Author and photography: Tim Simpson

One of the many great things about gamefishing is that it can lead you to some of the most exciting and remote places on the planet. Exploring the unknown and testing waters with signs and features that, from a chart, show promise of huge fish far beyond the norm, is exciting indeed. And, as always, the grass is always greener on the other side of the ocean!

Many of these remote locations have been rarely, or never, fished before. They really do hold fish in sizes and numbers way beyond what is encountered normally. There are species, like dogtooth and GTs for example, that seem to form localised populations, centred around a significant reef structure. With these less migratory species, it doesn't take fishing pressure long to remove the extremely large specimens. They are the dominant and aggressive kings of their reef environment, the ones who have first rights to any food in the area. So the lucky first anglers to present a suitable offering are often the ones to hook these monsters.

With other fish, like highly migratory marlin and tuna species, remote destinations offer a prolific feeding ground in their travels across the largely barren and food-scarce oceans. Like an oasis stumbled across in a desert, a reef structure out in the main flow of the ocean current is particularly likely to induce them to stop on their migration and take a pit-stop for a while. When the reef area has a bountiful supply of baitfish - whatever size is relevant to the large predator - the big fish will stick around. Before long, an accumulation of other travellers has also arrived. And so, a location like this, beyond the reach of heavy fishing pressure, can really be an anglers dream. Lots of fish - and big ones at that!

NEW TECHNOLOGY OPENS
A WORLD OF FISHING
In years gone by, getting to a destination like this was difficult or impossible, especially in a boat suitable for fishing once you got there. Luckily, today's anglers are at the forefront of a revolution in boat design and fishing opportunities. Boat builders are now constructing recreational vessels capable of handling short ocean crossings with a small band of anglers. With comfortable living conditions for extended live-aboard voyages, boats small enough to effectively chase large, agile fish now open up a world of opportunities.

And besides the fish that you might catch, visiting a remote destination is an adventure in itself. Who knows what you might find? The fact that people have rarely seen the place usually means it is pristine and totally unspoilt - as Capt Cook may have found it centuries ago. Sometimes you'll find old bottles washed up on the sand cays. On most you'll find a bewildering collection of shells and oceanic trinkets littered upon the shore. And in some you'll see the rusting hulks of a wayward longliner, now crumbling onto the coral reef it found in its path. In the lagoon of one I visited, I found the remains of a very early sailing ship. Its massive Admiralty anchor and chain, and copper nails over 44cm long from its timbers where scattered across the shallow coral and sand - all that remained of its pioneering voyage long ago. These are wonderful experiences - memories that can not be found at a packaged resort or home-town fishing ground.

AN ADVENTURE OF OUR OWN
And so it was that a band of keen, adventurous anglers set forth in the middle of last winter to explore and fish a remote location east of the Great Barrier Reef off Townsville in Queensland. We chose the towered gameboat Kanahoee, from Townsville as our escape vehicle. With Capt Dave Pemberton at the helm, it was the ideal platform for what we had in mind.

Dave Pemberton runs Kanahoee Game and Sport Fishing Charters aboard his immaculate, custom-built 49ft long-range gameboat. Built by Dick Ward in Cairns, the 31kt Kanahoee holds 3,200lt of fuel and has a range of over 600km. It even has a Wesmar sonar system to more effectively find fish. For exploratory trips with four anglers and three crew, it comfortably accommodates voyages of four to 10 days. This means you can look at a chart, find a dot that looks interesting - almost anywhere on the ocean off Australia's east coast, and say, "Lets go there!" The air-conditioned rooms for its guests feature four bunks in the bow and a double stateroom with ensuite. A desalinator and ample refrigeration and freezer space keeps it fully self sufficient. It's nice to be comfortable while you're pioneering!

A very pleasant surprise was their excellent range of tackle, and the condition that it was kept in. Besides maintaining the boat to impeccable standards, Dave obviously lavished an equal amount of attention on the fishing gear. The Tiagras, on mostly Ian Miller custom rods, were fully loaded with fresh line and running beautifully. And a large selection of top-shelf trolling lures (with skirts intact) showed that no shortcuts were taken in tackle selection.

Dave has spent 27 years gamefishing the surrounding waters, 21 years of them professionally as a gameboat charter skipper. He's previously captained notable vessels such as Kiama, Showdown, Allure, Reel Easy and Rodeway. For 16 years, he's run boats at Cairns for the heavy tackle, giant black marlin season. He's a guy we felt very comfortable spending a week at sea with.

In the weeks before our adventure, Dave had been fishing one of his regular haunts - Myrmidon Reef, 68 nautical miles northeast of Townsville. Although most of the reef shallows have been locked away in recent years, he fishes the outer dropoffs and had been catching a regular procession of good blue marlin. As it was winter, and most of the southern grounds had long since gone cold and barren, we were very keen to explore the potential of his winter blue marlin fishery.

Our trip was assembled to prospect a reef way out past Myrmidon, which is on the outer edge of the Great Barrier Reef. The destination was Flinders Reefs, another 80-odd nautical miles northeast of Myrmidon, and some 150 nautical miles northeast of Townsville. It's a reef with a sand cay and automatic weather station at its southern end, and a massive, deep lagoon with fringing coral reef, stretching some 27 miles to the north. Between Myrmidon and Flinders is open ocean. Beyond the outer GBR, the sea floor here drops away into 1,200m. Then, as you approach Flinders it rises steeply up the slopes of what are essentially the remains of an ancient volcanic undersea mountain. These sharp dropoffs, in the face of strong ocean current, looked like a certain hotspot. With a plentiful food supply, these reefs held promise for not only edge-dwellers like dogtooth, but also for enormous, winter blue marlin. The lagoon also held potential. The breadth and depth of its interior, together with large coral heads rising within, looked awesome for a bunch of light tackle action on sailfish, GTs and other mid-sized species.

WHERE DID THE SUN GO, AND WHO ORDERED THE WIND?
With preparations made and imaginations running hot, our party of four anglers finally assembled one glorious morning in Brisbane for the last leg of our trip to meet Dave at Townsville. With me were Sydney-siders Anthony Klok, David Gardiner and Gregg Haythorpe. What we didn't know was that this would be the last time we would see the sun for a week.

We arrived in Townsville to rain and a blanket of grey, sullen cloud. At least the wind - at this stage - was only moderate! With high hopes, we made our way down to the marina and loaded all our gear aboard. Dave was there to greet us with deckies Ross Martin and Giles Pastoors.

The plan was to race out to Myrmidon before nightfall and then troll the following day to Flinders.

The first night, as we adjusted to the motion of the boat at the semi-sheltered anchorage, we found - to our great delight - that another of Dave's talents is as a barbecue chef. A sizzling steak, a cool beer and good company make a great evening anywhere, but when you're way out to sea, with waves lapping at the hull and not even a boat in sight, it really is extra special.

The first day of fishing broke overcast, with sloppy seas and misty rain. Great! We trolled out at a fast clip (nine to 10kts) in order to arrive by late afternoon. We didn't want to navigate the bommies at the entrance to the lagoon on sonar alone.

WHAT IS THAT MYSTERIOUS FISH?
The morning passed uneventfully. At 2pm most of us were comfortable in the cabin when the long rigger, with a black and green Apollo skirted lure, clipped out and set the 130 to scream. We raced out and Dave clambered into the chair. "Is it a big blue? Did anyone see the take?" we asked. Line peeled off into the grey, windswept swells.

Before long, the fight changed. The line arced down and the fish stubbornly resisted Dave on the 60kg outfit. It was a slow and determined tug of war. "Ah," we all thought. "It's a yellowfin! Must be a nice one too".

As it neared the boat, we all peered into the white cloud-reflecting surface, trying to catch a glimpse of how big our tuna was. It was running along just under the waves. And then it broached. Spray flew and the fish crashed across the top in a flurry of foam and fins. "A marlin," we all cried. But something wasn't quite right.

Dave continued, and drew the fish closer with strong pumps on the heavy outfit. Then another jump. A rocketing, cartwheeling jump. This wasn't a marlin. It was a mako! We were stunned. What was a mako doing up here? The water was 25 degrees Celsius and we were in north Queensland!
Some minutes later, the double appeared. Ross stretched for the leader. A large, long, grey-blue torpedo loomed into view. Needle sharp teeth clawed at the leader, but this oceanic missile was hooked just outside the jaw and the mono leader stayed clear of the teeth just long enough for Ross to slide the lure up and out of the way. With another kick, the 600lb mono flicked into its jaws and the mako snipped it through and disappeared.

It was all we saw for the day, but a big mako on a lure is enough to make any day special. In late afternoon, we arrived at Flinders.

A BREAKFAST DIVE WITH THE SHARKS - THEN YELLOWFIN FOR MORNING TEA
The next morning there were patches of blue in the white blanket of cloud above us so I decided to go for a snorkel before breakfast. As I entered the water, a leopard shark that had adopted us the evening before swam over to greet me. The two-metre fish was harmless - but a fabulous sight and very friendly. I even managed to hold onto its dorsal fin and get towed along.

The water clarity at Flinders is amazing. Even in the poor light, the visibility was astounding. The bottom of the lagoon near the sand cay was littered with shellfish. From massive helmet shells to small cowries, there was a bountiful array. All along the tide line of the sand cay were the sun-bleached shells that had been tossed ashore in storms. And seabirds of several species gathered in small rookeries of their kind along the storm-debris-littered dune. Hermit crabs scuttled about in the shells of previous owners.

When I returned, the boys were keen to catch a fish. We cleared away the breakfast and set a spread of skipping and swimming garfish off the outriggers. Down the center we ran a selection of Halco Laser Pros and a medium-sized skirted lure. Outside, the seas had been steadily building in the fresh easterly of the previous few days. Large swells were now pounding the outer edge of the reef which made progress up the reef very difficult.

Our intentions were to probe the steep edges on the northern end of the reef, but getting there was going to be slow and awkward. Along the way, Dave spotted some birds working a few hundred meters off the reef edge. We trolled over and straight away hooked up to a pair of 30kg yellowfin. On our second pass we got another. After that we lost the school.

That evening, Dave told us that some of the yellowfin he had seen in that school had looked like porpoises, and only after seeing one more clearly could he tell they were actually tuna. We really looked forward to meeting up with some more of those!

Halfway up the eastern edge of the reef we came to the end of the breaking fringe. At its tip was a bay of sorts. Fingers of deep water cut gutters into the breaking top of the reef, and the area immediately north of it was a broad coral shelf that dropped over the edge into the depths on its eastern side. I was in the tower, talking to Dave when we came across it. We both glanced at each other and remarked how good it looked for dogtooth tuna. As if on cue, moments later a very large dogtooth appeared behind a big skirted lure on the outrigger. The two-metre fish shadowed the lure for 100m and then made a half-hearted attack on it. We didn't connect.

As the afternoon progressed, we caught seven smaller dogtooth, a rainbow runner and a barracuda. The serious fish got away. Gregg and I were mid-way through attaching a swimming scad to the outrigger clip when a nice marlin tore it from our fingers. In the second it took to determine that the pull was a fish and not another swell breaking across the line, the fish spooked. Later on, I spent 30 minutes hooked-up and on sunset drag on 24kg trying to stop what was probably a big dogtooth from getting back to the bottom. Creeping line reluctantly left the spool as I hung on in the hope that I could turn it.

With the taught line whistling in the wind, it eventually dragged off enough line to make the coral - and win.

We didn't make the top of the reef that day. In fact, we never got there. The weather gradually worsened until it was a battle just crossing the broad lagoon, let alone trying to punch our way up to the top of the reef.

The next day we jigged some deepwater bommies in the lagoon and caught dogtooth, coral trout, GTs and several Jobfish.

Nothing particularly newsworthy, but least we had the ingredients for an excellent dinner.

That night the wind howled, but by morning it had fallen to a fresh 20kts. The seas were looking wild.
We were not going to get to the top of the reef this day either.

LET'S TAKE THE BOAT INTO THE SURF!
Dave eased out of the lagoon and into the maelstrom. It was obvious we didn't have many options for the day, and heavy tackle lure trolling for blues was out of the question. When Dave offered us some exciting popper fishing we jumped at the chance.

With slow progress, we forced our way up the outside to a stretch of the outer edge with deep channels running back in to the reef. Behind the first line of white water, a gutter ran parallel to the dropoff, and the whole place looked very fishy for popper munchers. At first we couldn't believe that Dave would want to get anywhere near the reef edge in these conditions, but once we had assembled the casting gear he backed us right in to the edge of the soup. With one eye watching Dave to ensure that both of his eyes were on the approaching swells, we made our casts. On many occasions the reef was sucked virtually dry - the wave's vertical face standing up several metres directly beneath the stern of the boat.

It was unnerving, but thrilling at the same time. Dave jockeyed the throttles to maintain position, squirting us over a wave when a big set loomed up threateningly in front of us.

While three-metre waves dredged the coral platform of all but a few centimetres of water, we hurled our huge poppers over the suds and into the gutter beyond. Then, chugging them back down the channel, we watched with anxious eyes as forms rose up and engulfed the lures in a boiling welter of spray. It was very exciting fishing. At the end of the session, we had all caught a number of great fish, including: GTs, bluefin trevally, Jobfish to 11kg, coral trout to 10kg, and red bass. On the way back to the anchorage, Anthony nailed a nice dogtooth just outside the lagoon. It was a great day - made from what otherwise was a disappointing blow-out.

BEATEN, BUT NOT DEFEATED
By the following morning the weather was looking even worse, and with a prediction to continue for the next few days at least, we decided to cut and run. We battened-down all equipment, set some big lures on the 60kg outfits and Dave set his course for home - via Myrmidon. It was a sloppy journey.

Frequent squall lines brought rain and intensified wind gusts. Luckily we had a great craft to take us through the mess. Dave stuck at it up on the wheel all day while we sat snugged-up in the saloon. No one really wanted the lures to get eaten. That would mean going out in the rain and - heaven forbid - backing up into the sea!

We stayed a rocking night at Myrmidon before heading back to port on the final day. The weather had beaten us this time, but having had a taste of what it's like at Flinders, it was only a matter of time before we once again took a ride to this new frontier. There's a whole lot of action just waiting to be discovered there, and besides, the grass is always greener on the other side of the reef.

To find your own secret spot, call Dave and make a plan. He can be reached on 0427 778 373, or emailed at info@kanahoee.com