Trout Dreaming

At about 6am I could hear some voices out side my tent…

I new it wasn’t Matt, there were two reasons for this; one is I know that he doesn’t believe that trout get out of their weed beds for breakfast and so why should he get out of bed either, secondly he was snoring into his pillow dead to the world. I didn’t expect it to be Ant as along with Matt he had spent a decent part of the night telling stories and generally enjoying the campfire.

It had to be Mike and Dennis, both were new to our style of camping and considering I had all the food in my tent I decided I had better play the role of good host and encourage them to have some breakfast.

To our surprise the camp fire was still burning quiet well (I don’t think Matt and Ant had missed the suns rays by much…)

Rigging two fly rods I took Mike and Dennis for a walk down the gorge, stoping here or there to point out a good fishing spot or likely waters… Eventually we reached the waterfall a very beautiful part of the world and with the low water flow you could go right up to the edge and got a good view down to the bottom.

This done it was time to teach (Now I’m not an impatient man even if many of my friends do think I am overly generous with fouls, but I promised I would not become a teacher before I reached the age of 30, never say never)…

Instructing Mike where to stand and how to move ones arm to let the line come down I proceeded to bite my lip… and let Mike get a feel and hang of things… (As shadows swam away in all directions I kept calm and tried not to think of all the fish I could or would have caught by now)…

Occasionally I would give Mike an instruction and with Dennis supervising I would skirt off ahead and catch a fish here or there… (occasionally catching my line in the trees I encouraged Mike not to take life to seriously… bloody rosehip!)

Having moved probably 20 to 50 meters up the stream mike was getting a sore arm but he was also getting close to a good casting action (well the fly was landing where he was trying to get it to land).

Moving mike into a good position behind some shrubs, where in front of us, we could see several fish rising. I started to teach mike about line control and ensuring that the line on the water did not spook the fish and was not so much that a strike would be affected by excess line.

This mastered the fish had moved on…

10 meters on I changed tact and encouraged Dennis to come around behind Mike and me and got Mike to stand as close too on top of “a fishy piece of water” as I dared without spooking the fish… well sure enough a big fish took Mike’s fly and as he went to strike as instructed… the tippet broke (I now must admit that on several occasions when I’d fetched the line from snags I had noticed that there were several wind knots in the tippet, a Knot in the tippet should always bee tested to see whether it has damaged the lines ability to take the weight of the fish… here in this moment I admit I had been slack, as if I had correctly tested the tippet replaced the tippet and the fly (after a good deal of time…) Mike would have at least stood a chance at catching that big fish…

Replacing the tippet and the line as now was required, I apologised to Mike who was finally getting excited (I think the time it took me to rig the rod gave his arm a good rest). Within moments of handing him back his rod Mike was rewarded by a little tiddler somewhere between 10-12 cms (Which for the record he kissed!). Moving on again this time only 3-4 meters Mike again struck success and it appeared we were onto something…

Having succeeded with Mike I turned my attention to Dennis…

Whether it was that my patience was wearing thin, or that every time I yelled “STRIKE!” Dennis looked at me funny. I managed to introduce Dennis to casting and mending but not to setting the hook… Oh well.

At a long stretch I had Mike and Denis behind me catching fish or spotting them for each other, I snuck away for a cast from a little distance a head… Sure enough Dennis had spooked a fish which Mike informed me was heading my way. Casting to a feeding run just on the edge of the rapids, I watched my fly get sipped off the top of the water. Hooking up I wore a grin from side to side this was a legal fish and fighting well… the others continued to fish as I attempted to set this fish free… (He was about a ¾ to a pound and a good one person fish, but it was still several hours till dinner and I knew bigger fish lived in this stream). This was a nice intension, but as I wrestled with the hook in the fish’s mouth it became obvious that the hook was stuck, pushing it back in the direction of the barb only continued to brake the fly… great… Cutting what I could from the fish’s mouth I tried to revive the now shocked fish…

When reviving a fish there is a rule that you don’t let it go until it kicks, the reason for this is that if the fish gets knocked around by the current and can’t turn to face into current the water goes the wrong way through the fish’s gills and effectively suffocates them..(Well that’s how I understand it). The fish I was holding now seemed to pose a problem… he would kick but only one side of his body… essentially flopping over and being likely to die… well if he was going to die anyway I consoled myself I may as well take him back to camp for dinner, well pulling the fish out of the water again he kicked and sure enough with a little encouragement he swam… amusingly he swam over to Mike and sat just out of casting distance of Dennis.

It was now well past Lunch time and Mike and Dennis where both getting faint from their strenuous journey. I encouraged them to proceed back to the camp site but encouraged them both to try a few more holes as they went. Taking my time I journeyed on leisurely fishing here and there until I cam across Matt introducing Mark to a very big and productive pond (Where I had pointed out a platypus to Mike and Dennis earlier).

Making my way back to camp I was joined by a familiar figure heading down the gorge… it was Paul yet another of my friends we had invited in to join us in the hope of educating him in the art of fly-fishing. (Tired and hungry) I now returned to camp with Paul and pointed out the familiar features of this backyard.

Having spent the morning instructing Mike and Dennis I enlisted Matts expert guidance to instruct Paul as I went for some time by myself down the creek. I would not say this was overly productive or unproductive… but lets just say true to form Blue waterholes had brought me lots of fun fishing.

Saturday night was approaching fast (It’s funny how it does that), I think it was the weight of knowing that this was to be our busiest night with 8 of us at the campsite and Matt and I had promised everyone fish for dinner…

Well it may have been my last cast but why would you continue on…
It was becoming Dark…
It was almost that time that you give up and go home…

And on the end of my line was a beautiful 2 pounder.

(What a dinner guest!)

Once again when you head out into the Australian bush you can expect one of these things to be immanent…
1. You are about to tread on a highly poisons animal or be bitten/stung by one…
2. You are stuck in an inhospitable landscape with no access to the outside world…
3. You are being pestered by thousands of bush flys!

OK, so yes there were flys, and yes we were in a remote part of the world … but it is a very beautiful part of the world, and one where you can happily forget about the rest of the world.

First job was to set up camp which was done with little to no real crises (The clever crow/raven stole a loaf of bread but hey if you don’t watch’m most animals smart enough to know humans know there is always food to be had around them).

A beer and some nibblies to regain ones strength and it was time to see what damage had been done by repeat seasons of long dry spells on the clear waters of Cave creek.
Cave creek is a stream feed by an artesian spring (the snow melts and slowly travels through the limestone of Kosciusko national park and finally, after about 2 years, is released into this stream).
Now, I’ve been at blue waterholes in high flow periods, when the water rushes down from the surrounding hills and plains and makes the stream look like a roaring river… but most of the time it is a sparkling creek clearer than glass which ambles along at a leisurely pace. This is great and healthy for the fish but very hard for the fisherman who is trying to out wit the twice shy trout. Well the water level was a good half to full meter below where it would normally be. This has been the way for the past few years but each time I return I’m sure it’s falling lower…

This has changed the places that the fish like to settle… but the numbers of fish remain high (as you can see them scatter as your shadow crosses the water) and you could not say that it isn’t a healthy stream with plenty of healthy ponds, weed banks and bubbling runs.

Having explored the steam, caught one or two mid to small trout (confirming ones ability and the capability of the stream) I returned to the camp… sure enough it was dark by this time…

Catching up with Matt explaining to Mike the jist of fly-fishing.
We all returned to the camp site for tea.

Dinner turned out to be half frozen Lasagne and burnt garlic bread (What did they expect leaving me to cook)… 2 kg of prawns, cheese, olives and dips for entries, Dinner really was superfluous with red wine, beers and scotch being consumed.

Day one over and already the fish had performed a treat!