There's little I like more than fishing from a helicopter. The ride alone is usually thrilling enough to make the trip memorable, but as they can also land at otherwise inaccessible spots, some hot fishing is always likely.

This particular trip eventuated as a result of the Helicopter Line (now renamed Helilink) putting up a subscription prize draw. The three lucky recipients were Tony Dudley, Dave Cochrane and Martin Jack, and upon meeting them at the Helilink base, it quickly became obvious that the prize had gone to some very deserving and appreciative recipients: these guys were all super-keen anglers!

Taking us over to the productive waters surrounding Great Barrier was pilot, Steve Shaw. An enthusiastic fisher, Steve usually takes turn and turn about with fellow fisher-pilot, Lance Donnelly. It would seem their job is just about as good as mine...

I was interested to see if the helicopter storage pod would fit all our long rods, especially as one was almost eight feet long. It wasn’t a problem and, as it turned out, even longer rods can be transported by tying them to the frame.

The next step was to don inflatable buoyancy devices and go through a safety demonstration prior to climbing aboard. As the headsets went on and the chopper blades built to a fever pitch, I felt the usual tight knot of excitement in the pit of my stomach. The combination of helicopters and wilderness fishing produce powerful feelings!

A sudden increase in power saw us lifting up and charging away, the nose-down ascent feeling alien and thrilling at the same time, encouraging various muffled oaths and exclamations to echo in my headphones, no doubt accompanied by my own.

Upon reaching the desired altitude, we levelled out and meandered across some of the Gulf’s more interesting terrain, Steve providing a running commentary throughout. After passing the David and Ahaa rocks, a huge expanse of blue water faced us, the five to ten knots of wind puffing across its surface and the blazing sunshine setting the blueness alight. What a great day for a chopper excursion.

As Great Barrier loomed, the wind began to increase, slowly but steadily. By the time we got to Steve’s favourite spot (there’s some big kingies and heaps of snapper and kahawai), it had risen to over 15 knots and was blowing straight in. Bugger! It looked superb...But luckily we’re in a helicopter! Just three or four minutes saw us rounding the corner and buzzing a sheltered posse that looked almost as good. Privately, I thought, lovely place, good drop-off, no wind, little wave action, middle of the day... Very nice, but probably too nice. I doubt if we’ll catch too many fish....

Steve set us down as light as a feather. Gear was hurriedly unloaded and a couple of the guys took up Steve’s suggestion that they use the helicopter’s gear, as it is even better quality than their own. A strenuous one minute walk saw us reaching at least a hundred metres of prime ledge, the crystal-clear waters in front offering tantalising glimpses of weedy bottom and the long tendrils of kelp gently undulating in the lazy swells. Wow!

We spread ourselves along the rocks and minutes later the berley was out and starting to thaw, a thin cloud of fishy particles spreading out and slowly drifting down. Casting a monster pilchard out, I discovered that the water was far deeper than it appeared to be, and a little more optimism began to creep in. When we didn’t get a single bite after 20 minutes, it began to creep back out again. I started to worry. Would we stay late enough in the day for the snapper to eventually show? Should we be on a ledge with more whitewash and active swells?

A grunt from Tony signalled a change in our fortunes; a legal snapper coming to hand but he underarmed it back in to grow bigger. This was quickly followed by a nice trevally, and that too went back, despite my hinting about their virtues as sashimi!

In fact, I think from memory that the first three or four fish were all taken by Tony, but soon after the Martin and Dave began to catch the odd small snapper as well. Sticking to my big bait strategy denied me the smaller fish and made me nervous, but finally there were a couple of savage bites and the line began to move off steadily.

A firm strike hooked the fish and caused the rod to pulse and nod as line was hauled off the reel in short, powerful surges. I had been tricked by characters like this one before and suspected that it was big and slimy. Probably a small ray or big eel. After a torrid three or four minute battle, seven or eight kilos of conger eel was wrestled to the ledge and released.

Then the kahawai came. Big and powerful, we all had a ball with these fish, some of them weighing well over 3kg. In between these hard fighting sportfish, we hooked other things, a couple of which were so big that we could only hang on and hope. Both battles unfortunately ended in broken lines. I suspect big snapper or trevally.

In addition, we caught a few snapper to 2.5kg, most of which were returned. One luckless individual was rather ill as a result, able only to flap around feebly on the surface and make us feel guilty. A table-top-sized swirl beneath it signalled the arrival of something very big. “Kingie!” I yelled, hopefully.

“Yep”, came the reply, “and they’re bloody big!” Big was right. There were at least six or seven of them and none were under 18kg, while the biggest was knocking on 30kg plus. Milling about in the clear water under the stricken snapper, they made a memorable sight.

I had rigged a popper outfit in preparation for just such an event. “Watch this!” I yelled, “This'll be good!” (I sometimes wish I’d say things a little more quietly and less confidently). A quick cast followed by frantic handle cranking had the Cotton Cordell popper skittering and splashing across the surface. I watched the erratic retrieve with quiet confidence...Nothing happened. One of the guys cast a big pilchard out and instantly hooked up and almost as quickly busted off. Jeez, that fish was hungry, pity he didn’t see my popper. This time! I cast the popper out once more and whisked it back in. Nothing! Another pilchard was cast and instantly gobbled, Martin hooting with excitement and racing off around the corner as he chased the rapidly departing fish.

Feverishly, I removed the lure and replaced it with a hook. As the pilchard went on, another shout of jubilation rang out and the sound of rapidly unloading line filled the air. Continued swirls beneath our little snapper indicated other keen pillie eaters waiting their turn and there were some anxious moments as the big fish swirled and chased our retrieved pilchards back in, sometimes nudging and nipping them curiously. It was fantastic to see them so close and in such clear conditions.

After a couple of false alarms, a fish of over 20kg opened his mouth and in slow motion sucked my bait in. Lifting the rod, I had solid weight for three or four seconds before the fish hit the afterburners and was off, charging along the same exit route as Martin’s. By scrambling over the uneven rocks as fast as I could, and then leaping over a narrow gut, I kept in reasonably close contact with the powerfully running fish but got a little puffed. At least my fish was heading out to open water.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Martin reeling in limp line once more. My own fish stopped looking so good when it abruptly turned and raced back along to where we’d just come from. Still panting from the first mad dash, I was a little slower on the return trip and was punished for my sins by the feeling of grating line transmitting up to my rod tip. Rocked.

Line continued to leave my spool in juddering bursts, but I was in damage control mode now, the reel out of gear and my thumb lightly controlling the spool. Slowly everything got more and more stuck and I waited for the inevitable bust-off. I hadn’t figured on the Suffix Synergy line I was testing, however. Lab tests have shown this line to be amazingly tough, and despite being only 8.6kg, it survived this situation for six or seven minutes, the fish proving its continued presence by making the very occasional two or three metre run. Finally, the slender strand of tattered nylon could take no more and surrendered to the jagged bottom. The kingfish swam free.

But that wasn’t the end. We continued to have sporadic raids from members of the yellowtailed hoodlum group, and a couple more were eventually hooked. Limited to heavy snapper gear in the rugged territory, the odds continued to be against us from the start and not a single one was landed.

During this time we encountered another hard-to-ignore visitor: a mammoth stingray. Drawn by the scent from the berley trail, it patrolled the shallows in front of us constantly, terrorising the small fish in the berley trail and making the 15kg eagle ray also present seem like a Dinky toy. The big stinger was fully six feet from one wing tip to the other, an impressive sight.

As the berley began to peter out, the fishing began to fade too, but a big kingfish gave us a memorable curtain call when it cornered some potential food hard against the rocks close by. Showing great enthusiasm, it chased the quarry in huge watery explosions of foam. It was just like watching a succession of depth charges going off.

As the session drew to a close, Tony proved charitable by offering up one of two good-sized yellowtail mackerel he’d managed to catch. Putting an 8/0 hook up through the head, I sent the still-twitching form out into the green-blue depths and let it sink slowly down. The first two casts resulted in nothing and I was starting to think about returning to pillies, when there were several hard bumps and line began to stream steadily from my spool. Engaging the reel, I leaned back and set the hook, the resultant hook-up causing my rod to buckle hard over and thump steadily, big snapper! Just as I felt elation rising to my lips, the rod tip sprang back and before my disbelieving eyes, I saw the huge coppery form of a monster snapper flashing through the clumps of thick weed in front and back down into the safety of deeper water. The hook had simply pulled out. Dang!

By now we were enjoying ourselves so much that Steve allowed us an extra hour and that wasn’t the only thing we were thankful to him for. Throughout our time on the ledge, he looked after us really well, offering to gaff our fish when necessary, and quickly gutting, gilling and storing on ice, all fish that were to be eaten.

All too soon it was time to go home. With a truly great afternoon already enjoyed by all and another neat trip to look forward to on our way home, the broad smiles and enthusiastic thumbs-up given me by the guys in front of the Helilink helicopter said it all.