March Outing - St Claire Bass
March 19 2017
by Richie Teague
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| Ah the Serenity - St Claire magic. |
Some
unfortunate weather meant a perennial club favourite outing’s (salmon at Swansea)
postponement and cancellation but a late call for a bass outing was made and
Lake St Clare was the destination. Work commitments meant that I was
unable to make the Sunday but good fortune saw that my Friday was free so i
headed up as soon as I could get away from the house.
A text message from Col added to my enthusiasm, declaring that he caught 40cm + fish on the Thursday night. I had only two bass to my catch list, the idea of adding a big one did excite me, as did the prospect of catching a first on one of my own tied flies. I had tied a few bass gurglers specifically for the trip.
I arrived in the afternoon to find the muddy campsite quiet. I didn't think Jeff and Col would be out all day, and a gentle snore proved my suspicions correct. I took my time rigging my gear and setting up camp, I was joined by both the guys for a coffee and update on the fishing and torrential rain. Fortunately Thursday night saw the worst of it, and though soggy underfoot, the weather was mild and pleasant to fish in.
As we got closer to dusk we headed down to one of the bank where we separated by about 50m each. The occasional boil and slurp gave away the presence of fish, though they seemed to always be out of casting distance and had no pattern or predictability. I had a gurgler on the end of a floating line that would plop in the water enticingly and sit for a few seconds before a short strip and long pause sequence all the way back to the bank. A few closer boils within casting distance from the bank saw some more targeted casting but no results. Jeff had success in hooking up just down from me, but it appeared as if the fish had itself lodged somewhere. Not perturbed, Jeff got in the water to retrieve it, pretty sure I don’t have that same level of commitment…
Lake St Clare is a magical place to be in autumn, as the sun starts to dip behind the mountains, reflecting off the massive lake, fresh cool air seeping into the valley. Darkness was slowly swallowing the lake, enveloping Col and Jeff, and the distant passing cars was the only intrusive noise. I was lost in thought, having retrieved the fly all the way back to almost the leader, gazing off into the distance before I was about to cast again, but an almighty splash right at my feet surprised me out of my reverie. I felt as if someone had launched a boulder at me! But the line being torn out of my fingers assured me that this was no rock.
A text message from Col added to my enthusiasm, declaring that he caught 40cm + fish on the Thursday night. I had only two bass to my catch list, the idea of adding a big one did excite me, as did the prospect of catching a first on one of my own tied flies. I had tied a few bass gurglers specifically for the trip.
I arrived in the afternoon to find the muddy campsite quiet. I didn't think Jeff and Col would be out all day, and a gentle snore proved my suspicions correct. I took my time rigging my gear and setting up camp, I was joined by both the guys for a coffee and update on the fishing and torrential rain. Fortunately Thursday night saw the worst of it, and though soggy underfoot, the weather was mild and pleasant to fish in.
As we got closer to dusk we headed down to one of the bank where we separated by about 50m each. The occasional boil and slurp gave away the presence of fish, though they seemed to always be out of casting distance and had no pattern or predictability. I had a gurgler on the end of a floating line that would plop in the water enticingly and sit for a few seconds before a short strip and long pause sequence all the way back to the bank. A few closer boils within casting distance from the bank saw some more targeted casting but no results. Jeff had success in hooking up just down from me, but it appeared as if the fish had itself lodged somewhere. Not perturbed, Jeff got in the water to retrieve it, pretty sure I don’t have that same level of commitment…
Lake St Clare is a magical place to be in autumn, as the sun starts to dip behind the mountains, reflecting off the massive lake, fresh cool air seeping into the valley. Darkness was slowly swallowing the lake, enveloping Col and Jeff, and the distant passing cars was the only intrusive noise. I was lost in thought, having retrieved the fly all the way back to almost the leader, gazing off into the distance before I was about to cast again, but an almighty splash right at my feet surprised me out of my reverie. I felt as if someone had launched a boulder at me! But the line being torn out of my fingers assured me that this was no rock.
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| The Author with a cracking surface eater |
After
some tense moments, I was on the reel and it was screeching its protest at
me. The fish headed for the tree, the only structure I could see on the
lake, and only a few feet from me, I applied as much pressure as I thought I
could get away with, and it eventually started back the other way. An
intense but brief encounter and I got him out of the water. Col had come
over to see what all the noise was about and we put him on the brag mat.
It measured a healthy 43cm. A quick photo and back into the water.
There’s something magical about putting big fish back into the water, two slow
defiant flicks of his tail and he disappeared, as if only slightly
inconvenienced.
I
plugged away with the gurgler, not really wanting to change flies because of
the the bugs that were attracted by the headlamp! I did try a couple of
other flies, but Col was the one getting the success, seemingly catching fish
at will.
Jeff
had some dinner on and kindly fed Col and I before I had a quick chance to quiz
the two veterans about flies, techniques and locations. They were both
very accommodating and if I had even half a decent memory I would be a
much better fishermen.
We
awoke early and got to the water’s edge a little after first light. The
plan was to be a little earlier, but coffee was needed to help with the
sluggish start. There were a few boils early on, but they quickly
dissipated and despite spending a few hours down there, no fish were added to
the tally. Such a beautiful spot that the fish really are a bonus.
We
ate a nice breakfast and the reinforcements arrived shortly after. Max,
Murray and Richard starting scouting the area for their own camping ground and
asking for fish updates. The jokes flew thick and fast and I packed up my
campsite and got my rod ready for one last crack. There was a little skepticism regarding fishing the middle of the day, but why not? I figured, I’d
come all this way… So I rigged up an intermediate and tied on a purple bass
vampire and headed down the slope. I experimented with the retrieve and
it was when I slowed it down to as slow as I could tolerate, I got a gentle
take which I struck on. It was the polar opposite to the night before,
the fish slow and obstinate, without the blistering run. I got him on the
bank and he measured a respectable 39cm. Another solid healthy bass.
