I like to challenge myself to catching new species as much as possible. Despite the fact that there is good "bread and butter" fishing to be had at close proximity to my Midlothian base, my enthusiasm for the sport is renewed ten fold every time I do something for the first time.

One of my best angling chums, Mike Kyle, who lives local to me has the same adventurous nature as myself; probably the main reason why we get on so well...there are rarely any qualms when one of suggest a trek to the back and beyond in search of something different.

The grass isn't always greener on the other side, as we have found out on many occasions at great expense, although it never deters future missions. One particular trip had been in the pipe-line for a few months, we where both gagging to catch a bullhuss, a species which is rarely caught in most regions throughout Scotland, with the south western coast from The Mull of Galloway right up into the Solway Firth being an exception.

We had acquired the help of a good friend of ours, Richard Graham, who is somewhat of a Scottish shore 'huss' expert. Richard is lucky enough to stay within 20 minutes drive from some of the best marks in the area, and had been taking advantage of an abundance of fish in the few weeks prior to our visit. His tales where enough to send myself and Mike into a tizzy state trying to get ourselves prepared for what was promised to be lightning pace fishing.

PASTURES NEW
Walking through a thin layer of wet grass made for a slippery hike to our destination on the rugged coastline of Kirkcudbrightshire. Looking seaward, I could make out a fishable rock stance, jutting out from some rather unfriendly looking cliffs.

As usual, I lagged behind, although this gave me the chance to scope in the fantastic views. Richard gave some calls from down below, encouraging us to hurry along. His military training meant that he probably wasn't used to slackers.

As we tackled up Richard announced that to stand any chance of connecting with a few bullhuss, we would need to fish through the packs of dogfish. So, you lads don't mind catching doggies? Don't answer that, ill ask again in a couple of hours exclaimed a hysterical Richard as he punched out his first bait out towards the Isle of Man.

Walking about required some rodeo clown type stunts, although it was perfectly safe as long as we took our time, and watched out for each other. I made my way over to where Richard was fishing, it was an even more precarious stance than me and Mike had found, but it was obvious he knew the place like the back of his hand, with various items of his luggage neatly stored in several safe looking nooks and crannies.

Here I picked his brains, he was bound to know exactly how the tide runs and where the fish hold. He pointed out to our left, and instructed me to cast parallel to the cliffs where there was a good patch of mixed ground.

I was told to remind Mike that we should all stick to one rod each. As the tide picks up it's likely that lines will cross. I made my way back over to where my rod stand was placed and seen Mike had already lobbed out his first baited rig.

On more of Richard's advice, we had altered from our standard dogfish rigs. When the reality is dozens of dogfish per angler, their abrasive teeth and skin will chaff through light snood lengths in no time. Simple two-hook flappers with beefed up 50lb snoods had been advised as an absolute minimum should we encounter the areas notorious dogfish numbers. This will also provide security for landing larger quarry, should we get lucky.

GOING TO THE DOGS
The first hour of our session passed quietly and almost fishless, with the exception being Mike who had landed a few small Pollack. As time raced and the sun dipped, the inevitable happened and we where soon bringing dogfish ashore. Richard was the first to find the numbers, and had five before I even registered a bite.

I was in a rather crowded predicament, in that I was sharing a cramped space with Mike and his ominous casting style, that's what fishing marks with miles of space on the match circuit does to you I suppose. A simple overhead thump is the safest, and best way to send baits out in tight marks like these, where distance is seldom required.

Mike started catching dogfish regularly, and I had some work to do to catch up. Small chunks of mackerel, or half sand eel baits seemed to be doing the trick. A couple of good sized whiting and pout started to show also.

The dogfish tally had started to mount up ridiculously, so much so, that counting them seemed utterly pointless. Mike seemed to be coping with this rapid action without a problem, and had managed to pull out three double shots in as many casts, following this up with a fish a cast in the next half dozen. As for me, I had made a conscious decision to concentrate on using large mackerel baits, whole fillets to be precise, in the hope of attracting something big. Well, that's my alibi for being totally hammered by the other two, and I'm sticking with it!

Pitch darkness smothered what was left of the light, and the fish just kept on feeding. My large baits didn't seem to be much of a deterrent either! Mike hooked into what seemed like another string of dogfish, although it was in fact his first huss; fishing through the dogfish had paid off. Not big at 4lbs, but Mike was excited none the less.

Richard was soon in telling us that if the baby's where around, mum and dad would not be far behind. I thought it was best to follow what seemed like good advice and change back to smaller baits, thus wading through the dogfish, despite how monotonous it looked. I quickly redeemed myself following this, bringing in no fewer than a dozen in 15 minutes, including a treble shot on a two-hook pennel rig!

Their sandpaper skin began to take its toll on my hands. I have never been one to complain about getting loads of bites, and fish, but this really was getting ridiculous. Mike hit into a thumping bite, and after a much more satisfying tussle, in came a huss of exactly 6lbs.

A crashing noise alerted me to look over at my rod, which had fallen off the stand and was now bouncing against a high rock. Surely more promising, or so I thought! I cranked hard and had a strap conger water-skiing onto the rocks within seconds.

The battle wasn't over, I had some job to un-tangle my rig from the eel's slippery body, what's more, the swine nipped me as I tried to retrieve my hook. Mike seemed to find my misfortune rather amusing, but I kept calm, trying my best not to loose the plot. Thankfully, my next cast produced the goods my very first bullhuss, albeit dogfish sized.

The fish seemed to be shying off, with everyone still getting bites, but not connecting. Oddly, the next four fish where all bullhuss, with two for Richard and me and Mike grabbing one apiece.

A void lingered over us for what seemed like a long time, but was probably something like 30 minutes. We cherished this break as hauling dogfish proved to be strenuous exercise. Richard repeated his question, which he had asked us earlier, although neither Mike nor myself humoured him with a reply.

Lying back in the most comfortable position I could find to take a rest, I looked upwards into space. Never before had I seen such a gloriously star filled sky, with a regular light show to keep me amused.

I alerted Mike to look up, and I swear he nearly ducked, as a shooing star flew in a huge arc over our heads. With this, as if someone had switched on a light, all three rods flew over simultaneously, signalling the return of the dogfish.

Looking over at Mike as I reeled in another two dogs, I noticed his rod was locked over in his arms, and was making some interesting lunges. Something took over, and I immediately started barking instructions. There are hazards out there, which a fish of any size can easily find its wise to apply maximum pressure and bully fish all the way to the surface.

Several minutes past when finally we spotted his leader, with all three beams of our headlights searching for colour, the fish finally submerged, and shook its head before diving below the surface again.

I was first to suggest its size, a bullhuss certainly into double figures. We all knew that the hard part was yet to come. Some 30 feet sheer drop was the barrier-separating Mike from his prize, which was now wallowing lazily on the surface. Before we had time to plan how we would retrieve the fish, man and beast parted company.

On inspection, his 80lb snood had been worn straight through. It just goes to show damaging their rasping teeth can be; Richards warning of not using light hook lengths was clearly no joke!

I wasn't really sure what to expect from Mike, and I was surprised when he calmly got his gear prepared and cast out as soon as possible, with only a very quick profanity to break the silence. That was nothing short of soul destroying, and I would probably have reacted a little more distraught in his shoes.

Despite our best, most enthusiastic efforts of the night following Mike's tragic loss, the action all but tailed off as the slack of high tide arrived. With tired faces we all agreed to up sticks and head for home.

Breaking our routine on this occasion provided us with loads of new experiences. In a nutshell, it was just great fun! We caught loads of fish, and we now have another string to our bow in the form of miles of fishy looking coastline, all of which gives a new type of fishing for us. Needless to say we will call upon Richard for another trip in the near future.

WHERE TO LOOK
I'm quite sure Richard would have held no hesitation in blindfolding us prior to our journey to the mark. Anglers from the southwest guard their fishing spots as much as possible, and quite rightly so. The place we fished, for example, would cater for a maximum of four rods, and I'm told nearly all the marks along the coastline are the same.

Thankfully, there are lots of these marks, what's more, they all fish very similarly too. The dogfish show up everywhere and anywhere. Any point, which sticks out into the sea that little bit, providing depth, tidal movement, and a mixture of ground will put you onto guaranteed sport from May to October.

Kirkcudbright is the town to look for as a starting point and will put you within a short drive of the fishing, to be more specific, the island of Little Ross is within 5 miles of all the most productive marks.

Wherever you go in the area, you will most likely be crossing farmers land. I urge you to please show courtesy vehicles should be parked sensibly, and all gates should be shut behind you.

TACKLING UP
Lets put things into perspective, an average catch of dogfish for the area is 20-30 per angler, multiply that into a handful of sessions, and your talking a lot of wear and tear. Rods need to up to the job, stiff and powerful, need I say more? As for reels, SLOSH 20's and 30's along with 525 mags are favoured with locals.

I tend to use size 1 hooks for dogfish, although locals prefer hooks between the sizes of 1/0 and 4/0, perhaps as a security measure in the likely event of something big coming along. The heavy snood concept seems over the top, but was justified to me during our session.

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