|
|
|
A once in a lifetime fish
Michael Ingleby writes:
Here's a tale that will cause many a fisherman to sigh and shake his head...
It was one of those stinking hot days, back in mid January; muggy and overcast with a warm Northerly keeping things suitably uncomfortable.
I decided to get out of the house (which was a balmy 32 degrees indoors!). So I wandered around the corner to Woolamai surf-beach, carrying my trusty 12-foot surf-rod and a single Halco slice lure. The first car park was overflowing and when I walked down to the beach my heart sank, as there were almost as many swimmers, bathers and other assorted tourists as there were grains of sand!
I figured it would be better to cool off by standing knee-deep in the water for an hour or two rather than trek back to the house. So I wandered along the beach and managed to find a spot which was mostly clear of human flotsam. I didn't hold out much hope of even a nibble, but I cast out regardless.
The sea was glassy calm, with a single low wave rolling in every minute or so. I was able to fling the lure about 70 meters out into the still waters, to the point where the seabed begins to slope into the deeper water. Once cast, I allowed the Halco about ten seconds to sink down to the bottom, then I started a moderately quick retrieve. On my third cast and retrieve the lure appeared to have snagged on the bottom, so I gave an extra yank in an attempt to loosen it.
At that moment, 70 meters out to sea, the biggest salmon I've ever had the good fortune (?) to see erupted from the water, with my lure hanging from it's jaws.
It jumped three more times, in quick succession. Each time it cleared the surface, making a mighty splash as it came back down. I was using the entire length of the rod to put as much pressure of the fish as possible and within a couple of heart-stopping minutes I'd hauled the salmon to within 10 meters of the shore. The wake it made as it powered through the water was amazing - it would've put an American nuclear sub to shame! It spooked as it entered the shallows and made a storming run back out to sea stripping around 20 metres of 14lb firewire, under almost full-drag.
I steered it back towards me until it came within 5 meters of the beach, when it made a final leap from the water. At that point I could see just how huge a salmon it really was. I'd estimate it's length to be around 55-60 centimetres, weighing in at (I'd guess) around 5 kilos. I've fished Woolamai regularly for around 8 years and I've only ever seen one other salmon of that calibre, and that was way back in 1992, so it really was one of those "once in a lifetime" fish.
Then, as it splashed back down into the water, I felt the line go slack? My worst fears were confirmed when I continued to wind, to see nothing other than a popped-open snap-swivel hanging limply from the end of the line. I made the big mistake of attaching my lure to the line with snap-swivel.
You know that feeling, when you're not sure whether to laugh, cry, swear or just chuck your gear into the sea? Well, that's exactly how I was feeling at that moment. The best fish I'd ever hooked was a gnat's nadger away from being in the bag. "So near and yet so far", as the saying goes.
The really irksome thing was that as I was getting my gear ready, before I set off to beach, I toyed with the idea of tying the lure directly onto my main line. A few days earlier I'd lost a couple of sinkers when one of the same snap-swivels had also popped open. You would've thought that I would've learned from that, but I didn't!
There's a couple of lessons to be learned from this tale of woe (ones I won't be forgetting in a hurry!):
1: Never, I repeat NEVER, attach a lure with a snap-swivel!
2: When you've got a big fish on, be PATIENT and take your time to get it in!
(2 May 2001)
If you have a comment, tip or question, send it in via our contributor's form and be in the running for some great monthly prizes! |
|