G'day folks!
Fishing has been on and off for myself the last few weeks, with uni intensives, limited funds, and commitments to other projects. That said, I did take the time off recently to explore what the wonderful winter has thrown up recently. I'd managed a couple of queenfish in the creek not too long ago, so with an itch to scratch I returned on an early week night tide to ply the waters. A slow evening, with only a little queenfish and some mini GT's. I was about to call it a night when two police officers on foot patrol stopped for a chat, and to pass time while talking I flicked the 2" prong under the bridge, drifting with the tide. Bumping bottom softly, I moved the lure about 3 metres when I felt a hit, and set up to a screamer that proceeded to dump line at a rate not healthy for 1000 size reels and drag washers. A lot of frantic running up and down, lose line, gain line, then a massive run under the bridge, against the current, then straight back out before settling in the scour hole and slamming me with massive headshakes. Then the finishing move: another screaming run downstream, headshakes all the way, before finding the pylons of the next bridge, an estimated 60 metres away. Game over....... the officers were jazzed with a little flash of excitement. I called it for a bigger GT, and swore revenge....
Jack the Rat and I hit the creek a day later, searching for tarpon, but the crafty critters did not want to play. I hooked 3, only to lose them to damaged line. So much for checking all the line I had out to that GT. Cutting back more line got me to fresher braid, but too late... lesson learned. Broke me has only one choice right now..... put on more backing!
The creek then slowed big time with a bit of warmer weather. Not so much prawn activity, and crappy tides meant the nighttime poontangle died right in the ar$e. Not a tarpon to be seen for absolutely ages, but the odd GT and cuda still kept things entertaining. A message out of the blue from The Rat and the Big Unit stirred a bit of interest...... and then all of a sudden the itch returned. Reached for the Medalist and the Biomaster, and realized that I had started work on the rebuild of the Medalist, and it was out of commission. Backup time..... I grabbed Laura's Rack Raider and my reel, shouldered my bag, and hit the street. I arrived before the boys, and quickly rigged up. The water was a clear green, good colour, and there was a bit of bait.
First cast with the prong, to the big pylon, resulted in a nice GT that scrapped well. The next few casts met with only shy taps, so I moved along a bit, just in time to spot The Rat and the Big Unit coming up the ramp. Greetings, then back to business. Jacko is a whiz at rigging up, and in 2 shakes he was ready to rock. Good thing too, cos right then I got hit and proceeded to stretch some line on a nice queenfish. Then bang! Double hookup, while Karim is still mucking about!!! We land ours, then things slow down. Jacko then gets a good little mangrove jack to break the lull. Moving about, a cast into the deeper faster channel nets me a bigger queenfish.
Then it really dies off. Cast after cast goes unmolested, and we chop and change lures in earnest, hoping to draw the next strike. Karim ties on a TT Switchblade, I a Koolabung X-Ray Blade, while Jack persists with a placcy. At this point I see some bait moving next to the old swing support pylons (which we affectionately named the 3 Sisters.... more like the 3 witches, as the encrusted metal pylons have cost me several fish). A cast in the middle of the mess goes unmolested, but the next chuck lands right next to the closest pylon. I hit bottom, jig, jig, lift, buzzz tap, lift buzz, tap.... set..... ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Off to the races!
Jacko and Karim are howling with laughter as I am getting absolutely SMOKED by something big. The bugger has also run me through the metal tripod of the pylon, with no sign of stopping! 30 meters later the fish is sluggiing deep, I am holding on for dear life, and the line is grating and singing against the rusty metal. This is not good!! I mutter a hasty prayer and pull back, slowly moving the beast back up current to the pylon. I get back 10 m, and then promptly kiss it goodbye again as the fish effortlessly peels off again. Second attemp, same result...... how good is this 8 lb braid!!! Third attempt, and this time the fish comes, but then sticks right in the jagged tripod. I see a swirl, and realize it's head is right on the pylon, but the line is caught as well. A low rod angle and a bit of jiggling, then I pull again, and the fish amazingly comes round the pylon and is now OUT of the structure. Another quick prayer of thanks, but I am not out of trouble just yet. The fish then peels off again, out of the structure, but the line is now caught on the outer edge of the tripod, grating away as the drag gives up more line. I dare not loosen, tighten, pull, anything, but then snap out of it, and put the rod low again, flicking the line and jiggling the tip as the fish runs. The POP!!! the line twangs free, and a roostertail cuts through the dark water as the fish hits the afterburners and screams off for the next bridge at Aquatic Mach Turbo!
Oh hell yeah... I AM STILL ATTACHED, AND IN THE GAME BABY!!!
But how much damage, and how long will it hold?
And holy smokes, dude, you only have 20 lb leader on!!!! S#!t, mate, those are size 10 trebles, NOT Owners either.... Mustads, definitely not heavy duty.....
At this point we have company, an old geezer who reckons he's seen it all, and feels the need to coach and mention that I am overmatched... no s#!t Sherlock, now will you please shut up, I have work to do!!! Dancing back and forth on the bridge walkway, I match the fish slug for slug, slowing the runs, cushioning the headshakes, keeping it off the bottom. A few hectic moments as it runs for the pylons again, but I have a bit more control now, and apply the brakes steadily. The Raider is working beautifully, hooped right over, and the drag on the Biomaster ticks with the tailbeats. Finger on the spool, a bit more pressure, and a big silver flash in the light reveals a very big barramundi. Terse moments as I try to lead the barra to the bank, where Karim and Jack await with grips, tape and camera. She's having none of it, staying out of range, but finally I cushion the last lunge, surface here and slide her over. For a second the Big Unit obscures my view, but the reassuring click of the Berkley grips and the whoop from underneath tells me all I need to know. Cue Tiger Woods fist pump, and a scramble down to greet my new PB salty barra.
91 cm.... a full 10 cm jump from my 81 (same spot), and tacking 7 cm onto my 84 from the Ross River, making this my second biggest barra ever! WOOOOHOOOO!!!!