Early Season Bass

The story below was first published in the November 1970 edition of The Australian Angler.

“Well, so much for that theory.” With this remark, John Erskine fairly summed up both our feelings on this beautiful, late September day. Five hours of drifting and cast­ing without so much as a sign of a fish, and now it was time to break for lunch.

For several years the bass fisher­men of New South Wales had been unhappy regarding the short length of season in which they were able to pursue their sport. The season opened in November and closed in April, giving them a scant five months of fishing and then seven long months of sheer hell, as they awaited opening day again. This ludicrous situation had come about in an almost unbelievable fashion. The State Fisheries Department at that time had no bass biologist, and the closed season was extended due to representations made by half a dozen anglers fishing one particular stream. The stream was the Port Hacking River above the Audley Weir, and the reason given was that some of the fish taken in October were still running ripe and had not spawned. The anglers in question, anxious to protect their sport, kept records and presented a well-docu­mented case to the Fisheries Depart­ment. Due to continued pressure from this well-meaning group, the Fisheries accepted the evidence and opened the season a month later.

Unfortunately the river on which these observations took place was not typical of our East Coast streams. For example, it was non­tidal and separated from the salt­water by a weir. This restricted the bass to the colder fresh water, whereas in other streams they could move down and into the warmer brackish, and saltwater. Together with this was the fact that there had been no flooding rains during the two seasons in question. Bass under such conditions can withhold their spawn till conditions are more favourable for hatching and the sur­vival of the young fish. Due to the work of Neville Williams and Charles Hooker it was proven that the closed season achieved little more than deny angling opportun­ities to the keen amateur. Williams, whose work was done mainly on the Shoalhaven and the Hawkesbury Rivers, found fish running ripe from May through to late August, while in some south coast areas I have found females heavy in roe as late as December. Knowing this it’s quite logical to assume that the breeding time for bass not only varies with the prevailing weather conditions, but in my opinion is also affected by climatic differences depending on a particular stream’s latitude. Fish on the far north coast of N.S.W. probably breed well in ad­vance of those nearer the Victorian border. The closed season there­fore, to be effective would have to be staggered according to the geo­graphical position of the stream in question. This would not only be unwieldy, but due to the scarcity of fish and the low angling pressure during the winter, completely un­necessary. These were some of the reasons which decided the New South Wales Fisheries Department to do away with the closed season completely.

With the tide now running in we decided to motor down about another mile, then spend the after­noon drifting the four miles or so back to camp. Unknown to us at the time, we had just made one of the most important decisions of our bass fishing careers.

Over lunch that day, both John and I were completely mystified on our failure to rise one· fish during the preceding five hours. The day was perfect, a typical spring one with just the lightest of nor’-easters blowing. According to our theories, the bass should have been biting their heads off in the brackish, tidal water we had been fishing in the Shoalhaven that morning. Early morning keenness had now dwin­dled to the point where we were almost ready to throw in the towel. Knowing that the surface layer of water would be warmer, we had fished mainly shallow running and floating-diving lures. But then during the past hour or so we had taken it in turns to fish some really deep ones in a final desperate move to take a bass. But no dice.

With the tide now running in we decided to motor down about another mile, then spend the after­noon drifting the four miles or so back to camp. Unknown to us at the time, we had just made one of the most important decisions of our bass fishing careers.

Our earlier keenness returned as I stopped the motor and we drifted to a stop in a very “bassy” spot indeed. The water was fairly shal­low, say about 10 to 12 feet deep and scattered over the bottom were a number of large boulders. We kept the boat well out and proceeded to thoroughly comb the area with both shallow running and deep diving lures. Our keenness soon numbed again as not even a follow was re­corded. Then as the boat continued to drift upstream we both fell back to the routine of aim, cast, and retrieve with one of us stopping occasionally to change a lure. One of the good things about this par­ticular type of fishing is that you never become completely bored. There is always the challenge of placing your lure as close to a chosen target as possible which helps you to maintain interest and keep fishing. This was exactly what John Erskine and I were now doing. I am sure we had given up hope of taking a fish that day, and instead were now competing against each other in an accuracy casting com­petition. The targets varied – in under an overhanging bush – beside a sloping rock – close in against a cliff face – or down beside a fallen log – all good bass hides. The prizes nothing more than the personal satisfaction of making a good cast.

Suddenly, John was into a fish and it was a good one. In his sur­prise he almost lost control of both rod and reel, and for a moment was all thumbs as he fought to over­come the sudden shock he was now experiencing. He was soon in com­mand though and in due course had his quarry laying exhausted beside the boat. Then slipping thumb in mouth (being careful to dodge the lure hooks), and forefinger beneath the jaw, lifted a dripping wet two and a half pound Shoalhaven River bass aboard. While John unhooked his fish I continued casting and was not disappointed. Dropping a float­ing-diving lure close in under a small cave, I had hardly started the retrieve when there was a swirl be­hind where the plug had landed, and suddenly I was into a fish. Boy was it good to feel a bass on the end of the line again. Every thrust and turn was transmitted up the fine line and down the light, double bent rod as the fish took line, heading back under the cliffs. I savoured the fight, a little unfairly I suppose, for it wasn’t long before the -com­bination of the line, light whippy rod, and continuous pressure won out. My fish was within an ounce of John’s and what regrets 1 had in killing such a marvellous fish, were soon forgotten as I envisaged the magnificent meal he would later provide.

Three more taken from the same spot then the action died so we moved on. It was half an hour later before we experienced our next strike. We had almost returned to the spot where we had lunched, it was a large backwater formed by an almost right angled cut in the cliffs. All the action so far had taken place at or near the surface, and because of this we were now both using floating-diving lures. 1 made a cast right into the corner and the bobbing Arbogaster was hit almost instantly by what looked to be a good fish. Unfortunately for me, he didn’t connect and it was John’s Flopy that made the first hook-up. While John was busily engaged with his fish, I made another cast but the lure landed among some debris floating in the backwater. Quickly retrieving, I cleared the muck and cast again only to land in almost the same spot and fouled again.

“Steady Bethune, you’re acting like a beginner with buck fever.” Steadying myself for the next cast I aimed for a clear spot right in the corner. Wow! What a cast, and instantly rewarded by a slashing strike. There was no mistake this time for there was a good solid feel between me and the fish and I knew he was well hooked.

I was busily engaged fighting this fish when John Erskine interrupted with a strange question. “Notice anything strange about this spot?” “Not particularly.” I replied. “Why?” Pointing to the Flopy on the end of his line he said. “Doesn’t the muck on that lure remind you of a recent experience?” Suddenly the pennies fell. Of course it reminded me of something, for the spot where we had taken the five fish earlier was also in a backwater full of floating debris. What bloody fools we were, I could now remember two similar locations we had tried to fish earlier in the morning but hadn’t persevered. “I wonder?” The same thoughts were going through John’s mind, for after a couple more un­productive casts he suggested we go and give them a bash. I needed no extra bidding and stirred the little outboard and headed upstream.

On reaching the first spot we were agreeably surprised, as the tide had broken the scum on the surface enough that we could more easily fish it. We didn’t have long to wait and we clicked with a double header, both going near enough to a pound and a half. All the fish taken that day had recently spawned, some still having a few eggs when we cleaned them. Strangely enough all were in good condition with the smallest going one pound four ounces on our accurate Salter scales. Apparently the fish we were catching were that season’s breeders, and at that time they were still schooling after they had finished spawning. By fishing the same spots in rotation the fol­lowing day, we were able to take one or two fish from each one almost every time round.

Since that initial early season expedition I have come to many conclusions regarding early season fishing for bass.

Fishing from Sydney south to the Victorian Border, there is no doubt in my mind that the best bass fish­ing during late winter and early spring, is to be had in the brackish and saltwater. And the most suc­cessful spots I have fished have been the backwaters and the shallow weed beds found in most brackish South Coast streams. Even then, weather plays a big part in this early season fishing with your best time being during a warm spell of any reasonable length. At this time of the year in the forementioned area, you can almost forget the top ends of your fresh­water streams. The reason being, that what bass that are there, either go off the bite or move down into the warmer brackish and saltwater. The only exceptions to this rule are some of the shallow billabongs and backwaters of streams such as the McDonald River at Wisemans Ferry and the upper Colo River. Another worth trying is Mangrove Creek another tributary of the Hawkes­bury which for most of its length runs shallow over sand, and so is a little warmer than most streams. At this time of the year if you are going to fish the fresh water for bass, choose streams that are not snow fed. Even then I would select a period of warm settled weather before giving them a go.

One thing that has really stood out in all my early season fishing down south, is the point that where you catch one fish you will usually take more. Also I can’t over stress the fact that you must persevere in spite of how slow the fishing may be, for once the fish are found all this will change. Don’t become com­placent or bored for if this happens your chances of taking fish drop right down. Practise your casting and compete with your mate, try different types and speeds of re­trieve, and from time to time change lures. Remember, you can only catch bass if you have a lure in the water. Once you travel north from Sydney the whole picture of early season bass fishing can, and at most times does change. Some of the most exciting sport can be experi­enced bass fishing the New South Wales North Coast streams, at about the same time as this November issue comes off the presses. This is definitely “big fish” time in these streams, and it is brought about by a combination of natural factors of season, climate, and food supply.

Do not despair though, for any trouble or time spent search­ing for your quarry will be amply compensated for by the fabulous sport once they are found.

Unlike the majority of South Coast streams which run off the ranges, and have only a relatively short distance to travel to the sea (the Shoalhaven of course being the exception), the North Coast ones after making in the mountains, wander for considerably greater distances before hitting the coast. Therefore, the waters of these rivers are usually much warmer where they mingle with the tidal flow. And the area which is influenced by the tides is usually of much greater length also than their South Coast counter­parts. Because of the latitude, both the marine and aquatic life on which bass feed become active much earlier. Knowing this, the large breeding female bass begin their upstream homeward journey much earlier than their cousins on the South Coast.

From observations made on many fishing trips, I believe that these up­stream migrations start in fairly large schools. I also believe that the distance and speed at which they travel is governed by both the avail­ability of food, and also the water temperature. For these reasons it may take several days or a couple of trips before finding the fish at these times. Do not despair though, for any trouble or time spent search­ing for your quarry will be amply compensated for by the fabulous sport once they are found.

The further north you go the earlier the fishing becomes. For example, the fishing in the Manning River usually comes good about mid-October, while in streams fur­ther north such as the Hastings and Clarence it can kick off as early as September. As I said before, weather can have a definite bearing on the habits of bass and for this reason I am more than a little worried about the coming season in New South Wales. Due to the ex­tremely dry winter we have just experienced, most rivers are run­ning well below their normal levels for this time of the year. On top of this there are reports of large fish kills in some of the North Coast streams. According to biologists, the fungus that has been killing the fish is a by-product of the drought and there is virtually nothing that we can do about it short of praying for rain and a good flood. Let’s hope that by the time you are reading this article we have had such rain and that the rivers affected have been cleaned of this highly contagious disease. We thank God that this is a natural phenomenon and unlike man-made pollution, it will in time right itself. I saw a similar occur­rence in the Shoalhaven some years ago, with almost every fish caught found to be suffering from a disease that caused the fins to rot away. It was amazing to see just how quickly the Shoalhaven Bass recovered after a really good flood.

In spite of this sour note, let’s hope that the 1970-71 season will prove to be a memorable one for all the bass fishermen and that we ‘ all manage to tangle with some early season “Boomers”.

This story was originally published in the November 1970 edition of The Australian Angler. See cover above.