

I thought about two to three pounds, before a photo and a gentle release to its watery home. This smooth hound was followed by another two smaller ones as they hunt in packs, hence the name ‘hound’.

I stayed another hour after top of tide and the raven/rook kept paying me a visit. I fed it the insides of the squid, which it thoroughly enjoyed.