FISHING AT BREMER BAY (FEBRUARY 2015)

We had barely settled into Bremer Bay when it became very obvious that fishing is high on the agenda of the vast majority of the town's residents and visitors. In fact, for most, it is the only thing on the agenda! And there's a very good reason for this....Bremer Bay is a piscatorial predator's paradise. A great range of species, locations and fishing adventures, both on and off-shore, are on offer. Your scribe's ears were pinned back. This is what I had come to do (with due deference to the need to also see the sights..."where would you like to go today, Liz?").

I had been told of the black bream to be caught in the Wellstead Estuary at a spot known to the locals as 'Harry's Rock'.  "You can't miss here", was the common cry. A couple of advice sessions had resulted in scribbled additions to our local map and off we set on the quest for the fabled rock. Like many of Australia's early explorers, our first attempt to find the track through the scrub ended in complete and frustrating failure. 

"Did you find the blue rag on the tree at the side of the track to the airport?", was the immediate question posed by the park manager, from whom I was desperately seeking more information. "Er, no, I take it that is important."  "Mate, that is where you turn off. If you reach the airport you've gone too far."  Right....let's see if Google helps. It did. By the time we made our second attempt, I had a good mind's eye picture of what to expect, and we again headed out to the airport, eyes peeled for the critical blue rag.

And there it was, right on cue, the pointer to a fishing nirvana. The track in was better than I had anticipated,

although there was clear evidence that traversing this route in the wet could be a challenge.

as was passing other anglers on the very steep drop to the water at the end, something we had to manage as we left.

Harry's Rock......what a wonderful spot.

The flat, rocky shelf, which forms the bank of the estuary at this point, extends over quite some distance, which is probably just as well.  We were not here on our own, but still had plenty of room to prepare to fish in comfort.  

Well, that was the plan....sitting at one's ease whilst waiting for the arousing tug on the line. There was only one snag.....there was no waiting.  Within seconds of my first cast a black bream was flapping at my feet. No need for the chair.....

this promised to be real fun....and it was. I reached our combined bag limit (for regulatory purposes Liz had become a skilled angler for the day!) of 12 legal sized fish within less than half an hour, and that after throwing back at least the same number which were just undersized. As I later commented, anyone who can't catch fish here should dispose of all their fishing gear on E-bay!

So, with a bulging bag of fish, some of which were in the order of 50 cms (this is a good bream) we left the patrolling pelicans and repaired back to camp

where the catch was duly prepared for the pan.

Then came the downside to the day.  Neither of us was greatly impressed with the flavour of these fillets. For some reason, the normally highly prized, fine tasting flesh of the black bream was slightly muddy and nondescript, well to our tastes at least.  

I suspect the fact that the estuary waters have been stagnant for quite some time may have had something to do with this.  Whatever the cause (and we were prepared to admit it may have just been us), given that there were other tasty species to be caught, this became our one and only sortie to Harry's Rock, but it had been well worth the effort.

With the fishing bit now well and truly between my teeth, I was off at first thing the following morning on a quest for sand whiting. The rocks at the end of Little Boat Harbour had been identified to me as the place to be. Well that saw off a few hours.....no fish, but a delightful venue as you have previously seen.   

Tommy ruff...herring...a fine fish by whatever name used, was the next target species. "Try the rocks past the wharf at the marina", was the next bit of local advice I was keen to test. For those amongst you who have good memories, I did make reference to this when taking you for a tour of the beaches, but let's recap anyway.

My destination was the flat rock which can be seen here beyond the wharf on the break wall at the entrance to the marina.

The somewhat tortuous, teetering toddle over these large rocks on my creaking knees, laden with rods, bucket and backpack containing replacement gear and other essentials, became a real test of my determination to succeed in bagging some plump bull herring.

But, dear reader, I am delighted to report that fortune definitely favours the bold at this location. On my first effort here I bagged out in less than an hour. Thirty fine fish flapping in my old hessian sack...and that after loosing quite a few over the rocks and tossing the tiddlers back to their mothers.

Than goodness we were here when we were, before the end of February. On 1 March, to ire of most amateur anglers, and the devastation of the livelihood of some commercial fishermen (as I have previously reported), the WA Government in its wisdom (and on the basis of questionable 'scientific' advice) has reduced the daily bag limit of herring from 30 to 12.  

So, at the risk of a mixed metaphor, it was very much a case of making hay whilst the sun shone.. Which is exactly what I did.

   

This is another result of a session at the marina, about to go under the scaling knife at the fish cleaning station opposite our park. This herring haul had taken all of forty minutes.  I kept only the bulls and largest of the smaller fish...many minnows were reprieved and returned to the water.  I cannot remember the last time on which I had had so much fishing fun.  A great run on whiting on Kangaroo Island one Easter Saturday comes to mind, but that was eons ago. This fishing session was so good I had reached the point of becoming annoyed if more than two casts did not result in a strike.  

You know that it has been a very good run when a fisherman returns home announcing that "I had to leave them on the bite." On each occasion I fished the Boat Harbour, with one disappointing exception, this is exactly what happened.

Back Beach also proved productive. Disappointingly, my large rig did nothing but drown the bait meant to tempt a prowling salmon, but by following the advice of 'Blackie', my newly found friend in the park, and fishing near the abalone farm water pipes, more good sized herring were soon in the bucket.

I have to say that I just love fishing from a beach, even in dour weather such as this.

Grey skies are soon forgotten when the rod tip bangs away and another fine fish is hauled in through the surf.

I must here acknowledge the sacrifice of my nearest and dearest who made this pictorial record possible, notwithstanding her complete indifference to the art of fishing and her well know total aversion to sand, unless taking a brisk walk along the seafront.

In the course of our sojourn at Bremer Bay I did make a couple of attempts at Short Beach, but, in a rarely made fishing admission, came up short (irresistible) on both occasions. But despite this lack of success, it was just so good to be standing with sand between the toes, darting into the water in the lull between the crashing waves to hurl a baited hook seawards, and to then stand patiently poised, waiting with that essential optimism necessary for the full enjoyment of this sport.....'this cast will catch the big one'. 

On, and did I mention that other essential for a good day's fishing?  You have to dress like a compete dag!

A large salmon had been on my Bremer Bay agenda, but this was not to be. We had heard some reports that they were beginning to school on various beaches, but none were caught to my knowledge.

One long time park resident, to whom I had been grizzling about this sad state of affairs, was immediately on the alert.  "Have you tried Fosters?  If they are anywhere at this time of the year it will be at Fosters."  Great advice....only one minor problem.  The vaunted Foster Beach, which lies to the west of Dillon Beach, can only be accessed via a very rough, narrow 4WD track, one which would have left the cruiser's duco utterly shredded. This was not going to happen....there is no fish in creation which would have ameliorated the co-pilot's ire (and I confess I would have also considered this a price too high).



And, just rub salt into the wound, as I later discovered, the old bloke was right. They were there.  My park mate Blackie (who made the trip to Fosters with a Bremer Bay local in his bush basher) could not wait to show me one of the six salmon they hooked. He salved my significant envy with the advice that the track was worse than he had imagined, and that this was to be the only trip he would make.  Little comfort old mate!


So for me, it was herring only, but as you have seen, many of them. The obvious question is what did we do with all these fish?


The one and only downside to a large catch is the subsequent need to scale and fillet the haul.  And this is where the good burghers of Bremer Bay have come to the fore.  Fish cleaning in the caravan park is prohibited under health regulations, a problem solved by the provision of a nearby fish cleaning station on the banks of the estuary some 200 metres from the park gate. This is as good a facility as I have ever come across. 


It was almost a pleasure to clean fish here on the stainless steel benches with a good water supply on hand.

Bins are supplied for the heads and frames.  These are emptied every couple of days with the contents being converted to fertilzer. The other real advantage of this station is that, because it is the only one in the town, most local catches are cleaned here. It is impossible to be coy about a recent catch when the results are on open display under the knife. I even knew of a couple of park residents who would wander down on a daily basis and check out the bins to see what had been recently filleted.


The local pelican population is always on hand to squabble and scrounge for any scraps on offer. I actually though it somewhat sad to watch these maginificent birds, which are the epitome of grace in the air, flapping and snapping in such an ungainly fashion as they fought for the paltry prize of a herring head. And fight they would, to the accompaniment of that gutteral grunting only a pelican can make.



Needless to say I had caught way more fish than were required for the fridges of the Mobile Marshies. Fortunately, several of the larger catches coincided with one or other of the group dinners we enjoyed with friends in the camp kitchen (more of our social life in my next).

Fresh herring, straight from the BBQ plate, became a featured and well received entree to these community feasts.  I never tire of the buzz associated with providing friends with a feed of fresh fish.





And, dear readers, let me ask this question.....what finer breakfast can there be than a plate of freshly caught, grilled 'tommies on toast'?

For those fillets which did not make their way to the community BBQ or the Marshies caravan dinner table, the trays of my newly acquired and very efficient smoker became their destination.




After one false start with this new kit, when the fillets emerged looking like blackened timber chips, I regained my old smoking skills.  



To my real delight, our good Darwin friends Cate and David, who had recently arrived at Bremer Bay, love smoked fish on brown bread. What a lunch we had...freshly smoked herring on freshly baked light German rye bread from the ovens of the Wellstead museum. With the sun shining and the breeze unusually light, this was a lunch to remember.

This was just one of the many great meals we enjoyed with our Northern Territory compatriots during their five day stay at Bremer Bay.  In fact, the social life here became a real feature of our Bremer Bay adventure, as I shall share with you in the next episode.