Docklands Bream

“Bream on fly? In the docks? You’ve got to be kidding mate.”

That was pretty much the res-ponse I got from fellow anglers every time I asked if they’d tried fly fishing for Melbourne’s docklands bream. Most of them didn’t even bother trying, believing they were too hard to catch. Black bream had a reputation for being notoriously finicky feeders. And the ones that lived at the docks? They were the smartest fish around. I still remember a fly fisher talking of 60-foot casts from a boat to bream feeding on the pylons. Only that way, he said, would you have a chance of hooking up.

With all this pessimism, I began my docklands bream fishing using lures, both hard bodies and soft plastics. It took a while to figure out what to do, but with the help of a dedicat-ed bunch of anglers who regularly fished there, I soon started catching a few. Their favourite lure was often a Microvibe—a lure around 2 cm long that was cast just next to a pylon or a pontoon and allowed to sink. We would watch our main line slowly disappear into the deep, always watching for a change. An increase in speed, a sudden stop, or the line moving sideways, all meant that a bream had the lure in its mouth and were our cue to strike. Having to watch the line so closely reminded me of fishing for trout with nymphs. I often commented on that to other anglers, but still the thought of trying for them with a fly never occurred to me.

Often, especially in the warmer months, we saw bream feeding on the sides of pontoons in schools. We observed large fish just swimming below, or even centimetres from the surface, plucking mussels off the sides. We would slowly walk over, stay as low as possible and attempt to cast our lure next to them. And always, the result would be the same. The moment the lure hit the water with a splash, the fish would scatter in a blink. That’s where I learnt the common phrase often muttered by bream anglers, ‘If you can see the fish, you’re not going to catch him.’

One day, after spooking another nice school of fish, it hit me. The bream were spooked by the splash of the lure. A fly, with its smaller size and weight, would make much less disturbance as it entered the water. With that idea, I went home to tie some bream flies and resolved to bring my fly outfit on the next trip.

The initial batch of flies I tried were shrimp patterns. Going by articles I had read on fly fishing for what I believe to be slightly less educated bream, a shrimp seemed the logical choice. I tied both realistic patterns and impressionistic ones, hoping that the bream would like at least one of the patterns I had prepared.

It didn’t take long on my next trip to find a school of feeding bream. I tied on a translucent shrimp pattern as my first choice. The fish were close enough that I could just reach out with my rod and lower the fly into the water with nary a splash. Success. The bream didn’t seem to notice the entry of the fly and continued feeding. I watched as the fly drifted down to the fish, and straight away, two bream pulled away from the pontoon and started heading towards the fly. By now, the fly was getting deeper and it was becoming difficult to see what was happening. It had become a matter of guessing if the fish had taken the fly and just striking in blind hope. Against all odds, that day I managed to guess correctly and landed my first bream on fly in the docks. It wasn’t huge, but it certainly proved that it could be done. In my next few trips, I quickly learnt several lessons.

Firstly, don’t move your fly. Any slight movement of the fly, other than just sinking, always spooked the fish. No matter how tempting it is to twitch your fly when you have a 30-plus centimetre bream with its nose to it, don’t.

Second, since I couldn’t move the fly, I would have to visibly see the fish take the fly to know when to strike. Only that way could I be sure that it was safe to strike and not spook one that was about to take it. That meant having clear water, and bright sunshine made it a lot easier to fish with this method. On cloudy days with murky water, guesswork came right back into the picture.

Third, realistic flies were the way to go. Experiments with bright, highly visible impressionistic patterns all saw the bream just following the fly, but refusing to open their mouths. That, importantly, caused me to shift away from shrimps. Only translucent shrimps seemed to be working, but they were ridiculously hard to see as they sank into the deep. And not being able to see the fly, meant not knowing when to strike.

One frustrating afternoon of going through all the flies in my fly box and having refusal after refusal for two hours, I chanced on a breakthrough. In desperation, I had brought my freshwater streamer box, and tied on a beadhead Woolly Bugger. I dropped it next to the pontoon to see how it looked, and a black bream just swam up from below and without any hesitation, sucked it in. I got over the shock quickly enough to strike, and landed a beautiful black bream a few minutes later, and six more within half an hour. I had finally cracked the code. Unfortunately, one of the realities of fishing around pylons is losing flies and fish to them. The eighth fish wrapped me around a pylon and I lost the one fly that worked.

Needless to say, I went home and tied a whole bunch of Woolly Bugger patterns. I kept certain characteristics of the first fly while making it as easy to tie as possible, not wanting to spend too much time on each, given that they’d be fished on light tippets around so much structure.

I use a 5-weight rod around the docks. This gives enough butt strength to fight the fish around structure, but is light enough to feel every thrum of the bream. The fly line is of less importance, as you will seldom have much of it beyond your rod tip. I use a floating line, but any other line would do. Leaders can be very simple, with just straight 20 lb to a 6 lb tippet to the fly. You do get more hook-ups with a lighter tippet, but you also lose a lot more fish. It’s a balance you have to decide, based on the water clarity and the spookiness of the fish.

For flies, go with natural-looking patterns that sink at a moderate rate: fast enough to trigger a strike from the bream, but slow enough so you can still see it when they do. My patterns generally resemble the worms or mussels that the bream feed on along the sides of pontoons. Olive and brown seem like the go-to colours.

I generally cast the fly next to any structure that looks like it might hold bream. If it’s close enough, I just reach out and slowly lower the fly into the water. Polaroids are essential to see the fish take the fly. It’s ultimately a very visual fishing experience. When you see a bream dart out from under the pontoon towards your fly, your heart stops as you will it to strike. The bream’s hard bony mouth also makes it difficult to get a good hook-up, and many bream come off in the middle of the fight. But, when everything comes together, you find yourself holding a 38-cm bronze-coloured black bream, with the knowledge that you’ve done something many thought was impossible. Bream on fly in the docks? No worries mate.

DOCKLANDS BUGGER

HOOK: Mustad Saltwater Signature C70S D Big Game Light, #6 THREAD: Olive green BEAD: 5/32 Cyclops Bead, gold TAIL: Brown marabou BODY: Olive Woolly Bugger chenille RIB: Thin copper wire

Adjust bead size and weight according to the size and weight of the hook. The purpose of the bead is to provide visibility, to know when the fish has taken the fly, and to provide the correct sink rate to trigger the bream to strike. The fly has to sink fast enough so the bream has little time to examine the fly, but slow enough so you can still see the fish take the fly.

Initial ties did include a body hackle, but the modified fly is easier to tie— flies are easy to lose when fishing around pylons. The bream still seem happy to take it without the hackle.