Newcastle Harbour - January 2017

 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. 

Some white posts marked some shallower ground, where the high tide was just enough to float over some oyster encrusted rocks that sat next to some submerged mangrove trees.  I tie on another clouser and we both start to feel little hits amongst the fly bouncing around on the rocks.  A few frustrating snags, but as the tide is close to turning, the fish certainly do seem interested.  We change the drifting line slightly, and as Ivan attempts to retrieve his fly from another snag, the line tightens in my hand.  I pull it tight and the rod bounces, I see the silver flash of a bream and it’s gone.  “You sure you’re not just hitting the bottom” Ivan asks me.  “I’m sure” I reply, and we motor up to follow the same line again.  About the same spot and this time I use all the 10lb leader to pull another bream into the net.  28cm this time, and that’s about the size of my smile.  We tried poppers after that and had a couple of fish attack the surface, but nothing more caught.  The fish seemed to lose interest after that and it was time for steak and onion rolls.  Not a lot of fish were caught, but it’s always nice to have a change of scenery and fish somewhere new.   Next month it’s the one fly challenge, so it’s back to the vice and I wonder if I could manage another four.