Chris and I were lucky enough to organise a trip to 'Secret Valley' with our very accomplished 'tour guide', and we were very excited as we heard of some luck on the water down there. We packed all our gear, talked lures and reel choices, started discussing how many 1 meter cod we'd each get, and headed off. Within a couple of hours we were driving down the extremely steep and rugged dirt road, with all the trophy fish peering out of the water, wishing they'd made home elsewhere.
Our 'tour guide' with a nice cod caught previously at Secret Valley.
When we pulled up, we were shocked by how untouched this place was. We literally couldn't wait to hit the water. Unfortunately, we had to set up camp first, except this time it was made all the more easier. Usually, Chris and I just pack our little pop-up tents and swags, but this time we were spoilt by our 'tour guide' who told us to leave that gear behind and share in the luxury of his caravan. We didn't have to be told twice, so with the quick turn of the tools the roof went up, and quicker than you can say 'Chris and I did nothing', we had the caravan up. Time to hit the water!
We were a bit confused as to what lure to tie on, but when Chris hooked a redfin on a Stuckey lure within 2 minutes of being on the water, we were all reaching for the hard-bodied lures. Unfortunately we didn't have any more luck after that, so we retreated back to our campsite. Lucky for us, the area we were trolling is situated between 2 sets of rapids, so we didn't have far to go before we were back with a packet of Pizza Shapes in hand. That night, we were somewhat convinced that sharing a caravan with a dog is NOT a good idea. We were told it is usually quite well behaved, but it chose that particular night to muck up. It jumped, and scratched, and clawed and carried on till it managed to jump through the top of the door. That moment will go down in history as one of the best feelings ever. Silence at last. I am also happy to name and shame, as I hope this never happens to anybody again. Max, ease up big fella!
The next morning we hit the water, with a little bit of reluctance on my part (I was happy enough sitting back enjoying the peace and quiet), but once out our enthusiasm picked up again. It wasn't long until Chris got a decent hit and reeled in a nice sized yellowbelly. Unfortunately, the fight didn't stop once the fish was in the boat, with Chris finding himself on the wrong end of a few flails and jolts from the sharp-finned yellowbelly (but because the fish ended up as dinner, I feel Chris won that battle).
With our confidence soaring, we were sure we could hook plenty more fish, so we committed to fish on for a while longer. Our 'tour guide' suggested it would be a good idea for him to head back to camp and start tidying up, but he insisted that Chris and I venture on without him. As we pulled away from the bank, somewhere deep inside we knew something just HAD to go wrong. Chris and I had only ever been on boats with steering wheels, so when we were left to control a boat with whatever that thing is called, we knew things would get tricky. We twisted and turned, ducked branches and did doughnuts (a cool way to say we went around in circles), and ultimately did very little fishing. It was a show. To see exactly what happened, click on the video and feel free to laugh at our lack of skills and know-how.
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