On this episode we're picking up the action from a day that already didn't feel real. If you caught the previous episode, you'll know I spent the morning throwing soft plastics around the river and landed a fish of a lifetime — a massive dusky flathead nudging 88 centimetres. But the day wasn't over yet. After releasing that fish, the plan was simple: head into the bank, cook up a lunchtime feast with the smaller flathead I'd kept earlier, and soak up what had been an unbelievable morning.
That was the plan. But as I stood there on the bank flipping fresh fish, looking out over the water, one thought kept nagging at me: if a flathead that big is biting, everything must be biting. So lunch turned into a quick lunch, and the afternoon turned into one more session — chasing a species that has eluded me for a very, very long time. And this time... well. There's big head shakes in this story. Let's start with the food.
Quick Links
The Catch and Cook: Fresh Flathead Rolls
I love doing a cook-up on the bank, and I try to do it everywhere I go. It breaks up the fishing, and it's a really cool way to eat healthy and eat fresh. And fresh it doesn't get better than this — a flathead caught that very morning, filleted, skinned and kept cold on ice in the Dometic.
Today's recipe is pinched (with a twist) from a restaurant meal I had recently: a fresh prawn roll on a brioche bun with cos lettuce, avocado, lime and Kewpie mayo. I loved it, and I thought: why couldn't we do that with fresh fish? So, this is my version. A fresh flathead roll. Disclaimer, as always: I'm not a chef, you know that by now. But I love cooking, and the more you cook, the better you get at it.
What You Need (serves 2–3 from one flathead)
How It Comes Together
First things first, get the heat on. While the pan warms up, dice the flathead into really small chunks. This isn't a fish burger with one big fillet, the idea is tiny chunks that cook in moments and mix through everything else. Season the diced fish with salt and pepper, and into the pan it goes. It cooks quickly, and here's my first bit of advice: don't be scared of fish. People panic about cooking fish like it's chicken — it's not chicken. People eat fish raw every day; it's super normal. If your fish has been kept fresh on ice and you slightly undercook it, that's completely fine. Relax!
While that's going, prep the rest. Dice the avocado, halve the limes, and get the lettuce out of the bag. Then the most important ingredient: the chives. In my opinion, the whole flavour of this dish comes from the chives — they're the signature prawn roll ingredient, which is exactly why I'm adopting them here. Nothing fancy required: just dice them as fine as you can. A proper chef would make them look beautiful. We're everyday anglers cooking on the bank of the river we just pulled a giant flathead out of. It doesn't have to be perfect.
Now the step that turns this from "a sandwich" into a proper fish roll: don't stack the ingredients — combine them. Into the still-warm pan with the fish goes the chives, a good squeeze of lime, the diced avocado, a pinch of salt and pepper, a handful of lettuce and a generous squeeze of Kewpie. Mix it all together and you're essentially making your own creamy fish slaw: chunks of avocado, chunks of fresh flathead, crunch from the lettuce, and the mayo, lime and chives pulling it all together.
Cut your brioche rolls open, lay a lettuce leaf down as a base (it stops the bun going soggy) and pack them full. And I mean full. Jam-packed. One flathead easily made four rolls, enough for me and one very hungry cameraman to have two each.
Total cook time? Six or seven minutes, on the bank, with nothing more than a gas burner, a chopping board and a knife. You could serve that roll at a beautiful restaurant, and you've got no excuses not to try it. Cheers to everyone at home.
The Afternoon Session: One More Crack
After lunch I sat there looking at the water and couldn't help myself. Back out we went — this time fishing closer to the rocks, into magic hour, chasing the fish that's been on my list forever: an estuary mulloway.
The Location and Timing: Why Magic Hour on the Rock Wall
Late afternoon into dusk is prime time on a rock wall, and there's a simple theory behind it. During the bright middle of the day, the better fish tuck in tight to the wall — they want the shade and protection. But as the light drops, they come out off the wall. They don't need the protection from the sun anymore, and they start hunting as we come into that darker period. Mulloway, big flathead, giant trevally, big tailor — magic hour is when the rock wall wakes up.
Now, that is the theory — and I'll be straight with you, because this species has humbled me plenty: you might spend ten sessions out here and not catch one, or you might come out and catch five. Mulloway are famous for making liars out of everyone. The only guarantee is that you can't catch one with your lure in the boat. You've just got to keep putting casts in.
The Theory: Treat the Rock Wall Like a Highway
This is the single most useful way I can describe fishing a rock wall, so here it is: I treat rock walls like a big highway. Fish swim up and down along it — it usually leads out to the ocean at one end and right up the system at the other — and the lane they travel in is the seam where the rocks meet the sand. That seam is everything.
So, the target zone for every cast is a strip about three metres off the wall. Land too close and you'll just get snagged in the rocks. Land too far out and you're missing that prime zone — the sweet spot between rock and sand where every travelling fish has to pass. Long cast parallel-ish to the wall, let the lure sink all the way down, and make sure you're in contact with the bottom, because that's where the mulloway are cruising.
The Tackle and Rigs
The outfit was the same estuary spinning rod and reel from the morning session — nothing specialised, which is exactly the point of this series. The business end is where it gets interesting.
I fished a soft plastic jerk bait profile that looks like a little squid (you can see the tentacles on it) rigged on the new BKK Hyperlatch jig head, a half ounce with a 5/0 hook. Two things make this combination work off the rocks.
First, the hook exposure on these jig heads is fantastic. When you push the plastic all the way up the long shank, the point sits proud and clear of the body, so when a fish eats it (even half-heartedly) that point finds its mark. The design has a long, nearly straight shank with a sharp angle that latches into the corner of the jaw, and once it's in, it is in.
Second, strength. A rock wall mulloway will drag you towards the rocks, and it's a heavy, head-shaking fish. You need a jig head that won't bend and a hook that holds through a long fight. When I finally landed my fish, that Hyperlatch was properly latched in the corner of the jaw — that fish was never coming off. The only way I was losing it was getting rocked.
The retrieve: cast into the zone, let it sink to the bottom, then work it back with a double hop — two sharp lifts of the rod tip, then let it flutter back down and touch bottom again. The double hop works really well with soft plastics along walls, and a simple slow lift is the other retrieve worth cycling through. Change your retrieve regularly until something works... and always, always stay near the bottom.
The Moment: "This Is What I've Been Chasing"
I was literally mid-cook-up when I made the call to go back out, and within the first drift the rod loaded up with big, slow head shakes. There is nothing in the estuary that shakes its head like a mulloway. Drag loosened, deep breaths, and a few minutes later the afternoon light hit a bar of pure chrome silver beside the boat.
An estuary mulloway. A fish that has eluded me for years, eaten a squid plastic three metres off the rock wall, exactly where the theory said it would be. My reaction on camera is not what you'd call composed, and I make no apologies for it.
This one was what I'd call a schoolie — and that's worth explaining. Mulloway are the king of the estuary. They grow properly massive, 40-plus kilos, and down here in southern estuaries almost nothing threatens a good one other than maybe a bull shark. The size I caught schools up along these rock walls in numbers of a morning and afternoon, which means where you catch one, there are usually more. Look at one up close and you'll never forget it: brilliant silver flanks, that distinctive lateral line running down the side, and in the afternoon light they glow. The kissing cousin of the silver mulloway, the black jewfish, takes over up in Queensland waters — but down here, this is the crown jewel.
Some days fishing just baffles me. A giant flathead before lunch, fresh fish rolls on the bank, and the fish of a thousand casts before dark. That is a proper end to a great day.
Tips and Tricks
Fish when the fish tell you to. The biggest clue of this whole day: when an unusually big fish bites, don't pack up — the conditions that switched that fish on have switched them all on. Best bite windows are rarely convenient.
Keep a feed, release the breeders. The smaller flathead fed three people; the giant breeding female swam off to keep the fishery alive. That balance is the whole game.
Cook simple, cook fresh. Four ingredients, seven minutes, one burner. Fresh fish needs almost nothing — lime, mayo, herbs, done. And one modest fish stretches a long way when you pack the dish out with avocado and lettuce.
Cast into the seam, every time. Three metres off the wall, on the bottom, where rock meets sand. Discipline with your casting lane matters more than lure choice.
Cycle your retrieves. Double hop, slow lift, pause. On tough species like mulloway, the retrieve change is often the trigger.
Persistence is the technique. Ten fishless sessions or five fish in a night — mulloway don't do averages. The anglers who catch them are simply the ones still casting.
About the author
Jono Bleakley
Jono Bleakley is a mad-keen fisho with a serious passion for all things outdoors. From rock walls and estuaries to the big blue, he’s spent years chasing Aussie species and picked up plenty of handy knowledge along the way. With a knack for breaking things down simply, Jono is all about helping everyday anglers build confidence, learn new techniques and have more fun on the water.
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