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!

OK, this is just a short entry and that is because there is little to convey.

A 2-3 hour drive for a fishing trip becomes restless especially when you see small streams and wonder whether they have fish in them... up this far…

Well the Murrumbidgee is known to hold fish and although we had never tried to catch a fish there before we thought we would give it a go… (the waters are dark, stained as it drains the long plain).

Now Matt and I are both keen fly fishermen, but matt is much better when it comes to tying knots and putting his rod together, so with Ant and Chirs in step matt started fishing up stream. I stayed swatting flys out of my face, and finally getting my act in gear, was left to the big still pond closest to the car… Dull still water (Much more like lake fishing than stream fishing)…
Any way having taken my time I started to move slowly up stream as matt came down complaining of not even a bite…
(As disappointed as matt was he told me he had seen a fish rise and asked me if I wanted him to show me where.. of course I obliged him) while we stood there discussing where the fish was probably feeding and where best to cast sure enough the fish broke the water’s surface. Casting slightly in front of this rapidly spreading ring and in line with the movement of water I place my dry fly, dropping it gently onto the water’s surface. Turning to mat I smiled and sure enough BanG! That fish rose hit the fly and took my strike to secure the hook!

A shortish battle and a little bit of playing and I had a beautiful one pound rainbow, unhooked, weighed and returned to the stream… I love this buz…

Well I get itchy now and then...

My work colleagues start muttering "Is he on holidays again?"

It's not that I dislike work, or that I can’t stand still for more than a blink of an eye...(this one is maybe true).
I just have this need to travel, add to this a love of fly fishing and you have an unhealthy and at times expensive habit.

So At 3 am on Friday the 16th I caught my taxi to the airport and headed to Canberra.
Now some back details about me and Canberra...

Canberra may be the nation’s capital but it is also a massive back water...
For 10 years I treaded water getting a degree or two and trying my hand at policy writing.
I was Engaged and almost married...
I was born there and lived there till I was 5...

In truth I've probably spent a very large percentage of my life in the wind chill of those spectacular Brindabella’s...(Mountain range just to the west of Canberra). The combination of Friends and near family made it very painful to visit for the first few years when I'd moved to Brisbane, as my heart would swell and I would want them all to know just how much I missed and loved them.

The Roads in Canberra are also part of what I miss (imagine, if you can, big wide roads which are only busy during the public service push to and from work) great for Motorbikes and pushbikes alike.

OK, finally the thing that Canberra is great for is that it’s only a few hours away from my beloved Blue Waterholes...
Now blue waterholes is not mine, in fact it's part of Kosciusko national park, but it is where I first learned to fly fish and having been there on and off for the past 10 years she is like a first love with every curve and bend forever etched into my mind.

Having been keen to share my love for this place, fly fishing, and my friends... I invited several friends to come with me.
Now although I could say that I invited Matt the truth of the matter would be that I prompted matt to attend.

Some back ground to Matt:

Matt is a pure hearted man... (His morals have always made me feel guilty)
He's a hairy bald man... (I think he was born this way, but I'm scared to ask)
I shared a group house with Matt and Andrew for somewhere between 2001 and 2004.
He taught me to fly fish...
And ultimately he loves Blue Waterholes more than I do.

So earlier in the year I had booked Matt in to make this fishing trip... and like clock work matt had made arrangements and provided the equipment, maps, directions and useful addvice to all that would attend.

Another fact about camping with matt is his family traditions...
When matt and his family go fishing it is in a luxurious fashion...
You will not go hungry (I'm yet to go on a camp with matt where we did not have many leftovers on the return to Canberra). Add to this the cheese and biscuits, the dips the olives the sun dried tomatoes, the red wine the beers the scotch the world famous flame grilled BBQ Pork Ribs!

Sure as night follows day and day follows night matt picked me up from the Airport and we made our way to his parents house. Now Max and Gill are Matts parents and on occasion they would join us at blue waterholes unfortunately the latest health changes has meant that they don't get away that often these days and so after a brief chat... some hap hazard packing of cars matt and I stole there near new 4 wheel drive.

Having obtained vehicles and supplies we made our way south to Cooma...

Some shuffling and swapping of drivers occurred as we meet with Ant and his father took on more supplies and luggage and continued.

Cooma's claim to fame is being the "Gate Way to the Snowy Mountains" as spelled out in 'A river somewhere' any place that claims to be a gateway is in itself nowhere...
This said Cooma has a beautiful tree filled park which is always a great place to stop for lunch or just a toilet break.
Another feature of Cooma is that on its outskirts is the Alpine Angler... a fishing shop so close to the waters that the blokes that work there can always tell you what's happening on the waters and which flies will cause a rise.

OK so I'm starting to use fishing terminology ... I'll leave this to the next blog.

After the AA you turn off the alpine hiway and head inland through Adaminaby (A town of some 101 buildings which where moved brick by brick to create Lake Eukenby as part of the Snowy Hydro scheme). This is the home of the Big Trout and at 10 meters tall it is a spectacular fish which shines like those gems of the streams.

Having passed Adaminaby we journey on towards Tumut, never to reach Tumut we turn off the sealed roads and head along the gravel road of the Long plain...

Long plain is a stretch of spectacular natural grass lands home to the Wild Brumbies, rabbits, hares, and Wombats.
The plain seems to stretch on and on... it is rather spectacular and you really get an idea why it was seen as a great place to graze cattle in the summer... At this time of year the fields are full of wild flowers and flowing streams.

Stopping off at the Murrumbidgee as we entered long plain it wasn't long before we were fishing... (Again wait for the next blog).

OK enough already.... When it comes to camping by the river it's hard to beat matt's favourite camp site... yes it does involve lugging equipment up and down a hillside but it is cool in the day and warm at night this is the beauty of camping beside the crystal clear waters of Cave Creek.

Cave Creek is artigen water which takes some where between 2 and 1000 years to slowly filter through the surrounding limestone and just appears at the mouth of the many caves in this area. The water is somewhere between 6-9 degrees year round which is superb for the cold water loving trout that call these waters home and is a great place to keep the beers chilled.

The wild life here is both beautiful and cheeky... turn your back on the ravens and they’ll be eating their way through un attended food supplies...

Watch your sausages or the Kookaburras will have them knocked out before you can say "Lett'm cook you mug!"

The Robbins swallows, and wag tails will sing and dance, the water dragons, blue tongs, skinks and shale back lizards will make you hesitate in question as to what that flash of scales was. And when you come across a Black snake your heart will race in some confusion of what the devil he was doing there waiting for you on the path!

My favourite things to watch when not fishing is the trunks of the Alpine Gums as they change from silver to copper to bronze then finally to gold and then back to green...

Some where between the Snow Gums, the perfect blue heavens and the Canyon with it's waterfall lies a place special to my heart and soul... this place is Blue waterholes