It seems that I could possibly have landed in a fisherman's paradise. The sheer amount of fish species inhabiting the coastline that lies ahead is quite staggering - which I hadn't realised before starting to do a little research for this trip. Sure, there are the iconic Australian species such as the famous Barramundi that everyone knows about, but also a vast number of other fish that can be successfully targeted by the travelling angler. High on the hit list on the west coast around Perth are the Dhufish, Sambos, Mulloway and the Australian Salmon and as you move further north the tropical species such as Trevally, Queenies, Threadfin etc. come into their own. Get out on a boat and anything is possible! The list is virtually endless and, hopefully, over the next months I will get to know them better and be able to post a few pictures if I get lucky enough to land some.
My original plan was to fly to Sydney and cycle the country to Perth before heading up the west coast towards Darwin. After a bit of research it made more sense to take advantage of the winter and explore the west coast north of Perth where the fishing seems to be exceptional and fairly accessible while travelling by bicycle. It's always going to be hard to conjure up the energy to fish after a long day of cycling in the sun, but hopefully some beach-side camping will mean that a few fish will be possible along the way. Hopefully I will set up camp at some coastal hotspots and give them the attention they deserve. Places like Exmouth, for example, can't be ignored as the potential seems vast. Sharks, Rays, Emperor, Permit, Bluebone, Grouper, Trevally, Queenfish and even Bonefish in the right season inhabit the rich waters of Ningaloo reef that runs along the coast from Exmouth.
Arriving in Perth a couple of weeks ago I had to wait a week or so for Abbey to arrive from India. After a long flight from the UK via Dubai it was great to be met at the airport by Johannes and his buddy Craig who had kindly agreed to give me a lift down to Fremantle. Jo has rented a room in Fremantle, which is one of the oldest parts of Perth. More like a town than a city, it has a cosmopolitan population and a good mix of shops and drinking establishments and appears to be the most pleasant place to stay in the city. Johannes shares the flat with his brother Win and an Argentinian/Australian girl, Marion, who are both great to stay with.
While I waited for Abbey I met Ben from the Australian fishing forum, Fishwrecked, who had kindly agreed to give me some work, and also, hopefully, take me fishing in his boat. We met up early on Friday in the southern suburbs and spent the morning erecting fences around newly built houses. The afternoon was for fishing and by half past twelve, mainly thanks to Ben's speedy work, we were towing the boat towards the sea. The plan was to head out for some deep water jigging because the weather seemed to be looking good for the afternoon. To get out to a hotspot that had previously produced meant an half hour trip directly out to sea that would see us fishing in around 40 metres of water for Samson fish, Dhufish, and possibly some snappers. The Sambos, as the australians call them, were the main targets as they tend to shoal up, meaning a good multiple catch might be had if they were on the bite.
It was my first vertical jigging trip and what a place to first try this highly addictive form of the sport. We cruised fast over the dark blue water, the boat skipping over the crests of little waves and over the building swell until the land almost vanished on the horizon behind us. Ben skippered the boat and beside him stood his friend Brendan who had joined us for the trip. I sat behind on a big esky with a large smile spread across my face, admiring the vast expanse of ocean that surrounded our little craft. Something caught my attention close to the side of the boat. A silver dart with large black staring eyes was flying a foot above the waters surface closely matching our speed. It was a beautiful shining flying fish suspended in the air, exerting no effort whatsoever as it sped forward. Amazed at the distance it covered, I was surprised to see that a flick of the fins and tail sent it soaring forward for another thirty metres before it plunged back into the water. An incredible bit of evolution that amazes me everytime I witness the spectacle.
After 35 minutes and around 30 km we reached the spot where Ben had caught good fish before. With some prime spots recorded on the GPS we slowly cruised about looking for the shoaling Samson fish. Small blue spots on the finder apparently indicated groups of small fish while orange were the bigger fish that we were after.
It didn't take long before we found a good spot and I keenly watched Ben and Brendan drop their jigs through the 40m of water. As soon as I saw the action needed I followed with my jig and started to retrieve in an amateurish fashion hoping the fish wouldn't be too picky. It wasn't long until I felt the braid tighten against a fish trying its best to eat my jig. Carrying on with the same action I tried my best to set the hook and not give anything line back. As I bullied the powerful fish up towards the boat Ben's rod took on an alarming curve and he was also in. What a buzz it was finally to get a fish on a vertical jig. Unfortunately for me the hook popped out on my fish just as I caught sight of it below the boat. It turned out to be much smaller than the fight suggested, which was confirmed as Ben pulled a Sambo of a few kilos aboard. They were spirited fighters at such a small size, so a big specimen must be quite an exciting thing to have on the end of your line.
It was a good sign to get into fish so quickly, but for all our wishes it didn't carry on and the first two bites turned out to be the only ones of the trip. We tried further, but the current made things hard and it seemed that there were no real big shoals of Sambos about, or that they weren't on the feed. We hoped for Dhufish or Snapper with a reduction in jig size, but it wasn't going to be the day for us. As the Sambos and other fish weren't playing ball the fall back plan was to head back to inshore waters and lure some squid.
The sea had become a little rougher since we had arrived at the jigging spot, which meant the journey back was a little rough. Sitting at the back of the boat on the esky seemed to be the most precarious position and I found myself holding on tight with all four of my limbs. With my feet firmly planted on the floor and holding on for dear life the boat powered through the rough water. A quick lapse of concentration saw me head butt the seat in front, but luckily for me it was soft. Ben expertly manouvered the boat through the troughs and approaching waves, dipping the throttle at the correct times to avoid smashing into an approaching wall of water. It seemed like an age before we reached the calmer waters of Cockburn Sound where we located the Squid hot spot. Ben was highly confident of a catch and told us that the squid like to lie in the weed, ready to dart out and catch any unsuspecting small fish or prawn that might be swimming by.
The jigs should be allowed to sink to just above the weed bed before being slowly twitched in the current. Usually, when the plastic prawn is falling back through the water, the squid will make a grab for its meal, and transmit a gentle bite up the thin, braided line. The first twenty minutes were quiet, but as the sun sunk below the horizon the switch was flipped and the predators came on the feed. On the light squid sticks a modest sized specimen felt like a monster as it grabbed hold of the jig. Slowly and gently we pulled the squid to the waiting net, careful not to make any erratic movement which might result in the soft flesh tearing from the hooks. It was a dangerous game as when the squid saw the net their ink started flying in a all directions. We all got hit by the high powered jets of ink and water, Brendan in the face, me across the chest and Ben down the legs. It was amazing the distance they could squirt and even 4 or 5 metres away we weren't safe. It was only when they were safely enclosed in the esky that the danger of being inked was gone. At seven fish we called it a day and headed home through the night.
A few days later Abbey was arriving from India for ten days before flying across to
Melbourne to meet his family. The question on my mind was where to head to with Abbey, north or south? After much thought the answer seemed to be south to chase Salmon and check out some of the big Karri and other Eucalyptus forests. Years ago I had seen a picture of a fantastic big gum tree in a book and had discovered its home was a place called Pemberton, which, as it happens, is south of Perth. What makes this tree special apart from its size, is that metal poles spiral the trunk to a height of over 200 feet. Years and years ago, the poles were driven home to form a ladder that would reach higher than any of the neighbours' topmost branches. The reason was to use it as a fire lookout! Finally, after many years of waiting, I could finally climb this special tree!
As Abbey arrived on the holiday weekend we had a little wait before we could get on the move. Most businesses were shut up for Easter and Anzac day so our plan of hiring a camper van took longer than planned. Some good fortune meant we didn't have to wait too long and soon we were off in a little van complete with fridge and kitchen. South of Perth we followed the freeway through landscapes of grass, trees and other dry scrub before reaching the wetter south where green paddocks full of plump cows dominated the landscape. We passed through the pretty area of Magaret river and on down to Augusta where we were nearly blown away on a visit to the famous lighthouse. Other hardy souls made the windy and wet trek up the grassy slope, but we took the sensible option and viewed the white building from afar.
As we watched the big black storm clouds drift in from the south west, we realised fishing was out of the question so made the decision to head inland and visit the forests until, hopefully, the weather passed on. Later in the evening we stumbled across a pretty tree-lined campsite by a river, where we decided to spend the night. We considered fishing for Brim, but again, like earlier, the weather wasn't up to much, meaning the preferred option of drinking vodka and watching the tame Possums was chosen.
The rain continued to fall for the next few days as we toured around Australia's south west admiring the beautiful forests of big white trunked gum trees. Much of the forest had been felled by the early settlers to make way for grazing and other agriculture, but still lots of original forest remains to wow touring fisherman like ourselves. We followed sometimes twisting, and at other times, pencil straight ribbons of shiny black tarmac through the misty forests and stopped in old wooden towns. Hardy people the settlers must have been to hack through these vast expanses of forest and establish the inland towns. Arriving in the the small country town of Pemberton the sky opened and dropped another load of rain over the already green countryside. The locals told us that it had been a long while since the last rains and that the surrounding forests needed the water. Apparently the average rainfall has almost halved in the last century, so it didn't seem right to complain too much about the continuous drizzle.
Luckily the rain let up just long enough for me to climb to the top of my big tree. The Gloucester tree, as it is known, rises something like 209 feet into the sky. Surrounded by similarly sized giants, the big tree is quite a mesmerising sight. The solid trunk seems almost to disappear into the clouds and, amazingly, perched on topmost branch is a small, wooden fire viewing platform. As in the picture I had seen when I was only ten years old, the ladder spiralled its way right to the top of this magnificent tree. With only flip flops on my feet, I chose to climb up the cold metal poles barefooted, which made things interesting. It didn't take long to reach the platforms on top, by which time my heart had well and truly woken up. It was a long long way down to the forest floor where Abbey was patiently waiting, as he had chosen to stay grounded. The platforms were solidly bolted to the tree and seemed good for another hundred years - that is, if the old tree continues to live on. I wondered how such a structure was built and full respect goes out to the guys that made it possible. The climb down, as always, was was more interesting than the ascent for you are fully aware of the implications of a slip!
The next trees we wanted to see were the giant Tingle trees south of Pemberton near the town of Walpole. With darker coloured bark than the Karris, the Tingles tend to be shorter, fatter and often in their old age, hollow. Some years before we arrived, the giant of giants had given up its fight against gravity and had come crashing down, but luckily many huge Tingles still remain. Up on a hill overlooking the ocean below, a red dirt road winds up through a stand of huge big buttressed Tingle trees.
At the top, and after a short walk, the king of Tingles is reached; an ancient tree with a hollow trunk that a car, or two, could park in. Years of forest fires and rot have removed vast amounts of dead wood from the centre of the tree, leaving it precariously balanced on its thin outer skeleton. Who knows how much longer it will stand before it follows in the path of its fallen cousin, but, hopefully, a few more generations will get to see this magnificent beast.
As claustrophobia was beginning to set in, the choice was made to head to the coast to catch a fish, regardless of the weather. The beauty of the camper van was that we could scope out the water from a dry vantage point and, if the salmon turned up, a dash could be made to try and catch them. Lazy fishing? Yes, but the idea of getting soaked time and time again while trying to keep the hire van clean and tidy didn't seem too inviting. Our plan hinged on whether we would be able to find a spot to park right on the beach. Luckily we took Ben's advice and headed to a beach that he had recommended before we had left Perth.
We arrived at the view point above the small beach and immediately knew we had found the spot for next few days. In between rocky cliffs and headlands, a narrow strip of white sand ran a few hundred metres along the coast separating the continuous green bushland from the superb, clear blue ocean. A darker reef ran most of the length of the beach, but where it broke, a handful of fishermen were casting their lines. It looked perfect and got even better as we drove down and found that a delightful camp host was in residence along with a freshwater stream where we could collect water. We parked our van directly in front of the beach and settled in to wait for the Salmon.
From another angler, I heard a report of Salmon the week before, but for the first day things were dead quiet. A Salmon's head, washed up on the beach, confirmed that a fish had been caught a few days before, which gave us some hope. The first evening, I flicked a shiny metal wedge for a while and was pleased to get a lively little herring on my first cast. I caught a few more before calling it a day and heading back to the van. A few other guys fishing hadn't had so much as a touch so it wasn't just my bad luck! It seemed that the Salmon weren't about, although earlier I had seen a shoal of fish in the waves that looked distinctly salmon-like!
On the second day, we were starting to doubt whether we would ever see a Salmon, let alone be lucky enough to land one. Then the question was whether to sit tight and wait it out, or run around the countryside looking for the fish. We opted to stay put as we were sure it wouldn't be too easy to find another great spot where we could park our van within spitting distance of the water .
Later in the day we were pretty happy with the choice to stay, as the ultimate sight for a fisherman greeted our eyes. A little way down the beach the water was erupting as little silver fish fled for their lives! An attack was being launched from below by a big shoal of plump Salmon while, from above, hungry gulls dived to catch the confused baitfish. It was definitely not a good time to be a small fish! After grabbing our rods, we sprinted down the beach and before I had even stopped running a wedge was flying in the direction of the action. Almost instantaneously the lure was smashed by a good fish and braid whistled from the spool. Abbey was also in to a fish on the first cast, but, unfortunately,,the braid was cut on the reef. After five minutes of carefully playing my fish the line went slack and I reeled in to find a bent treble!
Next cast I was again immediately into another Salmon, which wasn't as lucky as its buddy as the hooks held good. By this time, Abbey had returned from the van with more lures and leader and was frantically trying to tie a new leader to the braid before the fish vanished from the beach. I was into my third fish as Abbey cast a popper behind the breakers. It was taken quickly, but, in his excitment, he struck far too hard and snapped the leader. The excitment was obviously getting to him, leading to silly mistakes. After a few words he played the next fish like a pro and it wasn't long until he had caught and released four beautiful Salmon. The grin on his face said it all! I couldn't belive our luck and also couldn't wipe the silly smile from my face. We kept the first fish as it was plenty to eat and another ended up being kept as it took the lure deep and couldn't be successfully released.
After catching a couple, I changed the metal slice for a skitter pop and was amazed when, on the first cast, a greedy Salmon followed the lure nearly onto the sand. At the last second it grabbed it and took a long run back into the breakers where it scooted back and forth jumping and shaking its head in a bid to throw the hook. As I was playing the fish something in the corner of my eye caught my attention, which turned out to be a herring hopping about in a mere couple of inches of water. Unbelievably, a Salmon was right behind the small fish, almost beached on the sand with its back poking completely out of the water. The herring got lucky and made a dash for it before its pursuer could turn and follow! Unbelievable!
As the light dwindled, the Salmon slowly melted away back into the deeps so we decided to call it a day and head back to cook our catch. From what I had heard, it seemed Salmon was an acquired taste, but it was perfect fried with a little garlic!
Staying for a few more days in the hope of another run of fish proved more or less fruitless. I managed one more Salmon, casting a lure at dusk, and a few herring, but that was it. It didn't particularly matter, though, because we were still on a high from the previous day's session. We had fulfilled our mission and were very pleased with the result.
Back in Fremantle after the short sortie for the Salmon down south ,I was excited to recieve a message from Ben saying that there was a chance to head out on his boat for a second trip; of course, depending on the weather conditions. The plan was to begin fishing in more sheltered waters close to coast and, as the day progressed, and if the weather forecasters were correct, we could move out to deeper water as the wind was predicted to drop at midday. Snappers were on the list of species we could target and how could I refuse after previously seeing pictures of magnificent big hump headed Pink Snappers on Fishwrecked.com? A nice pinky would definitely keep me happy for a while. Along with Mulloway, it's one of the two fish I am really hoping to catch while over here in Australia.
As we weren't out at first light, the big ones might have to wait until later in the day so the first port of call was to flick some metal and small soft plastics around some likely looking headlands and bombies. Ben had heard that some Tailor might be on the cards, which would be good, because they are a species I have caught before in South Africa, so one of their Australian cousins wouldn't go amiss. Looking at the ground we were fishing, I imagined some big fish would be found in the area at the right times, so was fully expecting to hook into something big as I worked the lures through the white water breaks. Maybe we were a little late for the big ones, but luckily, greedy little herring were keen to keep us busy as they repeatedly scoffed the lures. They seem remarkably adept at jumping the hooks just as they are about to be swung over the edge of the boat, so most managed to rejoin their group of mates who had followed them to the side of the boat.
After half an hour, no Tailor had decided to eat the lures , so a move was made in search of Sand Whiting a little further out from the rugged coast. Apparently, squid tentacles, hooked so they go with the flow, are the number one bait, and it wasn't long before we were lowering two-hook paternosters down on to the sand 10 metres below. It didn't take long before little Whiting were gobbling our hook baits, along with the occasional small Sand Flathead. It wasn't going "off" as expected so a we made a couple of moves to look for richer fishing grounds. Ben told me that on previous trips, while fishing in the same way, he had nearly been spooled by what he thought was a small shark. So to get in on the action we drifted a big bait on wire over the back of the boat while we continued to feel for bites on the light sticks.
Amazingly, half the day had already passed when we started to catch some colourful Wrasse on the squid baits as we drifted over some weed beds. They fought hard on the light rods and gave us fun for a while, but we quickly became bored as no other species showed. By now, as predicted, the wind was starting to die down and, in turn, the sea was calming, making it a perfect time to leave the toothy little Wrasse behind and go in search of something a bit more substantial in deeper water. Near the offshore bank we found a nice dropoff that screamed fish. A change of depth of 5 metres over a relatively flat bottom is surely a magnet to our piscatorial friends and the depth sounder confirmed our suspicions! It looked pretty busy down there so Ben suspected and hoped that the Pink snapper would be hanging about amongst all the activity.
And would you believe it? After setting up a nice drift, Ben's bait was snaffled and, after a good scrap, a fin perfect little pinky was brought aboard! A nice example of the beautiful species, but not quite of the size we were hoping for. As we set up for another drift over the hotspot, all hell broke loose as a shoal of huge Long Tom suddenly turned up and started slashing at the squid baits as we tossed them over the side. As they darted back and forth, Ben soon hooked up, but just as quickly the hook popped out and the fish swam free. A few seconds later another took the bait and this time was properly hooked. Ben's little reel sung a merry tune as the Long Tom decided it would rather be as far from the boat as possible. Jumping and cartwheeling, it removed line with ease, while all the time we wondered how it was possible that such thin line was holding up to the abrasion caused from those sharp teeth.
I grabbed my lure rod and cast a Bomber out and, with a fast retrieve, it was hounded in time and time again by a pack of Long Toms, but unfortunately none of the fish hooked up. A change of lure to the metal slice resulted in another five strikes, but still no hook ups! All the time, we could see the fish through the clear water darting about striking the lure as well as following the fish Ben still had on his line. After ten or more minutes, the Long Tom Ben had been playing was tiring and came to the side of the boat. Neither of us had seen this species before. We were used to the more or less plain silver fish found in warmer waters; these had bright yellow jaws and a vividly coloured body together with some dark spots throughout their length. It was a striking and beautiful fish and we desperately wanted a photo to remember it by. Of course, there was no way to fit a fish of at least 1.20m into the environet, but we had no other ideas apart from making a mad grab at the body. Figuring the best way would be to get the head in the net and then grab the body, we gave it a go, but disaster happened and the fish spooked, jumped, threw the hook and said bye bye!
Unfortunately, that was the last time we saw the Long Toms, so we returned to our bait fishing to see what else might be hanging around the hump. I soon hooked up to a lively fish that bent the little rod double. Would it be a Pink Snapper as I hoped? it turned out to be a double header consisting of our old friend the Wrasse, along with a Blackarse. Close, but not close enough. The next customer was pretty lively and tried its best to take line from the reel. The first glimpse revealed a solid silver bar rising from the depths which turned out to be a Skippy big enough to come home for dinner. It really was great fun to catch these small fish on the appropriate tackle as every fish made us grin from ear to ear! More Skippy followed while a pod of Dolphins played in the swell some way off into the sea. Even a big barnacle-encrusted turtle rose to the surface to take some gulps of fresh air before its next dive, and right on time as I had asked Ben earlier if he ever sees them about.
We had a quick count and found that eleven or more species had been landed throughout the day. Nothing big, but throughly enjoyable all the same. By now the sun had dropped and turned to a burning haze on the horizon. The wind too had also completely vanished, leaving us with a picture perfect evening to fish on through. It was fast approaching fish o' clock when the chance of hooking a bigger fish would vastly increase. The talk of big Snappers and Dhuies kept us wondering as we celbrated the already successful day with some ice-cold Coronas. Ben had been burlying the water with old mulies and the like, so we hoped there would be somewhat of a frenzy going on below. Our only problem was that anchoring in the desired spot had proved to be almost impossible. It was only a small problem so we just continued to drift the spot.
It was reaching that magical, golden time of day when you should be holding your rod tightly. I had given up bait fishing a few minutes before and put on my all time favourite lucky soft plastic lure, the Storm Wildeye sardine. Now, if a fish won't eat this lure, I feel for it as there must be something seriously wrong with it. Sometimes, I even get the urge to eat the lure myself and more than once I have had people comment on my catch, only for me to tell them its actually a piece of rubber! I could imagine large fish below, stirring ready for an evening of gorging on small fish as I lowered the plastic to the bottom. Having not fished this technique much before, I was aware that the best chance of a strike was to keep the lure as close to the sea floor as possible. A little too high in the water and all chance to induce a take might be lost, irrespective of how good a lure is on the end of the line.
Savouring the beautiful evening, I contemplated the dangers of rolling a cigarette at such a time of the day. Rather, I started to tell Ben how I had once spent a day strolling the local river in the UK flicking spinners for Pike, Perch and Chub. The morning had drifted into the afternoon and still I hadn't put a fish on the bank, which was surprising as it usually wasn't so quiet. Fed up and with the lethargy setting in the unbelieveble happened! The spinner flew across the river and was allowed to sink a little more than usual as I thought possibly the fish were sitting deep. After a few turns of the handle, something bit and I struck into solid resistance. It was a slow steady fight and to my amazment a can of Stella Artois emerged from the water, neatly hooked in the ring pull and within the useby date. The fishless day didn't seem so bad anymore as I cracked open the cold can and took a sip.
Just as I reached the end of the story my rod gave a hefty tug and pulled around in my hands! A fish was on and I tried to gain some control as Ben shouted "PINK SNAPPER" and grabbed his camera to film the action. My fireline zipped from the little Shimano Baitrunner as a solid fish made a dash for some underwater sanctuary. Everything had happened as we had hoped, the timing was perfect and now my heart was in my mouth as I gently played the strong opponent. Slowly I gained line but didn't give the fish too much stick as it was possibly my first Pinky! There was no way I was going to lose this fish! Ben had the net waiting and as the fish broke surface he expertly netted it, to shouts of joy and a congratulatory hand shake. A fantastic big solid Pink Snapper lay in the net with the hook perfectly placed in the bottom jaw. The factory hook on the lure was bent so, luckily, the treble hook I had attached had saved the day. Of course I couldn't stop smilling as we peered into the net. A decision was made to stay out a little longer after dark and see if any more fish would take the lures.
Before leaving Perth, I was lucky enough to get out on another boat with fellow Fishwrecker, Bryan. We met up at midday when Bryan had finished his studies for the day, and headed down to Woodmans Point. The weather looked pretty good for us, with the water only a little ruffled from a light wind. The target for the day was going to be squid, which made sense as Bryan had done well with them in previous weeks. Our boat was perfect for inshore work and soon we arrived at our drift site where the sea bed crept up from ten metres to four as we moved closer to the island. A mine of info on the area, Bryan pointed out all the landmarks as we scooted over the sea to our destination.
I tied on my new yo-zuri squid jig and hoped it would work considering the vast amount of money I had just spent buying it. Short twitches helped the jig look like a prawn in distress, which in theory would draw the squid from the weed to attack the helpless prey. It wasn't long before I felt some resistance on the line followed by a few small tugs as the hooked squid tried to find refuge in the sea grass. A gentle retrieve and soon we were off the mark and guaranteed a meal later in the day. It seemed the bright pink lure I'd chosen was on the money as the next five squid came to my lure and then the seventh to Bryan's red jig. The fishing was pretty slow so, for the last hour or two of light, a move was made to a sand patch where we planned to fish bait for Whiting and other species.
Bryan threw a burley cage over the edge of the boat as we anchored up and began fishing. Almost immediately we started getting small bites as fish started to home in on the trail of particles falling through the water. The first fish to come aboard was a Yellow-Tailed Trumpeter, followed by a Sand Whiting and many of the Trumpeter's mates. Bryan got what we were after and landed a lovely King George Whiting, but as we fished on it seemed to be a solitary specimen. A small pod of Dolphins passed close to the boat in no apparent hurry, while small groups of comorants hurried by on the way to their chosen roosts. Every time the bait touched the seabed, the bites came thick and fast. Soon, a couple of Skippy came to Bryan's rod and, before we knew it, the sun had dropped below the horizon. It was great fishing and we both wished we could carry on to see which species would take the bait next, but, with the light going fast, we had to make a dash back to the ramp - which turned out to be a good way for me to get an early shower from waves breaking over the bow.
The heaters in the truck soon warmed me up as we drank a last beer on the way back to Fremantle. Back at home, Bryan showed me how to clean the squid, which I later fried to make some very tasty dinner. A big thanks to Bryan for taking the time to show me some of his fishing grounds.
So in the next couple of days I will head out of Perth on the bicycle and follow the coast north and see where the road takes me. Hopefully, some decent fish will cross my path, so look out for an update soon. Adios!
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