Yesterday I drove down to Geelong to do some uni stuff and of course I packed a rod with me. I was limited for time so I wasn't too adventurous with my choice of fishing location, deciding to fish cunningham pier. The weather was perfect and the sea was like glass:
The pier was empty except for a couple of grizzly old baitos who hadn't had any luck. After a quick chat where they declared I "wouldn't land a thing with that noodle stick" I tied on a trusty 100mm wriggler and started jigging it around the pylons. I started getting bites straight away but I just couldn't hook anything. After downgrading my hook size and putting on an 80mm wriggler, I finally found the culprit:
Little bream. They were really nice looking fish - nice and chunky with bright silver flanks. After catching about half a dozen of these, and after giving a few smug looks to the fishless baitos, the most frustrating 10 minutes of my fishing career began. Here's a quick rundown (with running commentary from old mate baito):
I had just tied on a new wriggler and was letting it sink to the bottom when it stopped about half way down. I struck and came up solid to what initially felt like a snag, before it started shaking it's head. It just sort of sat there for a few seconds while I applied pressure, until it finally realised what was going on and took off. It peeled off a bit of line before my hook pulled (there is nothing worse than actually feeling the hook scrape across the inside of the fish's mouth).
Old mait baito: "Probably a jewy".
Two casts later something absolutely smashed my plastic on the first hop and took off. It was zig-zagging all over the place, peeling off a lot of line, but somehow I kept it away from the pylons and just when I thought I had it beaten, it took off on one last run and the hooks pulled. I was gutted.
Old mate baito: "You should have tightened your drag"
Next cast I was letting my plastic sink to the bottom, still thinking about the previous fish, when something engulfed it on the way down. By the time I realised what was going on and flipped my bail arm over he was already halfway towards a pylon and it was all over.
Old mate baito: "Told you ya wouldn't land anything with that noodle stick!"
I nearly pushed him in at this point. I considered asking him to show me all the fish he'd caught in the last hour (he hadn't had a touch), but I decided to take the high road and let my fishing do the talking. And sure enough two casts later I was on again:
...to the smallest bream of the day. That sure showed him. By this stage it was getting pretty late so I decided to head home with my tail between my legs. Despite my decision to take the high road, as I walked past old mate baito I couldn't help but take a pointed look into his empty bucket. It made me feel a tiny bit better.
