Tussling with Australia’s tuna
At 4am we pulled ourselves from the comfort of our swags and organised the day’s gear. The glitter of distant streetlights reflecting over the bay jarred against a looming black mass, the headland, and under starlight we trudged towards it. The night was silent, save for a gentle breeze and the hissing wash of waves riding up the beach.
On the rock platform we assembled rods and tied lures under the beam of headlamps. A fellow traveller, then another, joined us on our outcrop; a transient community of land-based addicts.
Dawn came and the greying light found us throwing big surface plugs out to sea. Skittering back across the glassy expanse, they mimicked the schools of sea garfish swirling in front of us and intermittently leaping from unseen terrors. They might be nervous but the real panic hadn’t set in yet. We were waiting for that.
Not long after first light it happened. A glittering explosion of gar, something big slashing into the
