I hope to spend many hours watching my young bloke come to understand that the real art of angling begins at a grassroots level.

Remember when you first wet a line perhaps like myself you were but a sprog of a kid that delighted in all that swam and crawled. Tadpoles were a common delight that seemed to infest all manners of water to the point where roadside drains and large puddles were a writhing mass of life. There enormity in numbers seemed endless and the transition from struggling jello lumps to small colourful frogs a wonder as countless hours were spent trudging around knee deep in water.  Yabbies seemed a natural progression and the first one encountered under a submerged piece of bark lay claim to the end of a pinkie.  A sudden and painful lesson that insured the angry end of these creatures was to be respected from that moment on. Even with care many a monster yabby was lowered into the water dangling precariously from a throbbing finger in the hopes that it would release its painful grip. Most did but occasionally you would suffer the Roth of a stubborn crustacean that refused to accept its freedom. One suspect this ornery type may have been of the fairer sex such were their determination to make you pay.  
Angling ingenuity was something to be marvelled. I’m not talking the high tech stuff either, rather the can do attitude of young enthusiasts that first take a budding interest in the greatest sport of all, the sport of fishing. A twitch from a green sapling strung with six foot of line was a rod to be marvelled. An old wine cork cut with a slit made a great float the sinker a thin strip of wrap on sheet lead and a hook to finish off.  Sheep shanks pilfered from the freezer made excellent yabby bait and a pair of stockings and a coat hanger the finest scoop net you ever did see. Such devises while rudimentary were the corner stone to some great fishing moments not to mention a few feeds of fresh fish. These are memories long past  just a few of many that carved a love of angling that still to this day ignites the senses and has no bounds. In truth most of us started down the angling road using bait it’s like a natural progression an apprenticeship if you like that sets a stable foundation for other techniques to be built upon. There are many lessons to be learnt along the way and the transgression to artificial presentations is influenced by an understanding of how everything interacts. Where and how bait is most likely to be found will influence where how and what lure fly or plastic you will probably use and how it will best be presented. I had come to realise in recent times that my young bloke while quite competent with artificials had bypassed the learning curb that had taught me so very much on fishing. While it is easy to mimic the use of lures from those around you there’s a whole other world of fishing to be learnt and explored.  It was time to revisit the simpler side of angling where the first and most important catch begins with bait.

Simpler Times a Little Tough

Many of my bait collecting memories were born of another time in the western district, where minnow were caught on baited line under small cork floats.  Timing was the key to catching these small fish and the cork indicator provided an insight into what was happening below the surface. During this process skills were already being honed as these tiny fish were simply a scaled down version of bigger things to come. Yabbies were scooped in small creeks from amongst the weeds with the use of a fine mesh net. Several types were common the most sought was a high baked black model with rounded claws. Small in size these proved irresistible to redfin, eels and trout alike. Under rotting vegetation along most of the creeks and rivers, large scrub worms as thick as your finger would be dug at will. Relatively easy to procure they made great bait for a variety of different species. In truth most often the bait was collected on the way to the fishing destination so without the knowledge and skill to collect it, there would be no fishing done that day. While bait was easily caught in the lush bush lined creeks of the southern state it would be in stark contrast to the harsh conditions consistent with most of the Murray River. The dry heat and hard baked clay are rarely conducive to worms, if you do by fortune find a patch by the river’s edge they are often few and small. Shrimp are plentiful during the warmer months and are easily caught in baited nets . Yabbies are a rarity as most of the riverside lagoons are long since dried and barren.  Bait is much harder to source under these conditions but if you know where to look there is bait enough to be found. Other than an abundance of shrimp, hidden in symmetrical tunnels in the cool depths beneath the parched earth lives possibly the best Murray cod bait there is, the Bardi grub. While it had been a few years since I had last dug these large grubs, young Jock was filled with expectant excitement at the chance to learn something new. After chipping the top layer of soil from around a small sugar gum I  suddenly remembered what it was that had helped push me headlong into lure fishing.  A little solid around the midriff and far more chair bound than my shearing days this bait collecting lesson was becoming nothing short of hard work. Within a few minutes I had the steam train impersonation down pat when the first hole appeared. An under the breath praise to the lord had the young bloke chuckling as he asked if I was alright.  After a quick explanation of how to use the wire he was at it like an old hand. He slid the wire down the silk lined tunnel and over the head of the grub. With a little pressure the grub was lassoed and slowly drawn towards the surface, the look of concentration a priceless moment as the first grub was pulled clear of the hole.  Within half an hour of digging and a little more puffing we had more than enough grubs for a good session.
The link between where these grubs live and the fact that Murray cod love to eat them intrigued young jock.  As we scratched the overturned soil back from where it was dug he asked the obvious question. Why would Murray cod crave something that as a food item seems almost impossible for them to reach? If you think about it other than on the end of an angler’s line when would these fish ever see a grub let alone get the opportunity to eat one? The answer lies in water or in past seasons the lack there of.  When the river spills its banks and disperses through the low lying forests the hidden tunnels these grubs call home are inundated with water where they quickly drown. As the waters rise, all manner of fish follow and search out a plethora of freshly drowned edibles that did not escape the tide. Equipped with a good sense of smell, cod now begin to root out the grub holes that are easily uncovered as the once parched ground quickly turns to clay. The grubs lay just under the surface, pushed to the top of their holes with the rising water, there is less than inches between them and the hungry jaws of a cod. Their oily scent is like a honing beacon and the fish know the exact spot to uncover in order to receive their fatty meal. From this one simple interaction between fish and bait we gain the knowledge on not only where but why the fish are most likely to be in the shallows during periods of high flow. The link between predator and prey is an anglers greatest asset and with good understanding it will catch you more fish than all the fangled new age tackle combined.

Bardie grubs are the number one bait for Murray cod.

DROWNING BAIT.
With the shrimp net in we sent out a couple of baits and waited for the net to catch the rivers most prolific prey. Shrimp are abundant during the summer months and are reliable and successful bait. On one rod a large ball of worms was cast close to the bank at the base of a submerged tree. This looked a prime location for not only cod but perhaps a golden perch or two. The other rod was loaded with a large grub and cast out towards the end of the snag where the current would hopefully drag its scent down through the twisted limbs and into the lair of a Murray cod. No sooner had the rods settled than the worms were scoffed and the small drag lost a few meters of line as Jock set the hook into what looked a reasonable fish. A couple of close calls with the snags and a nice golden perch was dragged clear and led to the bank. This fish would make a nice feed later that night and was dispatched and placed on ice in the esky. With this done Jock checked the net and was amazed to see several dozen shrimp dancing about as he lifted it from the water. Several of these were threaded on the hook with the addition of a few worms in what’s commonly called cocktailed bait. As Jock returned this bait to where he had just landed tonight’s tea, the rod with the grub was now tapping to the tune of silver perch stripping the hard earned bait from the hook. Over the course of the next few hours we were to land several more solid golden’s and catch at least a dozen more silvers as they hammered every grub that hit the water. While jock was intrigued by these fish as he had never seen one, he was also quick to understand that their piranha like appetites would rob him the chance of catching a cod. From deep to shallow it seemed these fish were to be found in every location we cast bait. That night around the campfire as we dined on fresh fish the mind of a stimulated young angler was hard at work. If there are so many shrimp in the river then why use them as bait as surly the fish could eat as many as they like. A shrimp on a hook is far easier to catch than one without was self explanatory enough and understood straight up. Bait size was another, why put so much on a hook? Mate when your mothers cooking a roast it fills the air and tantalizes the taste buds and has the power to draw you from outside. Once served if there was a single spud on one plate and the full lashings of meat gravy and veg on the other which might you choose? Angling can be translated into many languages and that of the stomach is easy to understand. Later that night we spoke of many things fishing related some from long ago some yet to happen but all part of anglings many joys. The lessons learnt bait fishing are enough to last a lifetime. I hope to spend the rest of mine watching my young bloke come to understand that the real art of angling begins at a grassroots level.