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Manual de Lanzado Falsecast
Monday: Paul Arden
Sunday August 27, 2006 Hey, I discovered where old fishermen go. I mean for the last round up, or last cast, or whatever. Shark Bay, Western Australia. The place is hoaching (that’s Scottish for crawling or infested) with them. So far, I’ve seen maybe three people under sixty five years old. And I’m one of them. Maybe this is just a sort of fishy staging area and there’s some sort of angler’s elephants graveyard out there in the desert. The deal is, I guess, you pack up the camper and 4X4 and drag the whole shebang up to north western Australia, and spend the winter jigging squid off the pier or putting the timmy in the water to catch a mess of pink snapper for dinner. Don’t get me wrong, it looks great! And man, these old aussie battlers are seriously tooled up. Never seen so much or better equipment. My best efforts as a tackle junky pale into insignificance. I spent most of last Thursday and Friday burning up boat fuel, searching over the vast expanse of Shark Bay, a huge shallow lagoon (two bays, actually) half way up the Western Australia coast. The surroundings are stunning. Weird, otherworldly and Australian, but beautiful. The scrub desert runs straight into the sea. It’s a touristy place in the summer I guess, what with zillions of people wanting to pet the tame(ish) dolphins that cavort in the bay, or just stare at the fantastic sunsets each evening. But in the winter it’s the grey ones that take over. And they’re all pretty fishy, no mistake. Maybe there’s a special flyfisher’s elephant’s graveyard somewhere else, because there are no fly fishermen around at the moment – not even me, for that matter, which I should explain. The water is too cold for this time of year, and the fish seem to be almost non-existent. After maybe ten thousand casts last Thursday I managed to scare up dinner in the form of a chopper bluefish (Tailor to the Aussies) and a nice broad banded, or barred Spanish Mackeral, which is a serious gamefish by any standard. In my pragmatic attempt to locate some of these rather scarce fish (and catch dinner) I was chucking a plug on a baitcasting rig, not a fly. The dark side, I know. Fun though. By the way, the tailor and Spanish Mackeral tasted great. The difference between fresh caught fish and what we call fresh fish in a city fish shop is, you know, night and day. Morsie gave me a tip to check out Cape Peron , at the tip of the twin peninsulas of Shark Bay. Mag and I took the sand track up there, let the air down in the tires and didn’t get stuck. No dramas. The cape blew us away. Fabulous place. I got stuck into some chopper tailor and another small Spanish Mackeral, or some kind of mackeral anyway, on the fly from shore – so Paul, saltfly works!. Chartreuse polar bear Clousers were the ticket. The tailor were great sport, took eight of them up to about a kilo in weight, and the mackeral was dynamite. Released them all. No other fish seen or caught, water too cold I think, the Leeuwin Current isn’t reaching far enough south this winter for some species, but even so, the place was alive with life. A sea turtle was fooling around just beyond my rod tip, a dugong a hundred feet out and several dolphins working the tide rip. Wild. I’m going back. Not enough time to do it justice. Anyway, it wound up an interesting week. I’ll post some pix on The Board tomorrow. Happy Birthday Pyko! 40 big ones! You’ll be tapping your toes to country music before you know it. It’s OK, lots of room in the old timer’s campground up here. I think there’s square dancing on Saturday nights. Bob
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