We had been threatening to go for a late afternoon strayline for some months, my neighbour Phil and I, and were waiting for the right opportunity.

I had been overseas and on my return I bought a second dose of Covid with me, not to mention a broken toe, so the timing was not great. A couple of weeks ago I was finally Covid free and itching to get back out on Tackle Tester. The remnants of tropical cyclone Lola were bearing down on us and likely to put paid to a weekend excursion, so the opportunity was taken for a mid-week ’duskie’, a fish into the fading light.

My main modus operandi these days is softbaiting or working hard-bodied lures, but I had a freezer full of bait and berley that needed to be used so a strayline session it was. A strong wind out of the westerly quarter had kept the Mangawhai bar flat so there would be no issue returning in the dark.

Bream Tail offers some good, close-athand straylining options and our plan, which by now included another neighbour Chris with whom I swapped fishing trips for lawn mowings, was to anchor up ahead of the structure and fish back into it.

Phil had been banging on ad nauseam about joining the Twenty Pound Club. He had put some respectable fish on Tackle Tester’s deck in the past which were a few points shy of the magic mark. Phil is one of those anglers that has a head full of theories, most unproven. He was big on what should be done, but the ‘how-to’ bit gets lost in translation. I hate to think how many times I have shown him the FG knot – I even have a little device that makes tying them a breeze – as well as helped him with his gear. But I wouldn’t want anyone else for a neighbour as on the other side of the coin, Phil is a generous fella who has always got the back of local residents. Everyone probably knows their own version of Phil!

My mate has another trait, in that he is a tin-arse fisherman, fitting the ‘you don’t have to be good if you are lucky’ mantra to a tee. Tie his rigs for him, sort his gear and put him in the vicinity of fish and if there is a good one to be caught, it will always jump on his line, leaving Chris and I shaking our heads.

Our dusk mission played out exactly the same. We were fishing big, butterflied jack macs and slabs of English mackerel down the berley trail, the bite being far from spectacular. I would take pride in how my bait was presented, Phil not so much. As long as he got a couple of hooks somewhere in the bait he was happy. After casting out, the rod would go in the holder with the baitrunner function on.

A few nice pannies graced the icebin to see dinner sorted and a couple of bronzies offered us some excitement. The first ‘big fish’ picked up my bait and steamed off, giving a great impression of a thirty-pounder – my personal and as yet unfulfilled angling aspiration – before morphing into a kingfish and finally coming into sight through the murky water – bloody shark! Still, it had been fun while it lasted and a good test for the 10-kilo rig I was using.

We soon had another customer, this time for Phil who hung onto the hope of his 20-pound target until another taxman showed itself. The disappointment in the air was palpable – ‘kaka’ was Phil’s only reaction as he rumbled through my tackle box for another rig!

With time, tide and berley running out, we were just about to make the ‘one last cast’ call when Phil’s rod buckled over, followed by a hell strike – he was on again. ‘Another bloody shark’ was my initial thought, but to his credit, Phil was calling this one for a snapper, a stance he maintained after the fish made a number of solid runs and surges before the white of its flanks gave its identity away. The net was called for and the fish secured, Phil daring to mention the 20-pound mark. Placed on the measure board, the fish went a respectable 80.0cm. Over the years I had seen others call much shorter snapper at ‘twenty pounders, so was it or wasn’t it? Possibly? Maybe? Yeah nah?

Despite fish filling the long doublelidded ice bin, I had my doubts as it was not thick through the tail. It had the length to go the distance, but not the condition. It needed to be more in the mould of my physique than slim Phil’s one!

With the moon now high in the evening sky and the tide working against the wind, we pulled the pin and headed home to put the fish over my digital scales – but first I had to find them. The best I could come up with was a set of quality spring scales I use to set the game reel drags with.

With bated breath, we weighed and then reweighed Phil’s prize but could not get the marker to pull down beyond the 19lb line, just shy of the magic number – bugger.

Phil took it well. After the boat and gear were cleaned, we did a reweigh, the result remaining the same – close but no cigar. “We will just have to go again,” Phil grinned, “there has to be one out there with my name on it.”

Me too Phil, me too!

Tight lines