THE DREADED DRY SPELL

Shane Mensforth

Several times over the past 20 years or so I’ve threatened to sell all my fishing gear and take up golf. Fortunately, as I’m the world’s worst golfer, this hollow threat has never come to fruition, but there have been occasions when fishing has been so damn depressing, I’ve had little choice but to walk away from it for a while.

I often hear it said that it’s the whole package, not just the endof-day catch, that makes fishing one of the world’s most popular recreational activities. Being out there with nature, soaking up the sunshine, interacting with the environment, meeting new friends – you know, all the BS that we hear from casual anglers who simply can’t understand that, to many of us at least, catching a decent fish is really all that matters.

If you’re reading this, it’s a fair bet you are more than just a casual angler, and that you can probably identify with what I’ve just said.

Sure, I love being out there and, in most cases, I enjoy where fishing takes me. I understand that it’s beneficial to grab some fresh air, and I realise casting a line can be therapeutic for body, mind and soul, but for me these are peripheral benefits. It’s achieving what you’ve set out to achieve that keeps most of us coming back for more – whether that be a bag limit of blue crabs, a decent feed of whiting or, at the opposite end of the spectrum, a big shallow water kingfish or surfline mulloway.

Fulfilling your goal, particularly a challenging one, will always be the motivational force behind a serious angler’s desire to put in the hours, travel the miles, and eventually get the smiles.

My recent trip to the wilds of Alaska, which you may like to read about later in this issue, supports all of this – at least from where I sit. There can be no doubt that Alaska is among the most beautiful places on Earth, particularly when you’re based in a remote lodge more than 300 miles from the nearest major settlement. Under the backdrop of snow-capped mountains, endless tundra forests and with scarcely another human in sight, casting a fly in a fast-flowing, gin-clear river has to be the best thing I’ve ever done in fishing. Virtually ever y hour of our six-day stay we were surrounded by grizzly bears, moose, bald eagles, beaver and other spectacular wildlife. However, had it not been for the guarantee of hooking big Pacific salmon in ridiculous numbers, I wouldn’t have been there in the first place. Even in a location as beautiful as this, it was the fish, not the ‘peripheral benefits’ that caused me to fly halfway around the world and drain my bank balance to a frightening degree. Hopefully, this rather long-winded intro’ has reinforced the fact that it’s the fish, not all the trimmings, that keep most serious anglers coming back for more. But what happens when the fish don’t show – not just for one trip, but for several consecutive outings, maybe even for months? You know you’re not doing much, if anything, wrong. You’re putting in the hours, covering the highway miles, using all the right gear, choosing the best tides and using all the fishing nous accumulated from years of experience – but still you can’t crack the fish you’re after.

I’ve suffered several ‘dry spells’ over my serious angling life, and particularly in later years when fish have been definitely harder to catch than they used to be. Climbing out of those dry spells can prove a major challenge, as enthusiasm starts to wane and you begin to doubt yourself; maybe you’re not as good as you thought you were!

I’ve been watching son, Brett, experience his first major ‘dry spell’ just recently. Brett is an exceptional fisherman, able to adapt to different situations instantly and catch just about anything, anywhere if given the opportunity. I know I’m definitely biased because he’s my son, but I often watch him and think he’s definitely more talented than I was at the same age. I regularly find myself asking him for advice on tackle and technique, which is a total reversal from the way things used to be.

Consequently, Brett’s recent angling drought has both intrigued and concerned me. Exactly how he was going to pull himself out of it I wasn’t quite sure, and it didn’t surprise me when he phoned to say he was going to step back for a while and give fishing a rest.

I agreed that it was probably a good idea, particularly since it was kingfish season and that frustration levels would most likely escalate if his current catch rate didn’t improve. He had spent a week chasing kings in Coffin Bay without so much as a bite, he had done two trips to Port Augusta for the same result, and was rapidly losing the impetus to continue. That’s a lot of hours on the water and a lot of miles on the highway – more than enough to dampen the enthusiasm of even the keenest angler.

I advised him to perhaps give the kingfish thing a miss and target something a little easier for a while, which didn’t seem to interest him a lot. However, the following weekend he brought the family across to Yorke Peninsula to stay with us, and it wasn’t long before he had the yellowfin whiting gear out and was hitting the flats. The result? Precisely the same; not a sign of a yellowfin, despite fishing in normally productive areas with perfect tides and weather. His depression was obvious. I tried to console him with tales of my own ‘dry spells’ over the years, but knew nothing I could say would cheer him up. Putting the gear away for a while seemed the only sensible option.

Consequently, it came as a real surprise to receive a call from Brett the morning after he’d returned from my place to tell me he had just jigged a nice kingfish from the top of the Port River. Fishing with good mate, Alex Watson, he had also hooked another that came unstuck after ten minutes on heavy tackle, and the change in his demeanour was immediately obvious. Instead of putting the tackle away as advised, Brett had opted for the head down/bum up approach and persisted to break the drought. Understandably, I was pretty happy for him. This certainly wasn’t the biggest kingy he’s ever caught, but was certainly one of the most welcome.

So, with Brett’s ‘dry spell’ now officially ended, it will be interesting to see how things unfold from here. I’m sure many readers will be able to identify with all of this – how sustained periods of lean fishing can bring you down. Good mates, Steve Starling and Kaj ‘Bushy’ Busch – two of the best anglers in the country without question – have often spoken of similar times and the effects those periods had on their attitudes to fishing. Both Starlo and Bushy used their own methods of overcoming their personal ‘dry spells’, and rarely did it take long for them to get back into the groove.

So, if you happen to find yourself in a similar predicament – and it will happen at some stage – think hard about how you plan to climb out again. And if all else fails, store (don’t sell) the fishing tackle, head down to the nearest golf club and waste an afternoon chasing lost golf balls all over the course. I can guarantee you’ll be back wetting a line in double quick time!