Wyong River – November 2017

The decision was made to postpone the “off-the-rocks” outing due to unfavourable wind and swell, and consensus was reached on fishing the Wyong River, an estuary off the Tuggerah Lakes.  Despite initial disappointment, exploring new territory always interests me so I was at the ramp at 6.32 sharp to find Len, Matt, Richard H and Garry Kent all in the water ready to go.  A quick chat and they were off, Richard heading upstream and the others down.  I was assigned to Bob’s boat, and as he was yet to make an appearance, I chatted to two bait fishermen who had lines in the water from the wharf.  It is usual for these conversations to start with some scepticism, with questions like, “what sort of fish do you expect to catch here?” or “you do know there’s no trout here, don’t you?” but this guy had something wavering between respect and a healthy dose of curiosity about flyfishing, and it was a pleasant enough chat.  He did however inform me that he’d been here for awhile and was plagued by only small fish.

Bob drove up, and despite looking a little tired from fishing all night, we were promptly in the water and fishing.  Well, I was fishing.  Bob wasn’t fishing.  Bob did catch the first fish.  I was targeting the edges of weed a few metres from the shore with a small tan and brown clouser while we drifted towards the lake.  Then Bob caught another fish.  While Bob was releasing a fish, I felt a little pull on my line and raising my rod, weight.  Not a lot, but a fish all the same.  The little bream came in quick and I was on the board.  “You really want a photo of that fish?” Bob asked.  “Everyone gets a photo.” I replied.  It’s like my fishing diary.  “It’s got to be pretty small to not get a photo,” I let him know, “maybe if the fly is bigger than the fish.”  I didn’t measure it, but the bream swam away to fight another day.  A few casts later and another one is on.  An even smaller bream.  Another photo and off he goes as well.  I hooked another that managed to avoid capture, and as any fisherman would tell you, he was bigger than the others.  More casting was fruitless, but a delightful way to start the morning.

As the bite died off we decided on a change of tactics.  Seeing a few mullet around Bob suggested we get a bread burley happening and see if we could fire up some fish.  Now prior to joining the club I wouldn’t really have considered fly fishing to involve burley.  Some would deem it cheating, and others feel it contrary to the ideology of the long wand.  To me, fly fishing is whatever you want it to be.  There are enough rules in life without spoiling fishing too.  If you don’t like it, don’t do it!  It gets a bend in the rod and is a nice, relaxing way to spend a Sunday morning if you ask me, not to mention more fun than practicing casting in the park.

So the finer points of bread burleying was explained, and there’s more to it than I thought.  Little splashes and swirls gave away the presence of fish, so I cast my clouser into the burley a few times without success.  I changed over to two bread flies, a size 6 floating deer hair and underneath a size 16 sinking bread fly I tied myself with egg yarn.  Bob also tied a bread fly on and we both flicked into the burley.  Before long my floating fly was bobbing down, and after a couple of missed strikes, I connected with a fish.  It came in quickly, but I didn’t recognise the long slender shape until I pulled it from the water.  A garfish! A species I hadn’t caught before, and one of the primary goals of club members is the challenge of catching new species of fish, so I was stoked.  Not quite equal to the excitement of finally landing my first trout, but enjoyable all the same.  Another garfish fell to the sinking fly instead of the floating, and yes, he got a photo too.  A harder fighting fish was boated, “Not a bad mullet” I declared, but Bob quickly corrected me, “That? That’s a pissy little mullet.”  Photo nonetheless.

Another change in tactics saw us tie on heavier flies to target flathead.  We drifted a few likely spots, but weed was all we managed to hook up.  My stomach informed me that it was nearly time to head back, so we headed back and returned to the original plan of casting along the banks for bream along the way.  The wind was starting to really pick up and I thought of how unpleasant fishing into it off the rocks would have been.  Good call, and a thoroughly pleasant morning. 

Back at the ramp the smell of the cooking meat was enticing, and the generally slow fishing was one of the main topics at the traditional barbecue to finish the outing.  Richard H had some success, catching three bream and an estuary perch.