Mozza
10-05-2006, 09:19 PM
I just had a spiritual experience.
I caught an approximately 123cm barramundi.
On a 5-8kg PENN Powerstick rod, Powerspin 4000 PENN reel loaded with about 15m of 6kg braid with 6kg mono backing and a short 40cm 30lb mono leader with a ?? wide gape hook.
Those are the stats.
I had three rods out, all with livebait. A mullet on the Abu6500 8kilo outfit close to the bank on a running sinker, a large herring on the Shimano 12kg outfit out in the middle of the river and a small herring unweighted on the rig above, bailing arm open.
Had a hit on the little rig so I pulled her in and replaced with a fresh herring and chucked it out unweighted. There is a shallow area that drops off a little further out and with the south-easterlies blowing up the river, I knew this little fella would get slowly dragged along the edge. It was starting to get dark so I attached a dead leaf on the loose line hanging down from the tip of the rod, figuring I should see it move before I lost all my line on free-spool.
‘Bout 5 min later and the leaf jumps at the same time that I see a huge boil ‘round where my livie should be. So I jump to the rod and pick it up carefully still in free-spool until I’m sure nothing’s happening. I flick over the bailing arm and start slowly winding in all the while I’m wading across the shallow bank.
I’m still fairly certain something’s on the other end but I have to be very careful because the predators here cop a fair hiding from us and they’re fairly suspicious of free meals. As I wind I notice that the ‘thing’ on the other end has swum sideways so there’s no knowing when to strike, but I keep on winding in until I start to feel a little resistance. Wham! I go for the big hook-up only to find there’s still a few more metres of line to pull in. Fortunately the beast has swallowed the herring and the hook slides into the fleshy part of her throat.
SPA-LASH! I know straight away it’s my biggest barra yet. She goes for some short runs and thumping head-shakes. And I’m thinking about my old knots and my too-short leader and praying because I know I don’t really have a chance of getting it in. I can actually feel the line flicking across her face when she changes direction. And I’m shaking.
Suddenly its like I’ve gotta ring someone, if only to see her jump once. Trying to dial numbers without glasses and a flippin’ 20kg barra on the end of the line is nearly impossible. The kids are sitting down to dinner but they scramble to the car – we live less than a km away. “Don’t forget the camera and a tape measure” I yell as I nearly drop the phone.
The fight has turned into a dogged sideways stalemate. My gear isn’t strong enough to put some extra grunt into the fight and I can tell she’s tiring – using her lateral bulk to counter the effect of my pulling. Each time she turns she gets a little closer and I’m starting to think, maybe I’ve got a chance. Just as the family turns up, I manage to pull her up onto the bank. I’m buggered.
The tape measure’s been left behind. No problem, I’ll measure her on the cast net rope, tie a knot and measure when I get home. For 15 minutes, it’s been just me and her. After taking a couple of shots with the old camera I remember that I neglected to replace the spool so once again, no pictures but a another huge milestone for my memories.
Aren’t barra majestic? What is it that makes them special? I catch other fish – like my first big fingermark, the 17kg cobia I caught last year. Those were huge rushes yes but not the same depth of respect or humility. It’s weird whatever it is and I always feel a pang of guilt when I keep a large barra (anything over 90cm).
I was really worried that she might not survive because the fight against the lighter gear meant that I had to take more out of her to get her in. So there I was after promising not to come home wet and muddy, wet and muddy walking up and down the bank of the Ross river holding her by the bottom lip waiting for that tell-tale ‘bite’ to let you know that she’ll be okay. After a while I detected a few motions of her tail and not long after a bit of a nod of the head. So I pointed her out holding on lightly to her tale and with barely a movement she glided away slowly into the inky dark water.
Mozza
I caught an approximately 123cm barramundi.
On a 5-8kg PENN Powerstick rod, Powerspin 4000 PENN reel loaded with about 15m of 6kg braid with 6kg mono backing and a short 40cm 30lb mono leader with a ?? wide gape hook.
Those are the stats.
I had three rods out, all with livebait. A mullet on the Abu6500 8kilo outfit close to the bank on a running sinker, a large herring on the Shimano 12kg outfit out in the middle of the river and a small herring unweighted on the rig above, bailing arm open.
Had a hit on the little rig so I pulled her in and replaced with a fresh herring and chucked it out unweighted. There is a shallow area that drops off a little further out and with the south-easterlies blowing up the river, I knew this little fella would get slowly dragged along the edge. It was starting to get dark so I attached a dead leaf on the loose line hanging down from the tip of the rod, figuring I should see it move before I lost all my line on free-spool.
‘Bout 5 min later and the leaf jumps at the same time that I see a huge boil ‘round where my livie should be. So I jump to the rod and pick it up carefully still in free-spool until I’m sure nothing’s happening. I flick over the bailing arm and start slowly winding in all the while I’m wading across the shallow bank.
I’m still fairly certain something’s on the other end but I have to be very careful because the predators here cop a fair hiding from us and they’re fairly suspicious of free meals. As I wind I notice that the ‘thing’ on the other end has swum sideways so there’s no knowing when to strike, but I keep on winding in until I start to feel a little resistance. Wham! I go for the big hook-up only to find there’s still a few more metres of line to pull in. Fortunately the beast has swallowed the herring and the hook slides into the fleshy part of her throat.
SPA-LASH! I know straight away it’s my biggest barra yet. She goes for some short runs and thumping head-shakes. And I’m thinking about my old knots and my too-short leader and praying because I know I don’t really have a chance of getting it in. I can actually feel the line flicking across her face when she changes direction. And I’m shaking.
Suddenly its like I’ve gotta ring someone, if only to see her jump once. Trying to dial numbers without glasses and a flippin’ 20kg barra on the end of the line is nearly impossible. The kids are sitting down to dinner but they scramble to the car – we live less than a km away. “Don’t forget the camera and a tape measure” I yell as I nearly drop the phone.
The fight has turned into a dogged sideways stalemate. My gear isn’t strong enough to put some extra grunt into the fight and I can tell she’s tiring – using her lateral bulk to counter the effect of my pulling. Each time she turns she gets a little closer and I’m starting to think, maybe I’ve got a chance. Just as the family turns up, I manage to pull her up onto the bank. I’m buggered.
The tape measure’s been left behind. No problem, I’ll measure her on the cast net rope, tie a knot and measure when I get home. For 15 minutes, it’s been just me and her. After taking a couple of shots with the old camera I remember that I neglected to replace the spool so once again, no pictures but a another huge milestone for my memories.
Aren’t barra majestic? What is it that makes them special? I catch other fish – like my first big fingermark, the 17kg cobia I caught last year. Those were huge rushes yes but not the same depth of respect or humility. It’s weird whatever it is and I always feel a pang of guilt when I keep a large barra (anything over 90cm).
I was really worried that she might not survive because the fight against the lighter gear meant that I had to take more out of her to get her in. So there I was after promising not to come home wet and muddy, wet and muddy walking up and down the bank of the Ross river holding her by the bottom lip waiting for that tell-tale ‘bite’ to let you know that she’ll be okay. After a while I detected a few motions of her tail and not long after a bit of a nod of the head. So I pointed her out holding on lightly to her tale and with barely a movement she glided away slowly into the inky dark water.
Mozza