Pendulum casting seems almost a black art. You think you have it sussed, then you practise the same thing two days later and it all goes pear shaped. Lately, however, I’ve achieved some consistency. I’ve yet to test my new style in the heat of a distance casting competition, but it feels very solid and delivers visible distance on the beach. It’s my fishing pendulum. I’m not interested in developing a style purely for tournament casting.

In the past, I’ve experimented with hoisting the rod up high as would Neil Mackellow. I’ve tried increasing my body turn, thinking that should create greater centrifugal speed and simultaneously flatten my swing. Long ago, I tried ‘tipping’ the rod into a more horizontal position to get the left hand into a higher position, thus enabling (in theory) a greater pull on the butt. I’ve tried to consciously maintain a straight left arm for as long as possible. None of these variations yielded the desired result. Some resulted in a right royal mess.

My new style is like this:

I place my feet in the open position and leave them there—no step around for me as that isn’t feasible on most of the beaches I fish. When executing the inswing, I pump the left hand as far back as I can while shifting my weight very decidedly onto my right leg—any farther I’d probably fall over. My right knee is very bent—you need a good knee to do this. Body turn is relatively modest—only to 7 o’clock. My left hand ends up quite low—almost at knee level. My left arm and left side of my torso are very stretched—I’m getting my left hand as far out ‘south’ as I possibly can. I reckon my body and leg position looks not too different to that of a shot putter when he or she is about to unload.

Theoretically, this style is deficient because my left hand starts so low. But I’m not convinced this is an issue.

I can think of reasons why my style is sound in theory. Because I get my left hand as far out behind as possible, I have more scope to pull the rod forward in the manner of a javelin before the push-pull phase—I can actually see this happen.

Secondly, the full stretch of my left side probably encourages me to keep my left arm extended for longer.

Thirdly and most importantly, my low body position and bent right knee mean that I automatically initiate the power phase with a leg/body recoil—I harness body power. This also encourages me to keep my left arm extended for longer.

The end result is, as far as I can tell, a flat swing. The rod finishes up to the left of my body, not in my crotch as it would if I’d gone over the top. The butt is surprisingly high at the finish. I can feel the rod bend in my hands. The cast feels ‘solid’ throughout.

I only think what I’m doing during the setup phase, but even that is fairly automatic now. Any thinking during the power phase is a bad idea in my experience. When I get to my next casting competition, I’ll find out how good I really am.

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I’m back in the game of writing fishing articles, although I won’t be doing it as frequently these days—too much like hard work for too little gain. See the next post down for my take on the life of the amateur writer in New Zealand.

In any event, I don’t mind penning an article when I’ve been somewhere interesting, productive or photogenic in terms of surfcasting. I took this image of Brent Rolston at a beach near Waverley. It appears in the May issue of NZ Bay Fisher Magazine. He was about to release that snapper we estimated at 7 kilos.

Click on the image to see a larger version.

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The last fishing magazine I wrote for went out of print—a marital split was the cause of its demise. It was a great magazine with a loyal following. I’m now back in the writing game with another magazine, but it’s not the money that draws me back. The pay is terrible. It’s the other benefits that make sense. I don’t mean free fishing tackle, but rather any exposure I might get for my photography. There’s no easy money in photography either, although one superb image could pay as much as I’d earn all year from writing about surfcasting. I say could—I’ve yet to have such a pay day.

Why is the pay so low for freelance fishing writers? At least in New Zealand—maybe it’s different overseas? If I were a full-time writer for the major fishing magazine in New Zealand, I’d possibly be paid $70K per year. The magazine would provide me with a camera, computer, office and pay all vehicle and other expenses involved in generating articles.

Conversely, as a freelancer I have to buy my own camera and pay all my own expenses. And when I submit an article, I’ll be paid maybe $300. Let’s say that’s 12 x $300 = $3,600 per year. Sure, a full-time employee has to front up to work for forty hours or more per week, and I don’t. However, there’s a huge gap between $70K + expenses and $3,600 less expenses. If correctly accounted for, expenses including vehicle depreciation could eat up the entire $3,600.

It could be argued that professionals will write better articles, and in general they do. But I’m not talking about in general, I’m talking about a skilled freelance writer and photographer. In all modesty, I’m talking about me.

Below are photographs I took of a snapper being landed and released. This is a unique set of images. You can’t order up something similar from a professional photographer. So why can’t the set command say $3,000? The answer is both complex and simple. A skilled freelancer can’t prove his or her work adds that much value to a magazine. Less skilled freelancers think $300 per article is a nice perk, and maybe it is if they’re going fishing anyway, or if they own a charter boat they can promote through their writing.

And don’t forget one more thing—all the magazines insist you only write for them. They pay you peanuts, you provide your own camera and pay all your own expenses, but you owe them your complete loyalty.

The freelance writing sector in general seems to be different to the one that provides most of my income, which is contract work on the registration of veterinary medicines. My charge per hour is considerably above the hourly rate of those who have full-time jobs in the industry. Everyone accepts the logic behind this. Magazines, fishing ones in particular, are either unable to pay part-time writers more, or are so used to paying them very little they can’t imagine a different scenario, or part-timers generally don’t deserve top dollar. It’s probably a bit of each and will vary from case to case. Fishing magazines articles often make me think of groundhog day. I’m guilty of writing filler articles myself, but at $300 a pop you can’t justify touring New Zealand in search of good fishing experiences and great photographs. Pay me a realistic rate someone, and I’ll do exactly that. I’m not holding my breath.

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The lighthouse at Cape Palliser as it catches the evening sun.

Cape Palliser is situated on the south coast of the Wairarapa. If you were to travel directly south across the water from there, the next landmass would be Antarctica. The South Island and the entrance to Cook Strait are somewhat to the southwest. The sea conditions here range from dead calm to southerly swells of a truly massive scale. When I was there in December 2012 for a surfcasting contest, the sea was almost calm. The same contest was blitzed by four-metre swells the year before.

Local knowledge counts along this rocky coast where blue moki and blue cod are the target species. In the end, Eddie Szalkowski (Eddie Ski) of the Wellington Surfcasting and Angling Club (WSAC) won the first prize for the largest blue moki. He also took the third prize. As I recall, only three moki were presented at the weigh-in, so Eddie sort of cleaned up. WSAC members are renowned for their moki-catching skills along the southern coasts of Wellington and the Wairarapa.

Eddie Szalkowski with his winning blue moki

I landed one undersized (30 cm) blue cod and was taken into the foul by three other fish. I suspect they were also blue cod, but as I lost all my terminal tackle each time, I can’t be sure. Next time, I will return to this hot spot with 20 kg main line but lighter connections to a bait and a sacrificial sinker. I know where the little blighters are, it’s just a matter of extracting them or not losing everything when I don’t. I’m sure blue moki will be in the same weedy zone.

In the prelude to the contest, some members of the club ‘gathered’ crayfish from Rick’s boat and paua by snorkeling from the shore. I’ve included photographs of their catches. On the way from Martinborough along Lake Ferry Road, I stopped at the Hudson Winery. There was no particular reason to choose this winery, but it was on my route to the coast and, like many in the area, they made Riesling and Pinot Noir. I since purchased a selection of their wines for delivery by courier—all gone now. I’m no expert on wine, so I’ll only say that I enjoyed drinking them. What else counts?

This area of coastline is well worth a visit if you like to explore remote areas. There isn’t much in the way of serviced accommodation south of Martinborough, but I believe there are baches and houses to rent at Ngawi. Gathering the local kaimoana is another issue—you pretty much have to catch it yourself, unless you can persuade a local to ‘give’ you some.

A legal-size paua taken from the waters of Cape Palliser

A catch of legal crayfish, courtesy of Rick Hymers

Les Rackham of the Feilding Surfcasting Club. Les caught this fish in the early morning before the Moki 1000 Contest. They proved harder to catch within the contest.

The weigh-in station for the Moki 1000 Contest at Ngawi

A view of Ngawi settlement from the back of Rick Hymers’ boat.

I don’t eat crayfish or paua, but if I did, I might wash it down with this. I took this photo at the Hudson Winery. A nice backdrop was provided by a flowering creeper.

 

 

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Early morning—two boats on the estuary of the Waikato River. The surf of Sunset Beach makes for difficult beach fishing. I took this shot using a telephoto lens and a tripod from a hill above the settlement of Port Waikato.

Port Waikato is a small settlement on the west coast of the North Island approximately forty kilometres south of the entrance to Manukau Harbour. It is where the Waikato River flows into the Tasman Sea. In pioneer times, the river’s estuary served as a port, hence the name. In conversation, the locals often refer to their home as ‘The Port’.

The dwellings at Port Waikato are predominantly pre-1970 vintage, although many have been modernised and expanded since then. They variously serve as holiday baches, homes for retirees or homes for people who commute to work in the greater Auckland area. They cover much of the flat land between the south bank of the Waikato River, the surrounding hills and the beach. A large area of dunes between the beach and the river is a reserve controlled by the Department of Conservation. There was never a large chunk of land suitable for development as a coastal subdivision, so, Port Waikato retains the ramshackle charm of an old New Zealand settlement by the sea, and long may that continue.

The annual Christmas Parade on the main road through Port Waikato

My reason to travel within New Zealand is primarily to go fishing. Surfcasting is my method, although I always take an interest in what the boats bring to shore. Surfcasting is a fickle game, but boaties usually catch something.

Port Waikato offers two quite different options for the land-based angler: the beach or the tidal estuary of the Waikato River. I would rate Sunset Beach as one of the most challenging I’ve encountered anywhere. Swells greater than one metre are the norm and tidal movements are considerable, so surfcasters must always be on the lookout for a freak sweeper that can knock over rods or inundate a tackle bag thought to be high and dry many metres farther up the beach. Although it’s not as violent as Ninety Mile Beach, Sunset is getting up there. You need a wetsuit or chest waders to fish it effectively. I have caught maybe seven gurnard, a couple of kahawai and one shoalie snapper on Sunset Beach. The key to success is casting bait far enough to reach the fish, and that is most achieveable when the swell is less than half a metre and it’s dead low tide.

Two gurnard caught early morning at Sunset Beach, Port Waikato. Gurnard don’t like heavy surf. They can only be caught when the swell is low—half a metre or less. Dead low tide is the best time to try.

The river estuary offers a complete contrast in terms of effort and skill required. This is easy fishing in terms of physical effort, although I can’t say I’ve had much success—it’s not easy in that sense. Next time I’m there, I’ll try it just after dusk. I’m sure that will work. The target fish in the river are kahawai of any size and trevally up to about 1.5 kilograms. My only significant catch has been a five kilogram spotted smoothhound (lemonfish, rig) that I hooked down towards the mouth. It pulled some line with its first run. For a moment, I thought I might be doing the improbable—catching a snapper in the river.

My rod waits for a bite. Kahawai and trevally are caught in the estuary of the river. I’ve not had much success here. One of the local experts told me the best fishing often occurs just after the high tide turns.

A bin full of snapper and gurnard that were caught off the coast at Port Waikato from Brian Grant’s boat. Boats can be launched either in the river or at the beach. Launching at the beach requires a tractor. Taking a boat across the bar of the river mouth requires good seamanship—not to be taken lightly.

A typical trevally fresh from the estuary of the Waikato River. They make good sashimi.

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Until April 2012, I wrote surfcasting articles for New Zealand Coast to Coast magazine. The magazine has since gone out of print, so I’ve decided to rekindle my fishing writing in the form of a blog on this website. I intend to catch more fish and write new material, but I will also revamp or update some of my published articles and the images that went with them. The article below is the last one that went to print.  

Many surfcasters have never caught a trophy-size snapper, or perhaps they have caught just one. Clearly, where you live has a bearing on how easy it is to catch these fish. For example, Bay of Plenty beaches produce many more snapper than those of Hawke’s Bay, yet Hawke’s Bay has a deserved reputation as the place to catch the bigger specimens. Rock fishing in Bay of Plenty, however, is a different scenario. Those who have mastered that style of fishing catch trophy snapper among the shoalies. The well-known surfcaster Leon Jury has caught countless large snapper in the reef areas to the south of New Plymouth. He indicated to me that catching these fish from the clean beaches to the north of New Plymouth is possible, but bags of shoalies are a more likely result in that direction. Many people prefer to do just that, which is understandable.

7.57 kg snapper caught at Haumoana on 18 March 2012. This one gut hooked itself on an 8/0 octopus circle hook. The bait was squid (Sealord).

My strategy is no great secret among local surfcasters. Along the beaches around Napier, the big snapper often come close to shore when there’s an east or northeast wind. These winds can be so strong that many novices would look at the choppy sea and whitecaps and go home. You can see what I’m referring to in the photograph of the snapper in the red chillybin. It was a mean wind causing that chop and slight discolouration of the water.

Targeting big snapper can involve a degree of discomfort wherever you are, so you may have psyche yourself up for task. Where I live, I often endure an off-sea gale for three to four hours, waiting for a big hit that never eventuates. If you live in Taranaki, you may have to scrabble over and among treacherous rocks and lose a lot of tackle to snags. Needless to say, veterans of the area like Leon Jury will have identified the best locations, and those locations may be quite specific—a channel between rocks for example. Being in Taranaki, they may also be very subject to tide. It can take years to know an area like this.

7.59 kg snapper caught at Haumoana on 6 March 2012. This fish was lip hooked with an 8/0 octopus circle hook. The bait is squid (Sealord).

Bay of Plenty surfcasters are a lucky lot. They can drive vehicles onto their lovely beaches, pull out the deck chairs and camp cookers and catch shoalies without too much effort. But if they want to catch the big snapper that undoubtedly exist in their bountiful bay, they may have to hoof it to a rock platform somewhere near East Cape. Again, the temptation to target smaller fish on a clean beach in relative comfort is perfectly understandable. I’d do it myself.

On occasions, surfcasters have made a trip to Hawke’s Bay in the hope of landing one of our big snapper. The background to this is that they see photographs like those in this article and think yeah let’s go over there and get into them. Photographs can create a false impression. I caught these two snapper this March. Prior to that, I caught three in October 2008. Nothing of note happened between then and now, so what are the odds an outsider will plan a trip weeks ahead with no idea of what the conditions might be and catch a good fish? I’d say it’s better to study your own territory and go surfcasting when the sea conditions and weather are favourable. But don’t ask me what those exact conditions are in your area. I’m still getting to know my own. Obviously, time of year and time of day are very important. Assuming those two are optimal, wind direction may be the next critical predictor of success, more so than tide or moon phase. As I mentioned, the best winds around Napier are east and northeast, but they will be different in other parts of the country.

Close-up shot of the bait and floats that attracted this 7.59 kilogram snapper.

Assuming sea conditions and weather and time of season are all favourable, and that you know the best locations locally, the final aspect is the skill set you take to the beach—casting, rigs and bait. It’s my impression that big snapper roaming close to shore are in the mood to eat just about anything, but why take a chance? Why not offer them the best? This takes me into contentious territory. Many surfcasters have very set ideas on what is the best bait.

I don’t claim to know what is the best, but I prefer to use squid and octopus when targeting big snapper. I’m sure pilchards are equally as good, but I’m too lazy to muck about with them. Also, they’re too prone to damage by baitfish, and that’s before lice and paddle crabs get into the act. In Hawke’s Bay, we have every bait-wrecking problem known to surfcasters: lice, paddle crabs, baitfish and baby tope (school shark). At certain times the last on that list is the biggest headache. I think tope must breed in the lee of Cape Kidnappers.

Octopus is hard to get. Squid is easier, but I don’t buy the small, fragile ones they sell as bait—the ones that are marinating in their own bacteria-riddled gut contents. Those squid seem to start rotting the moment you thaw them, and I’m quite sure your average snapper isn’t impressed with that. The squid you see in the photograph of my rig is from Sealord. If you ordered a dish of calamari at a fancy restaurant, that’s what you’d get, only cooked. I assume it’s gutted and skinned and frozen on the boats as it’s caught. It’s pristine white in the box and doesn’t go off in the fridge nearly as quickly as the bait product. My cat loves it, and that’s the ultimate accolade in my view. If your cat won’t eat your bait, chances are a snapper won’t either. I wonder if the lads working on the squid boats aren’t too concerned about the undersize squid they toss in the bait bin. Maybe they leave the bin in hot sun all day before wheeling it into the chiller at night.

My standard rig for targeting snapper on beaches around Napier.

You will note there a two floats on my snapper rig. I use those to keep the bait off the bottom to delay damage by paddle crabs, which are prolific down the southern end of Hawke’s Bay. If snapper are in close, those crabs make themselves scarce, but I use the floats regardless. They possibly act as attractants, although I don’t really know if they increase my catch. Some people are concerned they may deter snapper from accepting a bait, but that doesn’t seem a problem. The snapper I’m holding has a trace hanging from its mouth. I had to dissect that fish to retrieve my hook and two floats—he’d swallowed the whole package and gut hooked himself (circle hooks don’t always lip hook). The two green floats you see in the lip hooked snapper are very pretty and make a nice photograph, but I don’t believe colour is an issue. The floats the other snapper swallowed were shiny silver with blue flecks. I wine cork will probably do the same job.

If you look closely at my bait, you will see one 8/0 circle hook secured with a snell knot. I don’t claim this is the best approach, but I like the results I get in terms of hooking and retaining fish. No snapper can crush or bend an 8/0 of this design. They absorb a decent strip of squid when stitched on as shown, and that strip can be arranged so the inturned point is well exposed. I always use a Breakaway Impact Shield as a bait clip. When casting into a head wind, as I’m often doing in Hawke’s Bay, it helps to have an aerodynamic bait. Snell knots are known to increase catch rates on commercial long lines. I can’t be certain the same advantage applies when surfcasting, but they are a very secure knot. Whatever gives me confidence, I use.

Big snapper in the bin. Note the sea conditions. A strong east or northeast wind brings these fish close to shore around Napier.

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