Newcastle Harbour - 15 January 2017
By Richie Teague
It
is early when Ivan and I arrive at the Stockton boat ramp in
Newcastle. Its ironic that the further away you live, the earlier you
arrive, and we are the first from the club to hit the water. It’s still
dark but I notice the unmistakable splashes of fish eating something, barely
twenty metres from the ramp itself. We idle on over and I quickly tie a
bread fly on as they seem to be on something on the surface. How awesome
would it be to get runs on the board before anyone else even arrives, I
thought. A couple of casts and nothing. They seem like pretty small
fish. “Let’s go find some real fish” Ivan says, and off we go in search
of bigger and better. As we leave I figure out they are eating
paper. A paper fly? That would raise some eyebrows at the club’s monthly
fly tying night.
So
we pass some wharves on the way out and Ivan suggests this is where the bream
hang out. Sounds good to me, I said, and I tie on a small light olive
bead-head clouser onto my six-weight rod. It’s tricky casting
underneath the wharf and in-between pylons but after a few practice casts, I
start getting the fly where I want it. The fly I was using I tied myself,
and I’m pretty new to the world of fly-tying. In fact I’ve only caught
three estuary perch on the same day on a fly that was created in my vice.
So it isn’t with the greatest confidence that I start fishing this one, is the
bead chain head heavy enough? Too much bucktail in the body? Too much flashy
material? It isn’t long before my scepticism turns into exhilaration as I feel
two heavy bumps and strip strike to get a healthy bend in the rod. I knew
I couldn’t give any line otherwise he would wrap me around the oyster encrusted
pylon to his freedom, so I hold on as Ivan backs the boat away and nets a
beautiful 31cm bream. He joins me for a photo before swimming home.
We
drift the same spot again, hoping for more bream, and soon enough I feel a
lighter bump, and I reel in a little tailor. Third species on my own
flies, even though he is tiny! Ivan pulls one in, and I land another two, all
quite quickly. My fly resembles something else entirely now, the tailor’s
sharp teeth making short work of the hair, and I retire it quite happily, hoping
everything I tie catches four fish in the future!
We
then motor on into the harbour, surrounded by massive freighter boats and the
industrial background of Newcastle. A helicopter buzzes overhead, and big
signs promise big fines for something or other. It is quite different to
most of my fly fishing trips in quiet secluded spots, activity happening all
around, and I am pretty surprised to see a fisherman in a kayak paddling
around. The real beauty of fly fishing to me is all the different places
it takes you to, and sitting in a little tinny while a huge cargo ship blasts
it’s horn (at us?) is a whole new experience for me.
We
saw some birds diving into the water with gusto, and as they are there for the
same reason we are, the fish, we prepare the ten weights and head over.
We spent some time chasing the birds and dodging the traffic, but after some
half hearted casting we concluded the fish were small tailor without anything
of any size around. Reports from other club members later were to agree
with this. A likely flathead spot saw some bigger clousers from us
searching the area, but after about half an hour we agree to see if we can find
some more bream. Unfortunately the tide had risen to a point where
getting flies underneath the wharves was nearly impossible, so we motored back
towards the bridge in search of a different spot.
