March 2017 - St Claire Bass

March Outing - St Claire Bass

March 19 2017

by Richie Teague 

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.  

 

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.

Unfortunately I had to go and get ready for work the next day, but I heard that more fish were caught, more drinks were drunk and more laughs were had.   I hope to get back next outing and try out some of the flies Jeff and Col showed me.  Actually one of the fly patterns he showed me at the campsite caught me my first Rainbow Trout.  But that’s a whole other story

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.

Swansea - Morning Tea with Mr and Mrs Colmer

Swansea

July 2016

I hadn't planned on going to Swansea on Sunday but Ken has a way of convincing you that you dare not say 'no'. I agreed to go on the proviso that he could pick me up from the ramp at Blacksmith's around 7.30 as I had a prior engagement the evening before and hadn't planned to be conscious at 6am. He agreed and so I arrived a Blacksmith's at 7.30 ready to go. A quick phone call told me he and the missus were out off Moon Island chasing some salmon down deep (without much success). Ten minutes later they turned up and I joined what I thought was a happy boat. However no sooner had we stopped inshore of the island than it started:

"Geez Mac, what sort of cast was that?!"

"I don't see you with a rod in your hand Ken."

"Did you book into Morsie's casting class. It looks like you could use a few lessons."

"You know, I have no concerns about tossing a geriatric overboard."

And so it went on. And on and on and on.

Luckily I was soon onto a fish. But then ....

"Geez Chris how long are you going to play that thing. Stop wasting time."

"He's been at me all morning Chris, don't listen to him."

I tried to keep my head down and get the fish boated. Soon I had it to the surface and ...

"Are you gonna net the fish for him or what Ken? Stop bloody filming and get the net."

"Geez, I'm trying to film here. Can't you net the thing yourself?"

Luckily (for me? the fish? someone?) Ken took a few seconds to grab the net and land the first fish for the day. Then ...

"Come on Mac. What are you doing? Chris has already caught one fish. Can't you cast?"

And so it went on. And on and on.

It wasn't long however and Mac hooked into a nice fish.

"Geez Mac, what are you doing? Stop mucking around and land the fish."

"Are you going to net it for me?"

"Do you want me to? I'm busy filming"

I grabbed the net before it went any further and helped Mac land the fish.

We caught a couple more (one for Ken and another by Mac - I managed a solid hookup but dropped it) and then chased the fish for a bit longer, following them out past the island, even watching the school surface for a bit, causing a flurry of action from a number of boats.
But soon the activity died off and there were no further fish caught, and after a run outside we moved back into the channel.
Back in the channel there were teasing signs of fish everywhere. One jumping here, then another over there. Never in the same place twice.

I was rigging up a gurgler on a floating line when ...

"Do you have anything to eat Ken? I'm a bit hungry."

"What would you like Mac? I have some banana bread."

"That will do nicely."

"Did you want a drink with that?"

"Yes please."

"Whew," I thought. Looks like they've settle down. But no ...

"Geez that was a lousy cast Mac. Lucky you're doing the casting course with Morsie."

"I don't see you catching any fish Ken."

I kept quiet and cast out my gurgler hoping Ken didn't notice me.

And so we wiled away the rest of the morning. There was a bit of excitement when a fish boiled behind my gurgler about 20 feet from the boat. And a loud cheer from Ken when Mac hooked a monster fish which proceeded to snap the line where the head met the running line. But few fish were boated and we only saw Col Breese land a fish in the channel.

So by 11.45 we decided to call it a morning and head back to the ramp for a well earned steak sandwich and other people.

Reports of catches were mixed across the other club members with some landing half a dozen and others having a hard time of it. But all in all everyone had a great morning. The weather had cleared and we enjoyed a laugh and a good feed in the car park before heading off back home.

And so ended my morning out with Mr and Mrs Colmer. I thank them both for great company and a good laugh. However next time I think I'll go with Richard for some peace and quiet.