Chasing Tail: A Morning on the Water

There’s something about the stillness of early morning that makes fishing feel almost sacred. The sun hadn’t yet climbed over the horizon when I backed the boat into the water last Saturday. A faint chill hung in the air, and the only sounds were the hum of the outboard and the occasional birdcall cutting through the silence.

I was heading out to a spot a mate had tipped me off about—a little-known inlet just off the coast, where he reckoned the flathead were biting like mad. I wasn’t about to pass up the chance.

By 6:15am, I’d anchored in the shallows, rod in hand, sipping a thermos coffee while watching the water for any signs of movement. It didn’t take long. The first hit came within ten minutes—a decent tug that had me scrambling. It turned out to be a feisty 42cm flathead, not a monster, but enough to get the blood pumping.

The morning rolled on with a good mix of action and calm. A few more flathead, a stubborn bream that put up a proper fight, and even a surprise whiting that made its way into the esky. The highlight, though, came just before I was ready to pack it in. I felt that unmistakable heavy pull—slow at first, then suddenly peeling line off the reel like it had somewhere to be. After a tense five-minute battle and a lot of quiet swearing, I pulled in a solid 63cm lizard. Safe to say, that one earned bragging rights and a spot on the dinner table.

Fishing days like that remind me why I love it. It’s not just about the catch—though that helps—it’s about the peace, the challenge, and being out in nature with nothing to do but wait and hope. And sometimes, just sometimes, it all comes together.