Trip Reports
Wyong River
Date:
Sunday, 16 August 2009
Forecast:
Mostly Sunny Wind, NNW @ 31 kph; Temp, Air 24, Water 16 ; Tide, High, 4.02am Low,9.40am ; Barometer, 1010, falling

We had agreed to meet at Tacoma at 6am which meant most of us had to get up a 4.30am. Now let’s never speak of it again. In spite of the gawd awful early start we had a great turn out. We had 2 flotillas so I’ll start with the ‘Yak boys. Mac Lyall, Murray Keating [ Gentleman fly fisher & Adventurer] & Ivan Malby were joined by Rod Dillon who was on his first coast trip with the club. Rod lives near St Clair & when told he’d have a good chance of ‘accidentally’ catching a Bass he said to all & sundry he was sick of catching them. We put this down to his exposure to salty air & didn’t drown him. We’re such nice blokes.

Setting forth in the larger vessels were Richard Hassell, David Miller, Ken Colmer, Craig Parker, Damian Webber, Paul McGrath, Dave Witham, John Roberts, Gary *‘Armpits’ Kent, John Robertson, Barry French, Steve Bunney, Roy Browne & Peter Frere. Rodger Fielden & Robb Harwood were non starters, one with car trouble, the other with jet lag. Never mind, next time boys.

Brownie was nearly a no-show himself as he had come down with a dose of ’Nieghbourous Dickous Headous‘. His drive-way had been blocked but steeling himself with the courage of the fishing deprived he woke the offending person [6am, Sunday morn, that‘s guts] & managed to make it only a little behind schedule. By this time the club account had already been opened with Damian & Paul scoring a double header on Estuary Perch [ new species for Damo ] in less than 10 minutes from launching with Dave W also bagging an EP not long after. Ken had kindly taken me with him & Craig & being a true gentleman he allowed Craig & I to cast while he just controlled the ‘lecky motor. He sat with the control in his hands, steering the boat he says, playing a kind of fishy Xbox I say.

Anyway I decided I didn’t want to cast shore wards anymore as the ribbon weed was making life a misery & plonked my fly in the channel instead. It was a bead-chain eyed black Crazy Charlie & took a while to sink on a floating line so I gave it 2-3 minutes. First strip & I connected with a nice little flattie. Then 2 things happened close together. A Pro fisherman went by & yelled out “Tailor” while holding his hands a good width apart. We had just started to discuss this news when Brownie turned up whereupon I trans-shipped to the “Roister”.

It was decided that our latest info was worth investigating. Along with our 2 boats Barry & Steve tagged along for a quick run over to an island near the Entrance bridge. Tailor-ish boils were spotted & we were soon waving the wand much to the bemusement of the Ludderick fishermen already in-situ. All to no avail. The Tailor were there, you’ll just have to take my word for it. No? Then take Ken’s. Thought you would. Chicken.

Meanwhile, up the river with a paddle our very own ‘Cockleshell Heroes’ [ it’s a classic, look it up ] were moving up stream under their own power. The upper reaches are as fishy as you’d want, with reeds & snags of huge proportions liberally scattered along it’s reaches. First cast Mac got smacked by something that didn’t take no for an answer. It was hit & pop goes the leader! So sudden & violent was this encounter Mac was convinced the locals were not only on the chew, they were ravenous. Ivan too was treated to this type of pulse quickening, faith rewarding disrespect. Like Mac, his accurate cast at a structure he knew just had to hold something good was hit by a brick with fins that first stopped his retrieve then doubled over his rod before snapping his tippet with ease. You can imagine the quiet smiles; OK, you won this round, the next one’s going to be mine. All the guys in this fleet are keen, competitive & in some ways breaking new ground as this is the largest group of canoes, ‘Yaks, speed bumps for real boats, what ever, they represent a new aspect of our club. Gary & “Big Bad John”, Robertson that is, in Gary’s Stacer Nomad also thought the upper reaches a better bet. All concerned plied every target of opportunity with casts’ a-plenty. Gary thought the slim hull boys missed a chance as when some H.U.A [Head Up Ass] boaties went past the lads didn’t take advantage of the free ‘barrels’ they left in their wake.

On the lake the lack of Tailor action made for a change of plans. Brownie needed to commune with his fly box, at this point resting in his car, while the rest of the lads were left wondering; did we really give the river a decent go? So it was back to the river where, ammunition replenished not to mention a cuppa under the belt we attacked the banks with vigour & precision.

We’d left the lake at the right time as the wind had picked up but in the sheltered waters of the river all was serene. Except for the lack of response our flies registered. Hmmm. What about that flattie I’d scored earlier? Brownie & I reached an arbitrary mark at which point we stopped flogging the banks & proceeded to the mouth of the river where we found Dave & J.R., who had wilfully blowflied my all-time, most bestest, favourite flattie spot in the whole wide world. It always has been, ever since about 7.05 that morning. Some people have no shame. Dave underscored this by catching my Flathead right in front of me. Repeatedly. Then J.R. hopped on the band wagon. These guys had no respect. Don’t get me wrong, I cheered when Brownie clawed one back against the run of play so I’m no nark. I even tied on a chartreuse Clouser just to humour Dave. It was my impeccable retrieve that caught my 2nd fish, it had nothing to do with those interlopers choice of flies. Even though Dave ended up with 8 flatties to go with his E.P. & J.R. bagged a couple of fish as well I still think it was a fluke. That plus the fact Dave knew what he was doing + he was using an intermediate line & years of experience lead him to select a particular fly, knowledge he freely shared with J.R. Yeah, well we’re fishermen & so never let facts interfere with a good story. You plundered my fish, Dave, but I forgive you, this time.

Barry & Steve were also nearby but had no luck deciphering the Flathead code. Still they both felt that the lessons learned would stand them in good stead on future trips. By now it was after 11.00 & time to cruise back to the ramp. Here I found Gary waiting for us. I also found out that the ramp had a 1 to 2 ft drop off, something Gary had found out the hard way in the early morning gloom. He’d just backed his boat in & it was making lots of bubbles & watery noises at the stern, prompting me to ask if his bungs were in. As he’d recently lent it to his son he thought he’d better check which was when he discovered the afore mentioned drop off & went in up to his *armpits. He said he had a great time fishing in a towel while he waited for his shorts to dry. Apart from that he had little to report. It seems after the 2 incidents of fishy smash & grab first thing the upper reaches had been very quiet with no-one boating a fish. They weren’t alone however with a few of our members in the larger vessels also fishless despite ranging both inside & outside the river. I know that but for the small school of flatties I & a couple of others would have been in the same boat, so to speak. Mind you once gathered around the Barbie nobody seem at all upset. We’d all had a great day in the company of our mates & the snag sangers expertly prepared by master-chef Muzz proved to be the only way to stem the flow of conversation, albeit temporarily.

It seems the old Christmas spirit had come early to some of us & they admitted to decorating the odd tree here & there. Lets hope ‘ Fishing’ Santa remembers this when he’s working out who’s been naughty or nice.