Wednesday 6 October. Almost nine months had passed since first hearing tales of semi-legendary Weipa trips during an ‘official’ introduction to estuary flyfishing with Nial Logan and Gavin Platz. For a couple of enthusiasts with a reasonable amount of freshwater experience, we were keen to try to gain some skills in fishing the largely trout-less waters around Brisbane.

They were exotic, seductive tales of spectacular beach and flats fishing, checking out drains and snags, intense excitement around the leads (whatever they might be), and general fulfilment of dreams that for many people (like us) had only been played out in the exploits of Starlo and Bushy (and Morse etc) on the box. Then we found about a proposed Weipa trip - a Saltwater Flyfishing School - accommodating less experienced salt water flyfishers. After some lengthy discussion of the pros and cons, we (my husband Ian and I) just had to say yes. So after months of casting practice, excitement, anticipation and trepidation we were living the dream.

We were steaming out of Weipa in slightly less than ideal conditions with a mean combination of wind and swell, watching frigate birds, marvelling at spanish mackerel leaping seemingly impossible heights above the waves, flying fishing actually flying past, dolphins keeping pace, and all the time wondering whether:

a) I’d shame my Dad (33 years in the Navy) by chucking over the side and

b) could I make it back up to the top deck and back for a couple of G & Ts without falling overboard (or worse, spilling the drinks).

Such trivial concerns disappeared when we started fishing the next day. It was a steep learning curve understood and appreciated not only by Gavin and Nial but by our fellow fishermen. A lot of the fishing during the week was hard, mainly due to whimsical winds. Deficiencies in casting - whether in distance or accuracy - were punished by missing the target, a powerful teaching aide! The necessity of a quick response - drummed in during our casting tuition - clearly became evident. Gavin or Nial were always on hand to provide pointers, and the informal post-fishing discussions in which everyone participated were also invaluable.

There were apparently less fish about according to the fellas who had fished the area before. However such observations are only relative. Before our Cape York odyssey, Ian and I had caught one saltwater fish each. By the end of the trip we’d landed over 30 fish of 13 different species and hooked up with at least as many more.

The circumstances of every hook-up, capture, and occasional inevitable loss are etched in memory but some seem a bit more special for me than others. I had a great time with a couple of very active tarpon and a golden trevally on clousers in the mouth of the Doughboy. During a terrific afternoon on the Jackson (one of the best days of my life) we fished the snags. On one snag Ian caught, in turn, an estuary cod, a barramundi, and a barracuda. In a quiet backwater among the mangroves, Ian’s and Gavin’s clousers were ignored but my ‘intuitive’ selection of a Crazy Charlie variation tied by Ian got unexpected results (I’m not sure about Ian’s suggestion of naming the fly Crazy Tam) when I hooked a big brown sweetlip. Although clearly not one of God’s brightest creatures it did provide some comedic moments when the three of us joined forces to drag it out from among the tree roots. Ian’s heart-stopping session with trevally at the leads (ahhh - I now know what they are) was a real buzz. It was also where I learned – painfully - the reason why I had been repeatedly told to keep my hand flat under the reel while a fish screamed off into the distance. I consider the black thumbnail a badge of honour if not a tribute to poor technique; Ian was more concerned about the blood on the reel). Gavin’s permit was also very special. It was a 20 minute fight with Gavin reluctant to call it until the fish was almost in the net.

There were no sophisticated fish finding devices on the dories, so instead we learned about reading natural signs. Tide ripples, bird activity, reading the tides, and where to most effectively target the areas where fish are likely to be feeding.

There were 13 people on board the mothership during our trip; four crew and nine flyfishers. Towards the end of the trip I found out that some of the others had initially had reservations about having a woman aboard, but we all got along well. I was there to fish, and I didn’t expect special treatment. I didn’t get any, either, although I was always treated courteously (and appreciated the hand on and off the boats, grace and agility never having been strong points). Although once or twice I was asked if I’d like first shower, my preoccupation with a beer excused me. And when Andy (a fellow holiday-only Coco Pops consumer) gallantly saved the last packet for me, Gavin ate it regardless.

I never did chuck over the side, or spill a G&T. I learned a lot, visited a very beautiful part of the world, caught fish I’d only ever heard about, and all with a group of like-minded people whose company I enjoyed immensely. So thanks for a truly unforgettable experience go to Ian, Gavin, Nial and the ‘saintly’ group of boys Andy, George, James, John and Peter.

Tammy Smith

Tammy Smith - colour co-ordinated sunscreen with the golden trevally

 Gavin Platz with a great fish - his first permit on fly

  Ian Smith releasing a hard fighting trevally at the leads