I had a marvelous fishing trip last weekend when my close friend Chris suggested we kayak down a little river in western Victoria. Chris isn’t a fisherman, but we surfed together for many years and still retain a close bond, catching up for an outing whenever possible.
Saturday morning saw a slow start after some Friday night frivolity where bourbon and beer flowed alongside singing, guitars and harmonicas into the wee hours, but we finally got going.
For those who haven’t been yet, the world class scenery of Victoria’s Otway Ranges features magnificent rainforests and towering mountain ranges, tumbling to the steep cliffs of a coast battered by Antarctic swells. I used to surf these waters and know their power, but nowadays you can count my years by the added kilos so kayaking the sweetwater is more my style.
This is a great way to explore the hidden folds of mountain ranges, estuaries, rivers and lakes. Kayaks are also extremely practical watercraft for travellers and you don’t have to carry a huge amount of boating equipment.
It’s fair to say you’ve never seen a place until you see it from the water, so expect amazing new experiences on every waterway. And even for me, it’s not just about catching a fish – it’s about the adventure, the flora and fauna, the destinations, the companionship, or sometimes just a personal journey.
Otway Launchpad
On the way to our kayak launching spot, we travelled through rainforests where mighty canopies overhung lush gullies of tree ferns, all echoing to the unique bush harmonies. On reaching the coast at Port Campbell, I realised it was also school holidays, with caravans and motorhomes filling the beautiful campsites along the Great Ocean Road.
We took some time to watch the pounding surf at the Twelve Apostles, then turned inland on a dirt track that skirted our winding waterway, hoping for a suitable launch point that offered protection from the blustery wind. We eventually stopped at a rickety wooden bridge backing onto a rich green dairy pasture with its own backdrop of mountains.
The kayaks were prepared and I further armed myself with a light casting rod, plus a pocketful of lures. Mine is a fairly basic kayak that I can handle alone from the roof of a 4WD.
A padded seat and adjustable backrest are vital, and I spent a little extra on a two-piece paddle with variable blade angles, as well as a wrist strap for added safety. While I’d love a pedal-powered kayak, they tend to be heavier and more cumbersome, so I prefer to stick with the basics.
A small waterproof camera with a strong lanyard clipped to my life vest rounds out the adventure kit.
Salt or fresh?
I was unsure of the salinity of our river, so I chose lures to suit both salt and freshwater species, targeting bream, estuary perch, bass, or maybe trout and redfin. The lures included spinners, vibes, hard bodies, soft plastics and a little bibbed minnow.
As we readied to put in, a ute rattled its way over the little bridge and stopped to check us out. It was difficult to make conversation with the red-headed driver in the fl anno, King Gees and weathered Akubra, and his passenger spoke even less.
I asked for permission to paddle through the property to which he replied: “I guess you’d better ask the owners!” as he took off up the road.
“Oh well, we may as well keep going,” I thought. “After all, what could possibly go wrong?”
I awkwardly prepared a mass of arms, legs, tummy, camera, fishing gear and paddle on the grassy bank, before sliding gracefully into the gentle stream. As we commenced paddling upstream, I was sure I smelt the faint whiff of a corn cob pipe and heard the distant twang of a banjo.
“So long as we don’t hear the pig squealing, we’ll be all right,” I thought to myself with images of Deliverance in my imagination.
Working with nature
The wind billowed at our backs as I struggled to cast in the narrow waterway. But without propulsion I was quickly pushed into the reedy tussocks lining the edges – this is where pedal power would have been handy.
We next rounded a corner to a gorgeous green river fl at where a pair of wedge-tailed eagles divebombed some poor unsuspecting
prey in the middle of the field. It was a great reminder of the awesome force of nature, and at the same time, I came to accept that fishing was useless – might as well sit back and enjoy the paddle!
The late afternoon light beamed through heavy cumulus clouds, yet the breeze was relatively warm – lucky, as I’d forgotten my wetsuit. We let the wind blow us further upstream as Mother Nature turned on a kaleidoscope of treasures.
When it was time to turn back, rather than struggling against the wind, I was happy to find a departure point and started walking back along the bank, dragging the kayak behind me.
Chris started paddling, but then took a break in a little cove as I slowly caught up. We sat here for a while enjoying the serenity, our only concern being a rather large bull in the field behind us and the insistent bark of a dog on a nearby property, alerting all to our presence.
Time for a dip
Soon enough there appeared an impassable headland, so our portage was over and it was back to the kayaks. Chris offered to assist by sliding me and my boat into the river – big mistake!
As I hit the water, the bow of my little kayak dived deep, toppling me over into the dark waters. I’ll never forget the look on Chris’ face as I finally regained an upright position, and he reckons my expression was similar, with eyes as wide as dinner plates. Thankfully, I was fully prepared for a spill, and even the fishing rod stayed put in its swiveling holder.
Then the laughter started – silly old Bear!
We eventually made it back to the car and warmed ourselves with a shot of whiskey and some dry clothes. The breeze dropped as the sun neared the horizon, and the Otways came alive for that magic hour before sunset.
Chris and I just sat on the river bank in awe of the world around us as we enjoyed a cold ale, the end of a kayaking adventure shared by great mates.
“Another successful fishing trip,” I laughed to myself…
