Five weeks left of the fishing season, no fish, and a two rod licence. Loosing faith rapidly... the next ???kn trout I catch is worth a trillion dollars in any market!
Now on a mission to salvage a reputation as an ace fisherman.
So with a 4wd, twin seat kayak, lots of essential survival rations and kit, not to mention a rod or two...
We set of into the wilds of Tasmania on a mission of pescatorial mayhem and annihilation.
The first adventure was Ansons Bay. More precisely to the weir that fed the river that went into Ansons Bay. While we were prepping the ‘yak to launch into the river I noticed a fair bit of disturbance in the shallows. Little fish were running for shelter from something?
I felt sorry for them being bullied by a bigger fish, so I did the right thing and cast a soft plastic that reasonably resembled the little fish to try and lead the hunter away from it’s helpless victims. I worked! All of a sudden the pescatorial predator turned away from it’s prey and started following, and then attacking my lure! Huge excitement - and the kayak wasn't even in the water yet!
The battle raged for at least 7 seconds before the monster broke free... to my eternal relief (not). Twas a bream of world class standard, and now he is off to warn his mates of the impending massacre.
After I lost the best of fish we launched the kayak with sunken hearts, but it was such a brilliant day we couldn't let a small loss spoil it. We headed downstream towards the estuary. Found some deep water with likely structure and anchored up. Tried lures, bait, spinners, dynamite... no luck.
We headed off downstream again towards the estuary and after a few km’s came across a weedy shallow with lots of action happening.
We marked it as a spot to fish on the way back upstream.
Trolling further downstream produced no results and our legs were getting zapped by the death rays from Sol, so we decided to turn back upstream and fish the spots we’d recced on the way down.
All of a sudden the bright blue sky turned dark. Then turned black. Then went flash bang dump.
We were in the middle of a fairly narrow waterway surrounded by wooded hills and the lightening was hitting the trees on both sides of the riverbank. Burning spars were falling into the river around us.
Then it got worse.
It started precipitating like you wouldn't believe. The temp went down 10 degrees in as many seconds, and we were totally exposed. Thor was proving he could send 'em down bigger, quicker, and meaner than a paki chucka.
We had no defense.
3+ Km downstream from launch, p...ing down with rain, lightning striking the trees around us, carbon fibre fishing rods, in the middle of a river that other ideas for us, earthed... Oh s***!!!
All the time the river was building against us as we tried to power upstream and seemed to be going nowhere.
Eventually we made it back up to the weir. Already looking like a drowned rat with sunburned knees and very wobbly legs, I was disembarking the yak and slipped on the river slimy stuff, and my body followed my BFA (derriere) into the river.
Didn’t matter, I was already wet and way beyond feeling pain or humiliation. By this time the rain was easing thankfully. The raindrops were only marbles now instead of cricket balls.
The inclement weather obviously had an effect on the local campers, school kids, and grey nomads, because all of a sudden there was a plethora of vehicles leaving the place. They had to pick that moment to cross over the weir didn't they!
Stark bollock naked trying to prop up the canopy for protection so we could dry off and get into warm clothes.
There was great mirth and merriment from the coach load of teenagers that went past... bastards.
