IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF CHARLES STURT

The cooler months through Autumn and early winter are ideal times to chase Murray Cod and Golden Perch in south western NSW. As the water chills down, the small fish become less active, and the larger fish feed aggressively in front of the impending freeze.

It was a previous trip to the Murray River at Wentworth where we landed several cod to one metre in length and numerous golden perch that sowed the seed in my mind for another trip west along the Highway that bears Charles Sturt’s name to fish the weirs & locks of the Murrumbidgee and Murray Rivers.

Our ultimate destination was Fort Courage Caravan Park along the Old Renmark Road from Wentworth. Fort Courage has 100 acres of Murray River frontage with shade trees, lush green lawns, a massive undercover barbeque area, quality shower and toilet block, and a variety of accommodation options from unpowered campsites to air- conditioned lodge-style accommodation buildings. It also has an excellent concrete boat ramp providing access to the slow, wide expanse of the Murray River.

The hard-core fisherman in me didn’t want to waste any daylight, so we decided to leave after work on Friday before ANZAC day and travel directly to Fort Courage. With 600km to travel across the kangaroo infested Hay plain and through the Mallee Scrub we had to travel carefully as road service can take some time if your vehicle is disabled.

We arrived incident free at 1.30am and rather than wake everybody by rattling our boats through the caravan park we rolled our swags out in the car park for a few hours sleep.

We awoke in the pre-dawn to find a frost on the ground, but the skies were clear. We hastily launched the boats and blasted toward my preferred fishing areas. The boats were laden with camping gear as were staying the night on the riverbank.

The wind chill was well into the negatives and any exposed skin was burning with cold as I slowed off the plane and idled into a flat section of bank.

“We can camp here,” I called to father & son, Barry & Grant ‘Curtly’ Ingram, in the other boat.

“Good work,” Curtly slurred through frozen lips.

It seemed forever since we left Wagga Wagga, but finally we cast our first lures of this great western adventure.

I was fishing with David ‘Mitch’ Mitchell who hadn’t fished the Murray River before and was taken aback by its magnitude and the depth of water we were fishing. Seven to ten metres was the depth we looked for and at Fort Courage, there’s plenty of water this deep.

Mitch cast out his brand new 90mm AC Invader and we had only travelled a few minutes when his rod buckled over in the rod holder and sprang straight as a massive fish inhaled and then rejected the lure.

“Nice Bite,” I commented as Mitch checked his hooks, “I hope it isn’t our last.”

Through this first morning both boats landed golden perch to 50cm, including one golden that attacked a 150mm lure (about as big as a large banana) but the cod were evasive.

Toward lunchtime we fished a new bank that has all the aspects that cod love with plenty of snags and deep, still water. Mitch and I worked this bank thoroughly with 150mm AC Invaders in the hope that the big lures would trigger a cod into biting. After two nondescript passes, I manoeuvred the boat around a small snag when my rod ripped back in my hand. Line was pouring off the reel with such force that I had to hang on with both hands. It felt like I hooked a tuna!

The big cod slowed down. On my end I felt confident as I had survived the danger stage of the fish’s first run. The cod had other ideas and with a shake of its head it spat the lure. Dejected, I wound in to find deep teeth marks around the head of the lure. Not to worry I thought, we have three more days to hook another one.

Despite our lures still attracting cracking strikes every couple of hours, we couldn’t coax a cod into opening his mouth and inhaling the lure where the hooks can get a hold in softer tissue and stay in. It was frustrating.

Toward day’s end I was passing a creek mouth when my lure was rattled strongly. This time the hooks stuck and I landed a cod of 55cm. This fish was remarkable in that cod in this region average close to 90cm, with fish shorter than 70cm unheard of. This fish was certainly out of his depth.

The second day dawned warmer and with a rising barometer, we were hopeful that the fish may be in a mood to eat the lures rather than nipping them. This day was very slow with only one large fish hooked by Curtly and as our luck was panning out, this fish dragged him under a snag and unhooked itself.

The day wasn’t fishless as both crews landed several Golden Perch, but the itch we had for cod wasn’t scratched.

A quick phone call to cod guru, Rod MacKenzie to get the good oil on where they were biting had us pulling the boats out in the dark for a 200km drive east along the Sturt Highway to Balranald.

Rod had fished the Murray at Robinvale that weekend and was as frustrated as we were. He spoke of how the fish would hit his lures, but the hooks just weren’t sticking. It was time to try a different river system and the Murrumbidgee at Balranald would certainly be a change of pace.

The Sturt Highway was again bristling with kangaroos, emus and assorted wildlife, which slowed our trip and we were thankful to see the lights of Balranald. The caravan park was quiet when we arrived at 10.30pm, but we found a nice quiet corner near the boat ramp where some other campers left their fire burning.

A warm shower made us feel human again after two days in the bush, and with a few cold beers around the ready-made fire, we soon had the fishing stories rolling. By the time we crawled into our swags we were ready for the dawn of a new days fishing.

The morning light showed us a river that was very different to the Murray. The Murrumbidgee at Balranald is quite narrow and winding in comparison to the wide expanse of the Murray, but the Murrumbidgee has features that the native fish love. The weir downstream essentially stops the current and with large snags around each tight bend, it just looks fishy.

We were tentative at first navigating downstream, but it became apparent that the depth of water was enough so that you could drive at speed downriver without running into shallow water or mid-river snags.

None of us had fished this water before and we decided that trolling would allow us to see a lot of water and from there we could thoroughly work the better sections through the afternoon.

Mitch hooked and lost a fish on a Hammerhead within the first 200m, but apart from this, we struggled for the first few hours until we identified better fish habitat.

Curtly and Barrie took a nice 60cm cod on a mid river drop-off, but Mitch and I were fishless until just before lunchtime when my lure was belted by what felt like a good fish. Unfortunately it was only a cod of 53cm which must have got a good run-up to eat the lure as it pulled very hard when first hooked.

As the afternoon wore on, Mitch and I started to work the good water that we marked on the way down river. As we worked each section we started to get more bites and were landing the odd smallish cod along with a solid 50cm Golden Perch. Barry and Curtly were having a tough day and couldn’t get another fish to add to their earlier cod.

As the sun was setting I missed possibly the best fish of the day which smacked my lure as I bounced it along a large snag. This was typical of our whole trip thus far.

Mitch and I arrived back at the caravan park just on dark to find Barry and Curtly cooking tea. Their boat was already on the trailer, so it looked as though we were moving on again tonight.

Our next destination was a further 120km east along the Sturt Highway to Hay. The weir at Hay is a location that we have fished many times before and I felt as though I was home as the lights of my Subaru illuminated the still waters of the weir.

Lighting a fire was our first priority as the cold night air was creeping in. A few beers washed away another mediocre days fishing and we reminisced of massive fish we had caught in previous Hay trips. As this was our last day of fishing we had to perform.

As tired as we were, I was thankful that we had launched the boats the night before as no time was wasted in getting to the fishing.

Mitch and I were away first and after a couple of minutes the electric motor had us silently trolling nine metres of water along a riverbed littered with snags. Passing over a large log the finder showed several fish sitting high in the water column. Right on cue my lure was eaten by a stubborn fish. It lacked the bulk of a cod, and it was no surprise to see a chunky golden perch rise out of the depths with my lure wedged in its mouth.

With this great start we hoped that our luck had changed, but after several hours of little activity we realised that this day also wasn’t special.

Mitch and I worked hard and landed three small cod in addition to the golden perch for the morning, but Barry and Curtly couldn’t raise a scale. It was soon lunchtime and with a 2.5 hour drive to Wagga Wagga, we decided to cut our losses and head for home.

Anyone that knows me will tell you that I am a fishing optimist. I always believe that a fish can be caught somewhere, somehow, no matter how much they are shut down. I had one last card up my sleeve.

Curtly and Barrie decided that they wouldn’t come with us, but Mitch and I travelled the back road from Narrandera to Wagga Wagga to fish at Berembed Weir. I knew a spot at the weir where casting lures from the bank is usually fruitful. I thought if we could hook a fish or two, we could go home on a high note.

I pulled into the weir and we each grabbed our casting rods. I walked ahead of Mitch and flicked a short cast into a backwater. The spinnerbait was flailing on the surface in the fast current, when a black shape rocketed out of the depths, grabbed my spinnerbait off the surface, and flew through the air landing a metre or so from where it exited the water.

Seeing a 60 odd cm cod fly through the air isn’t something you usually see, so I was too stunned to do anything and before I realised, the fish had dropped the lure.

I called for Mitch to come over as I flicked my second cast into the same area. This time no leaping cod, but a hard sub-surface strike had me solid on a fish. This fish ran hard into the current and bolted away as the hooks came free.

The action continued as my next cast into this hole attracted a good strike, but again no hookup. After an hour of fruitless casting, I moved downstream to another hole littered with large rocks. Three casts, three strikes – no fish. This was testing my patience. Mitch was also frustrated after snagging (and losing) his second lure.

The 1200km of driving and fishing flat out for four days had finally cracked us, we gave up and drove the final 60km to home. But in true explorer style, my tired fished-out brain was already planning next years Charles Sturt adventure.

© Jamin Forbes May 2006