“Right over there are the squid grounds. Down there in the mangroves are three different creek entrances with good snags everywhere. It’s 25 minutes to the bar if I want to go outside and pick up a snapper or a pearlie. This is a lure fisherman’s paradise.”
I’m sitting at the surfboard bar on Phippsy’s back deck, looking out across the Great Sandy Straits between rain squalls, watching the tide on the make, shooting the breeze about old mates, old times, and, of course, the virtues of the salty life. And few people know more about that than Andy Phipps, surfer, fisherman, musician, teacher, chef and reality TV star since before it had a name.
Phippsy returns from the kitchen with cold drinks and relaunches: “I’ve still got plenty of marks out there from when I used to run out of Noosa, and of course all the way up Fraser. And the inside of Fraser is great for big flathead – you can see them in the shallows – and bream and even the odd barra. It’s really good fishing, but like most places, not all the time.”
I want to talk about him – and Phippsy is definitely not averse to that – but the old fishing guide in him has been unleashed and he will not rest until I know all there is to know about fishing his backyard at Poona on the Fraser Coast. This is what Andy Phipps is famous for – boundless and infectious enthusiasm, delivered with a warm wit – and it is what made him a TV star and a successful fishing guide, including nearly a quarter century on the Noosa River.
Originally from Sydney, Phippsy washed up in Noosa in the 1980s as a young surfer and trained chef, at a time when Noosa’s restaurant scene was starting to gain momentum, and practically every surf bum in town reckoned he knew how to batter a flathead. Phippsy was different. He actually knew his stuff, plus he’d taught hospitality at the TAFE and could train juniors. And he was big, brash and confident. He knew how to charm them front of house.
More than that, he quickly became known around town for his big heart, compering fundraisers and lending a hand wherever it was needed. Later, when he established Phippsy’s Smooth Water Charters, he extended that helping hand to boaties who got themselves in trouble in the mangroves or on a draining sand bar. But his time on the Noosa River also showed him its problems.
He says: “I believe we could be doing a lot more for the health of the river. I know there’s a new advisory committee, and that’s long overdue. The river runs from fresh water into brackish, then into salt, through lakes, so it’s a natural ecosystem, a filtration system. But unfortunately we’re loving it to death. I’ve often said that pollution is killing the river and people tell me no, it’s got an A-grade rating. But those people aren’t seeing the stuff I’ve seen – the houseboats pouring raw sewage into it, the beautiful canal-side lawns of Noosa Waters, with the fertiliser ending up in the river, the acid sulphate running into the river from where they extracted the wallum to build houses. But it gets good rainfall and it’s a river that can flush and recover if some controls are put in place. We need that river, for tourists and for locals.”
In the mid-1990s, Phippsy fell into the career for which he is best remembered – producing and presenting hundreds of segments for outdoors lifestyle programs like Hooked On Water and Getaway (always featuring Phippsy coaxing a giant fish on board and then cooking it in exotic sauces at the barbeque) while presenting the weekend boating, fishing and surfing reports on Channel Nine. Rex Hunt might have found fame with the fish kiss, but Phippsy was ubiquitious. He says he did more than 800 segments for Nine.
Strangely enough, I notice that while we are talking story on the deck of his comfortable waterfront bungalow at Poona, inside on the big screen beautiful women in tiny bikinis are hauling in the big pelagics under an impossibly blue tropic sky. “That’s the new wave of fishing presenters,” says Phippsy. “How do you compete with that! They’re freakin’ supermodels.”
We watch disdainfully, shaking our heads, for 15 minutes or so before resuming the interview. He says: “I basically created the whole backyard barbeque cooking segment, but I’m a bit of a dinosaur and I’ve become obsolete with the new technology. I look at some of the new stuff and just think, I did that 25 years ago. But it’s good for people to see what you can do with a boat, a camera and a bit of wanderlust.” (And if you want a reprise of what Phippsy did, check out his Youtube channel.)
In the new century Phippsy continued his career as the face of fishing, while opening restaurants, publishing three hugely successful fish cook books and hosting at fishing events and boating expos (which he still does today, with the Boyne Tannum Hookup coming up next month), but family took precedence as he and wife Carine watched their two kids, Shane and Tash, grow. Then tragically, a decade ago, Andy lost his beloved Carine to cancer. He raised two teenagers as a single parent, but credits Carine with providing the foundations. “They’ve grown into wonderful adults and it’s all down to her influence,” he says with a catch in his voice.
When the kids were small, Phippsy and Carine were exploring along the Fraser Coast one day about 20 years ago. Driving along the front at the quiet fishing village of Poona, they noticed a fishing shack on a wide, flat block with trees either side, a mooring out front and an unhindered view to Fraser Island and the Wide Bay Bar beyond. Phippsy struck up a conversation with the elderly owner, they sealed the deal with an eyeballing and one of Andy’s famously firm handshakes, and three weeks later the property was theirs.
He says: “We always planned to come up here for our twilight years and grow our own food and live off the ocean. Sadly, that didn’t happen, but here I am, living a kind of Utopian existence with the boat moored out front, catching dinner every day. I’m happy with one or two fish in a session these days.”
Now in his 60s with old football injuries, a broken shoulder and three replacement hips drawing the curtain on his surfing life a couple of years back, Phippsy built his Poona twilight cottage looking out across the water, and planted gardens all around it. Then, in December last year, storms and an unprecedented tidal surge ripped through the block and destroyed the garden and the landscaping. Since then he’s built the “Great Wall of Poona” to keep out the elements and the gardens are starting to thrive again.
His days are built around dawn and dusk fishing sessions, with some gardening and a nanna nap in between. It’s a quiet life, but he always has projects on the go, and he’s been building a house in Noosa for his mum, so that keeps him in touch with local mates. And when the waves are running, he still gets down to the points for a look.
He says: “I still love Noosa and its special feel. I don’t know if it’s an Indigenous presence that you feel, but for me it’s very real. I feel the same thing at Angourie. Poona is pretty special in its own way too. In the time we’ve been sitting here, you can see the tide starting to make and it’s moving quickly now. If you’re on the water you have to be diligent with the tides or get stuck in the mangrove mud. That makes you more aware of the changing moods of the water. It makes you one with the elements.”
