|Hopefully the end result.|
Compared to many other lakes and estuarys, Lake Macquarie has remained almost pollution free and the fishing is slowly improving. All in all, not a bad place to live.
|The means of getting there.|
Boats designed to safely navigate rivers, bays and estuarys etc. are not capable, in many cases, to be taken out onto the open sea, particularly when big seas are running. Many of these boats tend not to have any of the essential and legally required safety equipment on board, which makes the odds on survival astromomical.
For all of my life I have always wanted to own my own small tinnie, to enable me to be where hopefully the fish are. After two decades of land based angling, the missus and me retired to the shores of beautiful Lake Macquarie and at long last I became a boat owner. I obtained the boat drivers licence and as I normally do whenever a new craze takes a hold, I set out to ensure the boat became fully fit out with all the bells and whistles etc.
25 HP Outboard, Flat flooring with waterproof carpet, Navigational lights, Oars and paddles, New anchors, one sand and the other a reef kellick, new anchor ropes and mooring ropes, boat hook, landing net, prawn net, marine radio, Depth sounder and fish finder, water resistant seat cushions and so on and so forth.
|A mere drop in the ocean.|
The tinnie creaked under the weight of it all. I attended seminars conducted by what was then known as Waterways and kept fully abreast of maritime regulations and the contents of the boating handbook.
I have always been a stickler for obeying the rules and have always made a point to pass on the knowledge obtained to all of my fellow thrillseekers. Being armed with all of this knowledge and awareness has made boating safe, sound and enjoyable for me and my passengers.
The years of training and the experience gained from it all enabled me to make boating and fishing an absolute pleasure, as the following demonstrates.
How to do it and not get it (by one who did it, got it and can't get rid of it)
|FOUL LANGUAGE FOLLOWS|
|Wangi Boat Ramp. North side.|
|Cantankerous heap of shite.|
Arrive at Wangi boat ramp, prepare the boat for launching. Shit!!! Forgot to fill the tank with fuel purchased the previous day. Where is it, home at Blackalls of course. Home we go, fill the tank and once more unto the breach.....Give me a break. For the third time arrive at Wangi boat ramp, launch tinnie and scooter out, board the boat and commence to start motor. Motor starts first pull, Thank you Lord. Weave one's way through the moored yachts and off to find the artificial reefs at the Lake's southern end.
Hang on, where's all this shit ridden water coming from, Fuck it, the bungs aint in. The bungs refuse to screw in and the tinnie is going down faster than Monica Lewinski paying homage to her beloved President. Back to Wangi, beach the boat and finally get the bungs to screw in. Off we go again and 15 minutes later arrive in close proximity to the reefs. Where's the fucking bait, in the fridge at Blackalls, that's where. After language that would have made Gordon Ramsey blush, it's back to Wangi. Park boat on beach and drive car back home. Retrieve bait from fridge and back to Wangi. Scooter out boat and motor starts 1st pull (Ah! God is with me at last) and we're off south once again.
|"Bloody Hell, We're off at last."|
At last, reach the general area of the reefs and throw down a diet coke and polish off a ham and cheese sambo. After 30 minutes of steering grid patterns across the areas where the map says the artificial reefs should be, absolutely no luck in finding even one of them.........Useless, miserable pox ridden maps. Stuff the lot of them, who needs them or gives a shit, lets wet a line anyway. I decide to use both rods. The rods, where the friggen hell are they? Oh go fuck your kid sister rotten, you're not serious are you, no fucking rods, guess where? You got it in one, home at fucking Blackalls................You miserable arse fucking prick.
All those years of training and dedication to the cause had more than adequately prepared me to cope with the previously stated minor setbacks and I was able to arrive at a satisfactory decision.
YOU CAN WELL AND TRULY SHOVE YOUR SHIT RIDDEN FISHING SIDEWAYS UP YOUR SLIMY DISEASED POX RIDDEN ARSEHOLE. I WENT TO THE WANGI RISSOLE, BEEF AND BLACK BEAN FOR LUNCH AND GOT WELL AND TRULY PISSED AS A NEWT.
|The Wangi Rissole. Any old port in a storm.|
|Ahh! The stuff dreams are made of.|