Frustration, redemption, and lots of km's

I’m currently 600km into the 2500km drive home from Townsville to Melbourne. We’ve just passed our 10 millionth cow and 6 millionth dead kangaroo, and I thought I might as well do something productive to pass the time. This is a two-part report from a couple of recent trips I did to Cairns and Townsville so you might want to grab a cuppa or a glass of wine - it's a lengthy one.

So a couple of weeks ago I flew up to Cairns to present some of my PhD research at an animal behaviour conference. My talk was on the last day of the conference and by this stage the majority of people were well and truly over science (note the empty room):



After celebrating a successful talk I woke up a little seedily on the Saturday morning and met up with my Dad, who had flown up at the end of the conference for a weekend of fishing. Although the primary aim of the weekend was to fish, I also wanted to check out my field site near Townsville (where I collect all the fish for my PhD), which is in the midst of a massive drought. I wanted to get this out of the way so we immediately jumped in the car and began the 4hr drive from Cairns to Townsville. It’s amazing how quickly the scenery changes up here, from lush rainforest and sugar cane fields:



To barren grasslands and dry sclerophyll:



Interestingly, we saw a heap of dead northern brown bandicoots on the road:



I’ve done this drive a couple of times and never seen more than one, but we saw close to 20 on this trip. Pretty grim - no idea why? Anyway, the drive passed uneventfully and we headed straight to the field site:



No water. This river bed is usually dotted with deep pools full of fish, but it was almost completely dry. The only pool that I could find that still had water in it was this pretty pathetic puddle:



But believe it or not, it was still full of fish. You wouldn’t believe the diversity in these tiny puddles – in this pool alone we caught half a dozen species of fish including rainbows:



Hardy heads:



Empire gudgeons:



And most importantly, my study species – guppies:



There were hundreds of guppies in this pool but it was obvious they wouldn’t last another two weeks let alone a couple of months. We decided the only thing to do was head back to Cairns and continue with our fishing weekend as planned, then drive back up to Townsville as soon as we got back to Melbourne and sorted everything out. But before we drove back to Cairns, we popped down to one of my favourite fishing spots – the mouth of the Ross River:



I love this spot, but it's my kryptonite - I've lost count of the number of good fish I've lost there. But I'm a glutton for punishment, so we whipped out the bream gear and started flicking small hards around and it didn’t take long before a few bar-tail flathead hit the sand:




With the light quickly disappearing, I decided to tie on a tn60 in an attempt to replicate this unlucky baitfish:



And it didn't take long before something smashed it. This thing peeled a heap of line on the first run and the massive headshakes had me initially thinking barra, but when it stayed deep and stopped pulling line my suspicions turned to something else:




A big dusky. Not a barra, but still a really nice fish – she went 65cm and was fat! By this stage the tide was rushing in and the light was fading, so we decided to hit the road back to Cairns.

The plan the next day was to fish for jungle perch in the pristine rainforest streams just outside of Cairns. We were up before the sun and after passing some beaut scenery:




We eventually found our spot. The only problem was, there was about fifty metres of dense rainforest between us and the stream:



After some serious bush bashing through some of the gnarliest, prickliest rainforest I’ve ever seen, we eventually found our spot. But rather than the small, shallow stream I had an envisaged, this was wide and deep and looked suspiciously like a river:



Although it was beautiful, it didn’t fill me with confidence – there were no snags, no surface activity, and it just didn’t feel very fishy. We decided to have a flick anyway, but after half an hour of getting caught in prickles (everything is spikey up here) :



And bitten by green ants (check out the little bastards attacking my leader):



We decided to call it quits. But luckily we had a plan B - a mate had given me a tip about a little stream not far from where we were, but on the way we decided to pop into a waterfall that I’d heard is well worth a look:




So after a bit of exploring we got back on the road and eventually found our creek:



How bloody nice is this! We waded down river a bit and I chucked my chubby minnow into a deep pool, and I watched as a jungle perch darted out from behind a log and engulfed it:



They really are a mint fish. It didn’t take long before my Dad was hooked up too, but instead of a jungle perch, up popped up this cute little sooty grunter:



We had a few more casts into this pool but the fish had wizened up to our tricks, so we decided to move on. This stream was stunning – shallow, fast-flowing riffles interspersed with deep, sapphire blue pools:



To be honest, any fish were just a bonus. We caught a few more little grunter until I decided to tie on a little K9 walker and first cast, as I walked it along a submered log, I watched a little perch swim at high speed from about 10m away and come half way out of the water as it engulfed my lure. Pretty exciting fishing for such a small fish:



We wandered downstream a bit further, pulling one or two fish from each pool we passed:




Until we got to this beautiful big pool that was teeming with fish:



I could see jungle perch, sooty grunter, big tandanus catfish, rainbows, barred grunter and several other species of fish all swimming around happily together. We pulled several fish from this pool:




Until the heavens suddenly opened:



And within seconds we were drenched, so we decided to head home for a well-deserved lunch. Not a bad little sesh.

The next day was our last day and also my Dad’s 60th birthday, so we decided to do something we’ve both always wanted to – cross the Daintree River, drive up to Cape Tribulation and explore the Daintree. We decided to leave the rods behind and we had a brilliant day exploring some truly beautiful areas:





I was desperate to see a Cassowary, but despite wandering around some very likely looking rainforest:



This was the closest I got:



It was a sweet way to end the trip and something I can tick off the bucket list – we’ve already made some vague plans to head back with rods and some camping gear (every piece of water up there was full of fish!). But before we could do that, we had to start planning the trip back to Townsville to collect my fish.

Luckily for me, my old man is a legend – he’s helped me out countless times during my PhD – so it didn’t take much to convince him to take a week off work and drive up to Townsville with me. We’ve done this drive before and we have a system – Dad drives during the day while I sleep, and I drive at night while he sleeps. This way we can do it without any stops, and on a good run we can get there in about 27 hours. It’s exhausting and boring as batshit, but when you’re on a tight schedule it’s the only option.

So after driving all Monday night (the drive was blissfully uneventful compared to our previous trips), the sun rose to reveal the dry, barren farmlands of Southern Queensland:



This area is being overrun by these bastards - the prickly pear:



Usually we take a slightly more coastal route when we drive up to Townsville; although it is a couple of hundred km’s further, it is a lot more scenic. But for this trip, time was of the essence, so we took the quickest route possible. Man was it boring though – it was literally dead grass and sparse eucalypt the whole way up. But the sunsets and sunrises were nice:




After an incident-free drive (a first for us – we’re usually plagued by suicidal kangaroos) we arrived at our motel at around 1am, and were asleep before our heads hit the pillow. The next morning we were at our sampling site at first light:



And made our way straight to the guppy-filled pool we'd found on our reconnaissance mission the week before. And thank god - it still had water it:



And more importantly, it was still full of fish. Phew! After collecting every last fish in this pool (over 300 in total) we started exploring down river, and after some pretty brutal bush bashing:



We eventually found some new water:



This was a really fishy looking piece of water – deep and full of snags. It just screamed barra, but we were there for guppies and luckily, some of the smaller pools were full of them:



Even muddy little puddles like this were absolutely chockas:




I breathed a big sigh of relief  and we spent the rest of the day catching fish. Although it was hard work, by the end of the day we had well over 500 guppies:



And there was lots of cool by-catch to keep us interested like these mouth almighty:



Glass fish:



And long-armed shrimp:



Unfortunately, there are also heaps of these bastards – Mozambique mouthbrooders, a noxious species of tilapia that are causing heaps of problems for the native species up here:



We came back to this area the next two days and managed to catch close to 500 fish each day – I was stoked. Having reached my quota, I decided that on our fourth and final day we would have a flick at this little beauty of a spot we'd found while sampling:



I don’t think I’ve ever seen a fisher looking place – the photos don’t do it justice (look at those snags!):



I decided to tie on a dog-x junior and first cast something smashed it as soon as it hit the water (I caught a glimpse of a big silvery flank) but missed the hooks. I continued my retrieve and something grabbed it right at my feet, and after a short fight this little guy popped up:



A little spangled perch - not the fish that had swiped at my lure previously, but it’s always nice to get a run on the board. Unfortunately the bigger fish had lost interest in my lure, so I moved onto the next pool and found my Dad also pulling in a little perch:



Over the next 45 minutes we both landed a few little perch on various lures until we decided to move down river a little - and we eventually came to this spot:



Man did this spot feel fishy, and on the second cast my Dad’s lure got absolutely belted and a beautiful barrmundi around the 50cm mark came flying out of the water, spitting the hooks. Dang. Over the next hour my dad pulled the hooks on another nice barra, got smoked in a snag by something BIG (he never stood a chance) and pulled the hooks on a big tarpon right at his feet. It just wasn’t his day. I wasn't doing much better, splitting my time between landing tiny spangled perch and swimming for snagged lures:



After an extremely frustrating couple of hours we wandered back towards the car with our tails between our legs (this poor butterfly was an apt reflection of our feelings):



But I don't know when to quit, so I gave my little presso one last flick into a nice looking pool while my dad continued on to the car. As soon as it hit the water something engulfed it, and after a spirited fight that included some awesome aerials, up popped this guy:



It was no barra, and about half the size of the tarpon my dad lost, but it was a first for me and I was stoked. Good humour restored we sampled for a few hours before I was satisfied that we well and truly had enough fish, then headed home for a late lunch. We decided to spend the last couple of hours of light flicking lures at the mouth of the Ross, and it didn't take long before the first fish hit the sand:



A nice flatty in the mid 40’s – not a bad start. I spent the best part of the next hour fighting a dirty big stingray that I'd foul hooked in the tail, and by the time it had finally pulled the hooks, the tide had rushed in and we were running out of flats to fish. So we relocated to the bridge:



My Dad tied on a double clutch and immediately started catching little cod and moses perch:




Until he finally hooked something more solid, and after a solid fight a big wolf herring came flying out of the water right at his feet, pulling the hooks. Over the next hour my Dad hooked 6 of these bastards – all around 50-60cm in length - with every single one pulling the hooks on the jump. Goddamit. And for a bit of salt in the wound, in between these heart breaks he was landing the smallest cod and moses perch I’d ever seen:




Meanwhile I hadn’t had a touch on my slightly heavier gear until just as we decided to call it quits, there was an explosion of water right at my feet and my reel started singing. One moment this fish was at my feet, the next it was leaping out of the water 30m away – barra! I was shitting myself as I was only using 20lb leader and I've been burnt by several Townsville barramundi in the past, but after several sizzling runs, some impressive acrobatics and some tense moments at my feet, I eventually managed to slide her onto the rocks. You beauty:





Not a bad way to finish off the trip! The next morning we were up bright and early and after a blissfully uneventful drive:



We were home. See ya next time Townsville.

Cheers!

Doin' it tough in East Gippy

As I get to the pointy end of my PhD I’m finding myself with less and less time to fish, so when I managed to snag a day off Friday I was determined to make the most of it. I flew out of uni Thursday night and after picking up my mates Alex and Cam, we made our way to Marlo:



After an uncomfortable night in the car we hit the flats at first light and conditions were perfect. Unfortunately, the fishing was excruciatingly slow, and it wasn't until the sun crept over the horizon:



That I had my first hit:



Not particularly impressive, but a fish is a fish right? Just as I was releasing him I heard a shout from Alex and up popped this beauty:



A really nice bream in the high 30s - ripper. We persisted in this area but after a couple of missed hits and one solid hook-up that pulled the hooks, the fish went quiet. I persisted with the vibe and after what felt like my thousandth cast, I finally had a hit:



No monster, but a healthy little bream around the 30cm mark. Unfortunately the bites had become few and far between, and over the next couple of hours all I managed to land was another nice bream in the mid 30s:



The cold seemed to have shut down the fish and we reluctantly made the call for last cast. And amazingly, I came up solid:



This guy was somewhere in the low 60s and put on quite the show on 6lb - not a bad way to finish the trip. I tell ya what, lucky Marlo is beautiful, otherwise I might feel pretty stupid for driving 800km for a handful of fish ha.

Cheers!

All the gear, no idea

I’ve been enjoying sunny Europe for the best part of a month and I tell ya what, I haven't missed these cold Melbourne mornings. They're certainly a far cry from the beaches of Barcelona:



I was quite content with my decision not to bring a little travel rod overseas until I explored a few of the country areas around Berlin:




I saw some big fish smashing the surface in these areas and by the time I got back to Melbourne, I was well and truly hanging for a fish. Luckily, the day I got back my mate asked me if I wanted to spend a weekend game fishing in Bermagui - pope bloody catholic?!

I’ve done a bit of game fishing up north, but I’m far from an expert. My mates had fished in Eden and Bermagui for the first time a few weeks ago and had managed to land an estimated 70-80kg striped marlin on an 8k stradic and 10-15kg terez, along with a couple of small tuna and a heap of rat kings. It’s safe to say that they well and truly caught the game fishing bug, and had proceeded to turn my mate’s 21 foot Trophy Pro into a game fishing machine. This included fitting it out with a brand new hard top, outriggers, a simrad NSS12, a radar, a spankin new 150hp mercury four-stroke, five new tiagras and custom game rods, and more lures than you could shake a stick at:



This was to be the first time fishing with all the new gear, so it’s safe to say we were pretty bloody excited! I met up with the lads about 6pm Friday evening and after a gruelling 7hr drive, we arrived at the Eden boat ramp and set up camp:



We were up before the sun the next morning and were greeted with a beaut sunrise:



The plan was to head straight to the shelf and troll all day:



But 6 bumpy hours later we hadn’t had had a sniff. We had a brief moment of excitement when we saw a flock of birds, until we realised they were just following this trawler:



After some um’ing and ah’ing, we decided to cut our losses and head to Greencape to try and catch a king:



So we swapped the overhead gear for spin outfits:



And started trolling some small skirts around while looking for bait, ready to drop our jigs down at the first sign of fish on the sounder. But 2 hours later we still hadn’t had a touch, and as the sun went down we had no choice but to reluctantly head back in - fishless:



So after cleaning the gear and smashing a parma at the local, we hit the road enroute to Bermagui. We decided to spend the night at a rest stop just out of town, and after a good nights sleep we were met with a beautiful, foggy morning:



We immediately jumped in the car and after some mint scenery:



We arrived at the Bermagui boat ramp:



After reaching our mark we again set up the spread and started fishing. But 5 hours later we again hadn’t had a touch, nor seen any sign of life except for a pod of dolphins who kept us company and broke the monotony:



With only a few hours of fishing time left for the weekend, we made the decision to head to Montague Island and try for kings:



After jigging for an hour with no luck, we decided to drop the sabiki’s down and collect some live bait. But all we could manage were an assortment of ooglies:






By this stage we were running out of ideas, until my mate suggested we cut our losses and go drift for flatties. The bite was hot from the beginning and we managed 30 good sized flatties on placcies between the four of us in only an hour and a half (we kept nothing under 40cm):




There was also a lot of cool by-catch to keep us entertained:




With the light rapidly disappearing, we left them biting and headed in to shore and were again met with a beautiful sunset:



So we spent thousands of dollars on fishing gear for a bag of flatties ha. Not the triumphant trip we'd envisaged, but we still had a sick one. All the gear, no idea!

Cheers!

Back to the darkside

A while ago I promised to take my mates Cam and Alex for a gummy fish, so with my experiment finally finishing last week and the weather looking perfect on Friday night, I dusted off the surf gear and we made our way down to my favourite beach in Westernport:



This spot can sometimes be an absolute bitch to fish as it is often very weedy, and if this combines with a large swell it can be almost impossible to keep a bait in the water. And unfortunately, the boys found this out the hard way:



We arrived just on high tide and we spent the first hour of our session hauling in big clumps of weed. Gummy fishing was just like I remembered – it was cold, wet, and bloody frustrating. No wonder I gave it up. And the crabs were out in force making a mess of our baitst:



We considered moving spots but I knew that if we just stuck it out and waited for the tide to recede a bit, the swell would die down and the weed would disappear. And sure enough, it did. So I chucked on a fresh salmon fillet:



And before I even had a chance to bait up my second rod, something snaffled it. After a really solid fight up popped this beauty:



A nice little gummy around the 6-7kg mark – not a bad way to start the night. So after a few quick snaps we let him go and got our baits back in the water, and it didn’t take long before one of my rods buckled over again. After a couple of solid runs I was bitten off, and over the next hour this same thing happened 5 times. I was certain of the culprit -  a dirty big giller. Frustrating is an understatement. But eventually something different grabbed my bait, and up popped a nice pinky:



Not much of a fish, but it was nice to get something to the sand. Before I could my bait back out, my other rod buckled over. This felt like another giller *sigh*, But when I got it near the shore, it went absolutely nuts. It jumped out of the water 3-4 times and thrashed around on the surface for a good 2-3 minutes before screaming off on one of the quickest runs I’ve ever experienced. It peeled off a hundred metres of braid in no time at all and when I finally turned it and started getting some line back, it went slack – bitten off again. Dang. I’m not going to speculate too much about what it was, but I have my suspicions. By this stage the persistent rain had soaked through my numerous layers of clothing, we were running out of bait:



And poor Louie'd had enough:



So we made the long trek back to the car and went home with our tails somewhat between our legs. This trip reminded why I don't fish for gummies anymore – I was soaking wet, cold, tired, I stunk like bait, I had a boot full of gear to clean when I got home, and I’d spent the majority of my night tying new rigs. I've already started planning my next trip.

Cheers!