TimiBoy
13-07-2008, 12:03 PM
On a darkling morning, four men, brave and true, rigged a brave little white boat for battle.
The Skipper's ring was hanging out, boding ill for the trip, but the Deckie was smiling, and ready to work. The guests were just utterly bemused at the sort of crap that was flying around - pretty similar to what I'm spouting now, actually!;D;D;D;D
Skipper - Timiboy
Deckie - Squidboy, known in some circles as Wags
Kevvie - "I'm here so we won't catch anything"
Dieter - My B-I-L from Adelaide. A professional artist, and a quietly spoken chap.
We pulled out the driveway at about 8 am, a very Gentlemanly hour indeed. We dropped the boat in the water, and headed out south around Peel, towards the bar. Conditions looked good, but the back of our minds (well, mine anyway, there was no room in Wags' mind for much other than knots and rigs, and the other two just don't have a clue!!!) was that Westerly...
A gentle bar crossing was followed by the utter failure of the first element of our strategy. Livies. They just weren't there. Well, they were - had a sounder full, they just showed no interest. It may have been the wind, all 15-20 knots of it, which made me a little nervous, given we were still close to Moreton, and planning on some deep water fishing.
So, after a last lifting of the two fingered salute at the damned bait schools, we headed for Square Patch, and a feast of fish! An interesting journey, green water over the nose a few times, and the boat damn well near in the air on a couple of occasions. Wags complaining about the ride is becoming a common thing, a familiar drone, if you like. But the salty wet finger in my ear was too Merv Hughes for comfort! I kept a steely watch on him after that, watching for the tongue...
Square Patch was a nightmare! We chucked the parachute, and tried to fish, but I just watched, as there was no chance of getting four lines out there without Wags tangling someone. Nothing doing, couldn't get to the bottom, and the chop a metre plus, about 6 metres apart and the tub pitching and rolling like a, like a, well... you know what I mean. Damn I hate it when I can't think of a good analogy!
We had a quick chat about our next move, and with lifting hearts, we smashed our way back to the 29's and a spot reputed to produce. A few drifts yielded a 38cm squire for the Skipper, and a nice little Moses for Dieter, who was absolutely stoked. A few more drifts only yielded small stuff, but Dieter kept dragging stuff aboard, and loving it. The Guy was on fire, but we soon got sick of it.
We moved to another 29's spot which has produced in the past, but nothing. Things were starting to moderate weatherwise, as we decided to poke around Flatrock (keeping our distance of course). Some fabulous shows, and found an incredible rise, but the only thing on the bite there was the plug, and something rather large that gave Dieter some real excitement for a short while before breaking him off. So, sick of that, we headed South again, towards the Cathedrals, with a couple of marks on the way to check. Pointless they were, too.
So, 4.30 pm, conditions glassed out, two small fish in the box. There was NO WAY we were coming home! Kev rang the Missus to get cars organised differently, I rang mine to keep her informed and let VMR know of our plans changing; Dieter just looked tired. Very, very tired. Poor fellow! Wags was pepped up, ready to fish. We set up the Navnet to take us back to the 42's, and at about 5 pm, flattened it!
Getting dark on the way, turned on the radar, and felt nice and secure. We arrived at the 42's with little light left, and started fishing. So it began...
Among several brickings - all four of us were broken/bitten off, we managed to pull up about ten more squire, and a nice striped Tuna, good bait for Tuesday. I roped in the squire of the day, at 70 cm. We had a casualty though, poor old Dieter was on his last legs - about to berley up, and really stuffed. The Mother instinct kicked in, and I said two more fish, people! I had a hit and a squire double header at around 50 cm each! I had hoped the others would get at least one of the two, but as usual, the Skipper had to show them how it was done...
So that was it. We dialed up the outer mark for the bar, and belted off, the radar keeping us posted on hazards. We did spot what might have been a couple of whales on the screen. Got to the bar, crossed it with eyes shut and praying madly. Pretty scary in the dark, but the boat's up to it, for sure. Kept on the track by the GPS, with the radar showing us the waves either side, fantastic weapon, that radar! Headed for the ramp, and a very relieved team finally got to dry land after a marathon.
We hit the driveway at about 10 pm, Dieter was sent upstairs to bed, Kevvie went home, starting work at 1:15 am, poor bastard, but he was very satisfied, having caught a few keepers. Wags and I cleaned the fish, and wound up at 11:45, filleted and skun, all up about 8kg of fillets plus the tuna. I had dinner, showered, and was in bed by 12:20. STILL TIRED!!!!
Cheers,
Tim
The Skipper's ring was hanging out, boding ill for the trip, but the Deckie was smiling, and ready to work. The guests were just utterly bemused at the sort of crap that was flying around - pretty similar to what I'm spouting now, actually!;D;D;D;D
Skipper - Timiboy
Deckie - Squidboy, known in some circles as Wags
Kevvie - "I'm here so we won't catch anything"
Dieter - My B-I-L from Adelaide. A professional artist, and a quietly spoken chap.
We pulled out the driveway at about 8 am, a very Gentlemanly hour indeed. We dropped the boat in the water, and headed out south around Peel, towards the bar. Conditions looked good, but the back of our minds (well, mine anyway, there was no room in Wags' mind for much other than knots and rigs, and the other two just don't have a clue!!!) was that Westerly...
A gentle bar crossing was followed by the utter failure of the first element of our strategy. Livies. They just weren't there. Well, they were - had a sounder full, they just showed no interest. It may have been the wind, all 15-20 knots of it, which made me a little nervous, given we were still close to Moreton, and planning on some deep water fishing.
So, after a last lifting of the two fingered salute at the damned bait schools, we headed for Square Patch, and a feast of fish! An interesting journey, green water over the nose a few times, and the boat damn well near in the air on a couple of occasions. Wags complaining about the ride is becoming a common thing, a familiar drone, if you like. But the salty wet finger in my ear was too Merv Hughes for comfort! I kept a steely watch on him after that, watching for the tongue...
Square Patch was a nightmare! We chucked the parachute, and tried to fish, but I just watched, as there was no chance of getting four lines out there without Wags tangling someone. Nothing doing, couldn't get to the bottom, and the chop a metre plus, about 6 metres apart and the tub pitching and rolling like a, like a, well... you know what I mean. Damn I hate it when I can't think of a good analogy!
We had a quick chat about our next move, and with lifting hearts, we smashed our way back to the 29's and a spot reputed to produce. A few drifts yielded a 38cm squire for the Skipper, and a nice little Moses for Dieter, who was absolutely stoked. A few more drifts only yielded small stuff, but Dieter kept dragging stuff aboard, and loving it. The Guy was on fire, but we soon got sick of it.
We moved to another 29's spot which has produced in the past, but nothing. Things were starting to moderate weatherwise, as we decided to poke around Flatrock (keeping our distance of course). Some fabulous shows, and found an incredible rise, but the only thing on the bite there was the plug, and something rather large that gave Dieter some real excitement for a short while before breaking him off. So, sick of that, we headed South again, towards the Cathedrals, with a couple of marks on the way to check. Pointless they were, too.
So, 4.30 pm, conditions glassed out, two small fish in the box. There was NO WAY we were coming home! Kev rang the Missus to get cars organised differently, I rang mine to keep her informed and let VMR know of our plans changing; Dieter just looked tired. Very, very tired. Poor fellow! Wags was pepped up, ready to fish. We set up the Navnet to take us back to the 42's, and at about 5 pm, flattened it!
Getting dark on the way, turned on the radar, and felt nice and secure. We arrived at the 42's with little light left, and started fishing. So it began...
Among several brickings - all four of us were broken/bitten off, we managed to pull up about ten more squire, and a nice striped Tuna, good bait for Tuesday. I roped in the squire of the day, at 70 cm. We had a casualty though, poor old Dieter was on his last legs - about to berley up, and really stuffed. The Mother instinct kicked in, and I said two more fish, people! I had a hit and a squire double header at around 50 cm each! I had hoped the others would get at least one of the two, but as usual, the Skipper had to show them how it was done...
So that was it. We dialed up the outer mark for the bar, and belted off, the radar keeping us posted on hazards. We did spot what might have been a couple of whales on the screen. Got to the bar, crossed it with eyes shut and praying madly. Pretty scary in the dark, but the boat's up to it, for sure. Kept on the track by the GPS, with the radar showing us the waves either side, fantastic weapon, that radar! Headed for the ramp, and a very relieved team finally got to dry land after a marathon.
We hit the driveway at about 10 pm, Dieter was sent upstairs to bed, Kevvie went home, starting work at 1:15 am, poor bastard, but he was very satisfied, having caught a few keepers. Wags and I cleaned the fish, and wound up at 11:45, filleted and skun, all up about 8kg of fillets plus the tuna. I had dinner, showered, and was in bed by 12:20. STILL TIRED!!!!
Cheers,
Tim