Moody Murray Cod

They probably aren’t a fly fishing purist’s fish, but I’m certainly no purist’s fly fisherman. In my book, Murray cod are right up there in the conversation about the most perfect fly-rod fish. Honest and rewarding hard work, they will eat all manner of flies and live in quintessentially Australian environments.

The flies are big, the casts are ugly, the leaders heavy and the fishing can be a downright punishment, but when that line snaps taut and it all comes together, nothing else matters — except winning a hand-to-hand bout with that mottled green Goodoo.

Murray cod fishing in the New England Tablelands combines all the things I love about fly fishing. The rivers are stunning, providing options to fish any style of water that tickles your fancy, from small stream pocket-water and unadulterated rock-rimmed gorges, to wide open weed-lined pools and more typical lowland timbered river country. Better still, Murray cod have to be the most charismatic and at times comical fish Australia has to offer. They eat topwater flies like few other fish can, hit like a hammer blow and can display the most bizarre behaviour there is, while on some days they can be just as moody and temperamental as the best flats fish.

Chasing giants isn’t why I love these fish, but just knowing that the next retrieve could be halted in its tracks by a true leviathan really adds an element of intrigue to any cod trip. The average size of most fish on the Tablelands is usually in the 45–65cm range, however, every river and probably every pool has its resident big fish. Just knowing they might be there keeps you casting and coming back time after time. Throw in the peace and quiet that comes with the Australian bush, some good company and a few drinks while swapping stories after a long day, and you have just summarised my idea of heaven, and my feelings heading into December each year.

I have a habit of spending winter and spring following the weather over the region from afar. As Murray cod season approaches on December 1st each year, the condition of the rivers is dictated by the weather patterns of the previous six months, and knowing the water that moved through each system (or didn’t) is key to making good decisions about where to fish come open season.

As luck would have it, the New England Tablelands had a fantastic 2025 winter and spring, with consistent rain and a number of minor floods. These weather events meant the substantial weed growth which was beginning to choke up some big sections of rivers would be flushed out and refreshed. The anticipation of freshened up rivers and the ability to fish each pool effectively, had me keenly watching the acute river levels as the dates for my first trip approached. It would be a vast improvement on the waterways we fished last year, and long casts covering lots of water were going to be a nice change from 10-foot casts picking apart bathtub sized openings in the Elodea.

POSITIVE SIGNS

Despite the seemingly endless roadworks along the Cunningham Highway, we arrived at our base camp just after lunch to find prime water levels in the river, reasonable clarity and the wind actually consistent with the forecast — a nice change up on the plains, notorious for being far windier than the weather forecasters’ predictions.

Brandan and I quickly unloaded the kayaks and strung up our rods; setting up camp could wait until we returned. My little 8-foot 8-weight Primal Blitz CS was loaded with a sink-tip fly line and I tied a small bunny-strip yabby imitation on the end. After the first few portages we were into a particularly likely pool, and right on cue from the boughs of a weeping willow, the first little Goodoo made its appearance. It hammered my little yabby fly down deep after a nice long pause. A good sign we thought, but we interrogated the rest of this pool without incident.

Given the quality conditions, we were surprised when the following pools all yielded similar silence. Before long I had swapped to my insurance fly, a Mega Dobson in pink and black. This fly, built with marabou, rabbit and Arctic fox zonker, packs about as much subtle movement as a fly can carry, and when fished slow and deep it really is tough for a cod to resist.

Making our way further down river, I picked up another couple of fish on the Mega Dobson. Frustratingly though, there was not yet a discernible pattern. One fish came deep off a weed bed, another off a shallow one, one off a small granite rock pile, and of course the first fish off the willow tree. Fortunately, our return leg back to camp fishing topwater flies was a little more productive, with a handful of fish raised in most pools, although the conversion rate left plenty to be desired. Never mind, we had a full day in a different location to look forward to tomorrow, so the anticipation of good things to come remained high.

SETTING THE TONE

With alarms blaring well before dawn, we were soon making our way down the road to our launch point for the day’s fishing with a plan to cover some miles, fish some water we don’t fish often, and work hard to see if we could turn some better quality fish. Slipping our kayaks into the first pool for the day, the stage was well and truly set — crimson glow of the dawning sun, mist rising off the water in the crisp high-country air and not a breath of wind. If I had been asked to script better topwater fishing conditions, I would not have been able to!

The first few pools are only small but usually hold fish, though none were interested in my large articulated deer-hair lizard, or Brandan’s more regulation Cod Charmer. When the sun had finally burnt off the mist and we were beginning conversations about fly changes, Brandan found our first action for the morning — two solid ‘boofs’ on the one retrieve, although again the hook missed its mark. Setting the tone for the morning, the fish didn’t return.

The cod were at least more active at the tail end of this pool, with Brandan being crunched on top repeatedly along the remaining section of bank and managing to get hooks to stick in a couple of them. Meanwhile my two opportunities left me with little to show for it but the joy of being belted by cod on topwater.

After a short portage into the next large pool I swapped flies and went sub-surface with a fly I have dubbed the Waler. A Light Horseman inspired fly, finished off with a flexo tubing head, veiled with Arctic fox, it is perfect for pulsing slowly along in the top of the water column.

After a short take and a big boil without a touch, the third bite stuck when a cast, up parallel to a rock patch on the edge of an overhanging willow tree, was halted with a crushing strike. After two strips, line instantly ripped through my fingers and we knew this one was the better class of fish we were after. There were a few tense moments as the fish found a log to sneak under, before I managed to get a thumb in the bottom jaw of a perfect river Murray cod. Stretching out to 76cm it wasn’t the biggest cod in the creek, but the quality we had come for no doubt.

The remainder of the morning followed a similar tune to the previous afternoon, with lots of portaging the kayaks, and lots of casts between inquiries. Despite the glamour weather and water conditions, the fish were clearly in a mood, when there was every indication they should be feeding well! We were able to take solace in the fact that there was at least one constant across bites — fishing slow and deep. As morning faded into afternoon, the bite did start to become a little more consistent thanks to this approach, and perhaps the fish were just starting to wake up.

We made our way into the largest pool as the afternoon crept on. With plenty of deep weed-beds, rock bars and the odd weeping willow along the banks, our energy was high. Brandan and I were now both fishing black-and-pink Mega Dobsons, deep and slow, when Brandan’s fly line snapped seriously tight. A tense tug of war ensued with the fish heading for home into the Elodea and Brandan putting his leader to the test to try and drag it back out. Eventually manpower prevailed and Brandan was standing on a nearby bank with his best cod to date, a well fed, perfectly marbled 74cm fish. At this point the day was made, and the hours spent casting in the heat had been worthwhile.

The remainder of the afternoon continued in similar fashion with another half dozen quality Murray cod coming to hand. It wasn’t without frustration though, with two rather visual demonstrations of just how many cod were sitting down deep, ogling flies without succumbing. Two separate fish both came charging from the depths chasing flies being pulled out to be re-cast, and both made their way clear of the water, porpoising like Moreton Bay longtail tuna in pursuit of flying fish. If only they could show that kind of commitment when the flies were bouncing along right in front of their faces!

HIT AND MISS

As our last morning dawned we made the run to our final location with hopes of a faster start and a few more early fish than the previous day. The fast start played out perfectly as I landed a smart little cod that smoked a Dahlberg Diver on just my second cast of the morning, while Brandan missed another fish shortly after. The action slowed quickly, however, and it was another three or four prime smaller pools later before we had any more success.

The hit and miss action turned out to be the only real constant over our three days, as we continued to leave likely water empty handed more often than not. I managed to pick up a few more fish. One more on a Waler mid water was a nice way to wrap up the trip, and Brandan landed a handful more on the black and pink Mega Dobby to round out his tally.

As is natural with the end of a trip bearing down, our conversations turned to the whys and why nots of the trip. We certainly had plenty of reasons why the fish were in such perfect condition, fit and well fed. The strong winter into spring rains had the rivers clear and flowing nicely, and there was food galore with yabbies and small baitfish evident everywhere we looked. The weather conditions also could not have been much better, with consistent temperature and low winds.

Without complaint, given we had landed some lovely cod, we noted the fishing was certainly slower than expected. The need to fish so slow and deep to tempt bites was certainly an exception to the norm in these rivers. The best reason we could come up with, was that perhaps the fish were just too well fed.

As far as excuses for not catching fish go, this felt like a pretty good one, and one that had me driving home content that the cod would remain healthy and the fishing good throughout the season. They always keep you guessing, but they are honest, and if you work hard they will reward you in kind. Just another reason to love Murray cod, even when they are moody!