We were two men on a mission. Admittedly John was more excited about it than I, but after all it was to be his bright red MGB we were picking up......in Warrnambool! When we had first darkened the Vogt doorstep JV had told me of his acquisition and his need to take a car trailer west across the Princess Highway to bring it home.
I hadn't travelled that road since staying in Geelong with Liz's very good friend Karin whilst attending the Avalon airshow (where the then very young Sub-Lieutenant was flying with the Navy helicopter team.....Stu of course) Thanks Karin...it was a great weekend. So apart from the fact that is was a pleasure to help out, I was looking forward to the trip, not the 0600 hours start, but the trip!
I'll not bore you with further detail other than to say it was a long and interesting day. After overcoming the problem of one strap too few with which to tie the 'B' down (fortunately John had one in his Pajero), and the need to replace a trailer tyre after a blowout on the verge of a very busy major highway, we pulled into the Mount Martha driveway a good 12 hours after our departure.
And there it was in all its glory.....the new toy, or as Liz and I immediately christened it, 'The Ornament', rapturously welcomed by Bob the Dog who must have thought his two male shed companions were never coming back.
It had been a long haul, but the car trailer John had borrowed from a mate in the trade worked a treat and the red terror
was soon backed off onto Terra firma again and in the hands of its very chuffed new owner
who just couldn't resist a quick toddle around the block
before it went into the shed (where our happy hour table had previously resided). John has himself a bargain, and with his tinkering and restoration skills, the few small panel and accessory problems will be ironed out in no time.
I decided that, having had a sit behind the wheel, my sports car days were well and truly over (even if I could afford one). My personal entry and exit were challenging to say the least...not that I didn't have a very nostalgic twinge for my Triumph Spitfire and later, V12, 2+2 Jaguar E type days....but I was a much younger man then!
And, as if two very early mornings in a row were not enough, John had arranged for us to spend a day on Port Phillip Bay in the very well found boat of Nathan, one of his sons-in-law on the following day. Another early start....by now they seemed to be becoming the norm.
What a day it was. We didn't do well with the fish (caught many nice pink schnapper off Portsea.....all 1 to 2 cms undersized!) but I saw more of Port Phillip Bay in one day than I could have imagined.
We launched at Frankston (well north of Mornington), travelled right down to the end of the peninsula, fished off Portsea as I mentioned, then spent some time in the large ocean swells outside The Heads on the schnapper grounds there before a thrilling ride back through 'The Rip' (very well named) at the entrance to the Bay.
From there we proceeded to circumnavigate the vast shallow area of Mud Island before returning to our launching point some eight hours later. Sadly I have no pictorial support for this tale....I did not trust myself with a camera at sea, but despite the lack of fish I had a cracker of a day and learnt a great deal about Port Phillip Bay.
Fast forward to the following Thursday...and this time the waters of Western Port (often referred to as Western Port Bay) were our destination. We were to be in the very capable hands of Max, one of JV's oldest friends. The day dawned a little dreary, but importantly, calm. From Max's beautiful home in Berwick we made the 20 minute trip to the launching ramp at Warneet, right at the top of the large water mass on the eastern side of the Mornington Peninsula which is Western Port (just below the word Dalmore on this map)
I have often wondered why this body of water is so named, given it lies to the east of the larger Port Phillip Bay, separated by the Mornington Peninsula. The answer lies in the fact that at time it was discovered and named by the explorer George Bass in 1797 it was the most westerly of all the known harbours in Australia at the time.....and the name has stuck!
"They're on the bite about 500 yards down the middle spit" was the advice from the tackle shop. This meant something to Max, and we were soon in the target area. Whiting were in our sights, and my hard won Goolwa cockles were just the bait. We soon had good sized fish flapping in the bucket.
From here we made a couple of further drops, finishing across the channel near the shoreline of the western side of the upper bay area. 'Pinkies', you little beauty! By the time it was necessary to return to the ramp (partly driven by the fact that the weather was now closing in rapidly) we had a more than satisfactory haul of legal sized pink schnapper and King George whiting.
The only slight hiccup in the entire day occurred as we came back to the ramp to retrieve our trusty craft, when your scribe found himself in a position which can best be described as completely lacking boat handling dignity. And beyond that my lips are sealed. They could possibly be prised apart with the personal administration of liberal doses of a good single malt, but otherwise silence shall reign!
After the obligatory self-congratulatory beer or two at Max's, JV and I made our (tedious) way through the unbelievable early peak hour Melbourne traffic back to Mount Martha
where our (very generous) share of the day's spoils were triumphantly laid out for the girls to admire (note the token tommy ruff)
before we boys got down to the business of scaling and filleting (well we both scaled and I wielded the filleting knife.....Liz has no faith in any one else....with good cause, he says immodestly!)
From there we proceeded to circumnavigate the vast shallow area of Mud Island before returning to our launching point some eight hours later. Sadly I have no pictorial support for this tale....I did not trust myself with a camera at sea, but despite the lack of fish I had a cracker of a day and learnt a great deal about Port Phillip Bay.
Fast forward to the following Thursday...and this time the waters of Western Port (often referred to as Western Port Bay) were our destination. We were to be in the very capable hands of Max, one of JV's oldest friends. The day dawned a little dreary, but importantly, calm. From Max's beautiful home in Berwick we made the 20 minute trip to the launching ramp at Warneet, right at the top of the large water mass on the eastern side of the Mornington Peninsula which is Western Port (just below the word Dalmore on this map)
I have often wondered why this body of water is so named, given it lies to the east of the larger Port Phillip Bay, separated by the Mornington Peninsula. The answer lies in the fact that at time it was discovered and named by the explorer George Bass in 1797 it was the most westerly of all the known harbours in Australia at the time.....and the name has stuck!
"They're on the bite about 500 yards down the middle spit" was the advice from the tackle shop. This meant something to Max, and we were soon in the target area. Whiting were in our sights, and my hard won Goolwa cockles were just the bait. We soon had good sized fish flapping in the bucket.
From here we made a couple of further drops, finishing across the channel near the shoreline of the western side of the upper bay area. 'Pinkies', you little beauty! By the time it was necessary to return to the ramp (partly driven by the fact that the weather was now closing in rapidly) we had a more than satisfactory haul of legal sized pink schnapper and King George whiting.
The only slight hiccup in the entire day occurred as we came back to the ramp to retrieve our trusty craft, when your scribe found himself in a position which can best be described as completely lacking boat handling dignity. And beyond that my lips are sealed. They could possibly be prised apart with the personal administration of liberal doses of a good single malt, but otherwise silence shall reign!
After the obligatory self-congratulatory beer or two at Max's, JV and I made our (tedious) way through the unbelievable early peak hour Melbourne traffic back to Mount Martha
where our (very generous) share of the day's spoils were triumphantly laid out for the girls to admire (note the token tommy ruff)
before we boys got down to the business of scaling and filleting (well we both scaled and I wielded the filleting knife.....Liz has no faith in any one else....with good cause, he says immodestly!)
This was the start of a very busy hour or so for your scribe. The impromptu, but unanimous decision to have utterly fresh fish for dinner meant that I had to get cracking. Yep, I am also the recognised seafood chef in this company.
A quick scrub to get rid of the evidence of the day's activities which was clinging tenaciously to many parts of my anatomy, and it was a change of clothes and into the indoors galley where the massed fillets were floured, dipped in egg wash and coated with crumbs.
They were soon sizzling away in the pan whilst Rhonda put the finishing touches on a salad.
As we tucked in to what can only be described as a mountain of fillets, even Liz, who has been the recipient of many fine fresh fish meals since we have been together (including on Kangaroo Island where the King George is indeed the monarch), commented that the whiting in particular were the best she had ever tasted. Who was I to disagree? I was, by now, completely buggered. It had been a long but utterly satisfying day....one of the best fishing trips I had enjoyed for many years.
And what of the girls I hear you ask. They made the most of their day of feminine freedom with a visit to the local Mornington Movie Theatre where I understand the order of the day was what I would classify as a 'chick flick' (and not a very good one according to Liz). I think this day's 'division of labour' had been perfectly managed!
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