Looking back on it, I can’t help but laugh about the cast that resulted in my first barra. After sending thousands of pinpoint casts into thick timber over the week, I lobbed one as far as I could into the middle of the to clear a small birds nest. Sure enough, halfway through the retrieve a barra smacked my lure and took me on a wild ride through the shallows. I lost count of how many times I felt my braid ‘twanging’ on snags, and still can’t believe everything held tight. The moment Dad landed the fish for me remains one of the clearest memories I have. As we admired a solid barra under the glow of a full moon, I gave Dad the biggest hug and thanked him for everything he did to get me to where I was. This was just as much his fish as it was mine, and the effort that went in to it made it so much sweeter when I finally got to hold it up for a photo. I still have the leader attached to my yellow taxi lure, and often look at just how thin it wore where the gill rakers had rubbed during the fight. Sometimes I wonder ‘what if’ she’d gone for one more jump…