Author Archives: iheartthefly

About iheartthefly

iheartthefly is where you come to fullfil your cravings of all things fly fishing. We live it, we breathe it. We love the outdoors, the landscapes, we wade in the rivers, we float on the oceans. From the wilderness to the insects I immerse myself during every spare moment into the art and culture of fly fishing, and that is why I heart the fly.

Choice As Bro – New Zealand

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Leave passes – Every angler with a better half needs them. Sometimes the passes are abused, sometimes the passes are few and far between and other times they are saved up and banked into a special account titled “HELL YES MOTHER-FLIPPING NEW ZEALAND”. Well that is what mine was called anyway…

More than six months in the making and I had a dose of the-day-before-I-leave jitters. Not in the sense that I was nervous or scared or anything, I was just amped to be heading into the unknown, where stories of giant trout have taunted my dreams and crystal clear water had adorned hundreds of pages of literature I’ve read over the years, firmly embedded into my cranium. I was at my workplace and I received a call from my manager that I will never forget. “We need to see you at 3:30pm….”. Had I done something wrong? No. Had I shagged the bosses wife? Hell no. Did they make me redundant on the spot? Yes they did. Times are tough, money is hard, here’s your bloody farewell card.

With the support of my amazing wife Ami and her persistent encouragement to plough on with the journey, I did indeed commit to the mission and flew to NZ that next day. On the plane, I sat next to a lass from the UK who was embarking on some sort of population forecasting role with NZ Government, consisting of employment rates and the economy and then the whole conversation morphed into a blur of contrast between our lives, our direction and our passion for completely different elements of life. Pretty sure she farted at some stage too.

After a quick overnight stay in Auckland I ran into a couple of dodgy looking Aussies at the domestic airport – It was my travelling companions Paul and Shaun. Seems they had taken a ‘long cut’ and instead of flying from Nelson-Wellington-Taupo they had to fly to Auckland as some crazy guy on helium tried to blow himself up. Actually that story is incorrect, I just thought that whole helium scenario sounded cool. They took me by surprise as I wasn’t meant to be seeing them for a few hours in Taupo. This gave us time to have a yarn and they easily whet my appetite with stories of rewarding fishing on their few days on the South Island with Mike Kirkpatrick from Latitude Guiding.

Image: Paul Anderson

Image: Paul Anderson

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Image: Paul Anderson

The boys stuffed their faces and we all boarded the 12 seat crop-duster bound for Taupo. I think this is where you are supposed to have already organised your hire car. At this point we stood around waiting to bargain with someone over some old beast that could lug our sorry arses around for a couple of weeks but there was no-one to talk to! A quick taxi ride into Taupo saw us sneaking around hire-car yards eyeing off potential candidates but being a Sunday, hardly anything was open. We had to settle for a more expensive but reliable option and set off in our jam-packed Corolla. *Tip: Book beforehand.

Around 40 minutes later we arrived at what would be our base camp – The Turangi Bridge Motel. Situated in the township of Turangi and right on the door-step of the world famous Tongariro River. (Highly recommended – Great service, great meals!). After Paul introduced us to the friendly Kent that runs the place, we quickly rigged up to explore some water a short drive downstream. Paul had been here a few times before so was quite familiar with a few pools but it seems flooding had changed the river dramatically, turning braided runs into channels and where machinery had shaped the river too. Still, Shaun and myself were wide-eyed and soaking up as much of this waterway as possible. We spotted a few fish but mostly under the cover of thick willows. Shaun and myself sighted two fish on a snaggy bend and one fish in particular was sitting high in the water column, just hanging for a dagwood. With the sound of cicadas filling the air, my line was already attached to a small commercially tied pattern so that it what I threw. After covering the fish a few times, it was clear that it my offering was not sufficient. I clipped it off and tried a small black spinner as we had seen a few earlier – This also drew no response. I went smaller again and tried a CDC caddis but… nothing. Oh well instead of going smaller I’ll go bigger! I tied on a gnarly size 8-ish black foam cicada pattern that I tied back at home – It was far from pretty but it was big and buggy looking and had legs. The first cast with this thing a metre in front of the fish and he spotted it (how could it not!), that’s when I realised that this fish was deeper that the clear water made me think, and that the fish was probably over 5lb. It rose from a couple of feet to wrap its big buck jaws around my fly. After seeing numerous films on New Zealand fly fishing and the emphasis on waiting, not to mention my striking-too-early spell, I did just that, waited. Probably enough time for me to mutter to myself “He took my manky home-made” and then I lifted. Not only was there nothing-ness but I actually saw my fly slide out of the gap in this fish’s jaws!! Missed it!! As you do when you miss a fish a instinctively threw my fly back out so as not to get hooked up behind me and subsequently spooked the fish. I was disappointed but far from gutted – It was awesome to see that take and this spurred me on for more. Just around the bend Pauly hooked onto a little one and by this stage we had to pack up shop and leg it back to our car.

We finally unpacked our gear and made a bee-line directly for the lodge for a beer or twelve. Who should we see plonked up at the bar but one Mike Hughes (Tongariro Fishing Guide). Paul had experienced some amazing fishing with Mike in the past and as the area was generally fishing tough due to the lack of rain, Mike was only too happy to share some info about spots and flies. If that wasn’t generous enough, Mike escorted us the next day to a productive stretch on the Tongariro and told us the best spot to cross. What a nice bloke!

Keen to get something on the board we carefully crossed a dicey section to access the sweet spot. It was a nice open section that gave Shaun and myself a good chance to flip a few bombs around. Before long, Shauno hooked his first North Island fish – A nice little rainbow. I followed suit soon after further up!

Before long the drizzle had turned into pelting with rain – It wasn’t really what I had dreamt of but with the amazing clarity in the rivers over here, you could still polaroid quite effectively. Pauly eyed off a couple of fish in a tasty looking run and basically threw the whole box at them. I tried my luck and was reject too. When times are tough, you have no option but to either throw the old rock fly or a stinkin’ old glow bug. The fish finally spotted the glowing yarn of doom and accepted!

We encountered a few tough fish along the way, some appeared to be feeding and others were not doing a thing. Pauly was doing a marvellous job at hooking random items in the water, including stocks and logs. In a run further up we were just about to pack up shop but I spotted a small fish slashing on the edge. I cast in the vicinity and had a very small fish attempt to take my chunky foam fly three or four times before it gave up. I continued to search the area while perched up on a big rock and eventually launched out a long cast straight into the honey hole. A nice fish grabbed the dry and I’m onto my first NZ fish on dry! Getting fish to eat the dry in the Tongariro region seemed to be the exception rather than the norm, so most of the time we persisted with indicator nymphing. I’d never done it this heavy and on this scale but one tool that simplified the process was the Strike Indicator Tool. It was a no-brainer for tying on new yarn or changing the depth of your nypmhs. Anyone thinking of fishing heavy bombs in NZ or indeed anywhere in the world should invest in this sweet little innnovation. Click the video for more!

After a bite to eat we headed to the Bridge Pool and some runs not far away to see out the day before settling into some NZ brews. Well, that was the plan for me and Shaun – Paul isn’t really into beer. What a weirdo. Our staple beer for the trip seemed to be Macs Gold – It was easy to drink, tasty and refreshing and we could buy it from the local supermarket. Kent sold it at the lodge for a bargain rate too!

Most mornings were spent grabbing a choice-as brew from a coffee van that pulls up in the lodge car park each morning. She was a top bird and handled a good stir from us Aussie yobbos at regular intervals. We would then polaroid a few fish from the highway bridge before trying to catch them. This was to be my curse. Despite my best efforts over the trip, I couldn’t seem to hook a fish at the bridge pool. Pauly was smacking them, Shauno was molesting them and I could barely flirt with them. The more I became frustrated, the more my casting action fell from mediocre to abysmal. The more crap my casting became, the more I thought… shit, I have to find a job when I get back home. Funny how negativity spawns more negativity. It was awesome to see the boys towel a few up here though, especially Shauno who quickly named a small shallow run after himself and cursed anyone who dared to set foot in the place. In a desperate time of need I snuck into Shauno’s run while he slept in one morning and whimpered away with my tail between my legs. Pretty sure Shauno caught one after I’d been there. Bastard!

The Back Country

We had been looking forward to our chopper mission into the wilderness. We hooked up with a crowd called Heli-Sika who dropped us to a remote river, chartered our gear further upstream to a hut and would then collect us further upstream the following day at a pre-arranged rendezvous point on the river. It was pretty wild in the chopper as the wind was howling through the endless valleys. The fishing opportunities must also be infinite around here! When they dropped us off, I couldn’t help but feel a little at home with a variety of beech trees bearing a striking resemblance to our myrtles back home. One species in particular must be very closely related.

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It didn’t take us long to rig up and make our way into the crystal clear water and Pauly soon spotted one. This would be the first of several fish behaving badly – Some would ignore everything and others were quite happy to take the fly. In any case, it was an amazing location and we encountered a few fish in the 8lb range that we couldn’t get a fly to due to the vertical cliff faces with dense rainforest from which we spotted them!

A Paul Anderson Image

A Paul Anderson Image

Can you spot the fish?

Can you spot the fish?

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A Paul Anderson image

A Paul Anderson image

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It seems so long ago now but we all managed a few good fish in the 2-4lb mark and Shauno was on fire with lots of fish coming to hand. Paul managed to tempt a couple of fish that would have been over 5lb and displayed amazing colours. One fish in particular came to hand as we could almost hear the echoes of the chopper on its way to collect us – Good timing Paulos! The lads were towelling them up using their Tonic Eyewear and after trying them on, I was very impressed. My personal highlight was just being in this amazing location, days’ walk from anywhere and surrounded by true beauty. Snaring some great fish was a bonus and the whole mission was my favourite aspect to our NZ mission. We certainly didn’t encounter huge numbers of fish out the back but the quality of these rainbows was more than sufficient. We were told that monster browns lurk in the right locations but we didn’t see any. Both dries and nymphs scored fish fairly evenly between them but landing a couple on my home-tied dries was satisfying!

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A Paul Anderson image

A Paul Anderson image

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A Paul Anderson image

A Paul Anderson image

Below is a larger gallery of the Backcounty journey… too many to choose from!

Of course after returning from such an epic journey, all we wanted to do was get drunk and find a titty bar or something. We didn’t do that, but it sounded tough. Instead we opted for some dirty take-away on the way home at some ridiculous hour and managed to slide a beer or two in before falling in a heap for many hours.

You would think that we might go and check out some hot springs or do some general sightseeing by this stage but no, we just went fishing instead. We weren’t exactly here to procreate with arachnids or skinny dip in the warmest water you could find – I’ve seen Paul’s man-back and it aint my cup of coffee! We kept ploughing away on the big T river and checked out some rivers during spells of enthusiasm. One such river was a full days’ mission and we snuck off, keen as ever. It was kind of back country, but also quite accessible for those who know how to get there. We stomped off downstream to walk as far as we could to then fish our way back before dark. There was some very cool fishing here and most of our fish came to dries but we still encountered tricky fish that would only eat the nymph and sometimes after many presentations. At one stage, I gave up on a school of 7 or 8 fish only to have Shauno come through and catch two of them in quick succession – The kid has gills.

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We all scored a few fish and spent around 4o minutes trying to tempt a really great fish on the edge of the main flow. This fish was probably between 8-10lb and has become way bigger with every person I tell! Paul reckons it ate my fly at one stage but I’m a stubborn bastard and refuse to admit it. I managed to catch one fish that took me into the backing twice and I thought it must have been huge, only to learn that I foul hooked the thing, still fun though! We finally encountered a couple of browns paired up and Paul converted his target. Shaun had a crack at the next one and got it to eat after a few attempts. He played it well but the fish busted him off, only to jump clear out of the water 2 or 3 times trying to throw the hook. It was pretty cool to watch and I think Paul filmed that bit. It’s in the film I’ll embed below.

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a Paul Anderson image

a Paul Anderson image

On the way back to the car it was starting to get dark but we couldn’t resist smacking a few pools, it would be a crying shame to leave them out. Paul blamed the fading light but I reckon it was his casting that caused this…

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The next day we fished a very low ‘TT’ River – It needed rain but it was beautifully clear and a pleasure to fish. Some sections were far to low to hold fish but due to the masses  of water that often rush through here, holding water was a plenty and that holding water is what we aimed for. We caught a few fish here and there but it was pretty tough going and the fish were exceptionally spooky. Not helped by the fact that we encountered a family swimming, some rafters coming downstream and a guy who’d been fishing upstream of us all day. Still, I was happy to get a couple more on Stu’s Deadly Cicada which along with my own patterns, had been pretty good to me.

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They say all good things come to an end but I wasn’t too deterred, we had experienced some unreal fishing in tough conditions and the scenery was to die for. The people were friendly, the country has their act together in terms of their fishery, their tourism and their amazing environment. We fished hard to end the trip and I was happy to finally trick some fussy feeders on the evening rise with the trusty old F-Fly the night before I flew home. The boys stayed on a few more days where they had some rad fishing with Fishy Steve and Shauno landed a beauty. Thanks for the run fellas and thank you to everyone who helped us along the way. I’ll see you next time New Zealand, you really are fully sick eh bro.

Below is another clip and some more photos – Enjoy!

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Tourists in waders!

Tourists in waders!

a Paul Anderson image

a Paul Anderson image

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a Paul Anderson image

a Paul Anderson image

a Paul Anderson image

a Paul Anderson image

My Christmas Pleasant

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As per the last few years, me and a few cobbers ventured into Tasmania’s Western Lakes for a couple of nights camping, hiking and fly fishing. Once again, the mission was planned well in advance and by the time Christmas had rolled around we were champing at the bit to get out there.

Destination this year was the Julian Lakes and Pillans Lake region – renowned for larger than average fish and a chance of securing a trophy among a myriad of headwaters lakes, tarns, lagoons and tantalising creek systems connecting some of them all the time and others only in really wet years. That’s the beauty of this place – You just never know what’s lurking out there.

The walk to our camp took closer to three hours than two but with many hours of daylight to take advantage of – we were not deterred. The tents were kind of flung into place and we sat down to have some lunch only then realising that we had set up camp in a dried up tarn. Nice and soft underneath but pretty soggy if any decent amount of rain was in order!

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We pretty much inhaled our tucker and set off to explore some of the Upper Julians system and with a great deal of wind about and very little sun, I threw a few blind casts with a dry around a likely channel while attempting to polariod the edges. On my third cast I heard that familiar plop – A fish had eaten my dry so instinct kicked in and I’m connected. A lovely fish of around 3lb came to hand as a couple of Land Rover Defender’s looked on. See, many people walk out here but you can actually drive if you have a 4WD or ATV that’s up to the challenge, and believe you me – It’s bloody challenging!

It’s always great to get the monkey off your back so early into any mission, especially with my recent case of the ‘striking-too-earlies’. A couple more fish were spooked here and Andy experienced an early rejection before we all met up to have a yarn and hatch a plan. Me and ‘Dick Wigram’ (Rick) decided to continue on around the Upper Julians while Andy and Stevie had a look down below. Overall we found it pretty tough, with very few insects about and not quite enough sun to effectively sigh-fish but it wasn’t too long before Dick spotted one in a patch of sun that happily scoffed his ‘tag.

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Sparked by success we hastily covered water during rare patches of light and covered likely bubble lines blowing off points. A couple of hours went by and we had barely spotted a thing. Dick found a small fish feeding on a patch of black spinner mayfly and covered it well, only to lose sight of his fly around a rock and missing the take. He felt the weight but the hook didn’t stick. I have that part on video somewhere and will see if I can track it down…

Further on we were both standing high on rocks to gain some polaroiding advantage when I heard something rise. I saw the rings bounce away from the bank and pin-pointed my quarry! This fish was feeding well on small tan-coloured moths and as I had drawn response from my home-tied parachute black spinner, I stuck with it. The fish came over and inspected it with its nose sitting directly underneath before rejecting my fly and continuing to feed on naturals. I was surprised to see this fish feeding happily away and quickly tied on a small sedge pattern, just for colour and convenience if anything. I threw it out again and the wind blew my tippet over a boulder but still in the fish’s path. I muttered to Dick ‘Tell me if he’s taken it’…. He quickly responded “I can’t see it’ before we both heard a greedy sluuurrrp and I lifted. The fish was taking line off the reel and out into the drop off when Dick yells ‘Yep he’s taken it!’. We laughed like little girls.

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Despite fishing quite a massive area, we didn’t really have that much success. We did find another couple of fish (read: two) feeding on black spinners but they only hung about for a quick feed before moving on. We waited for 20 minutes but return they did not. In any case we caught up with the other lads who had barely seen a thing and certainly didn’t catch anything so we were pretty satisfied. Even more so when we arrived back at camp and hit the shiraz quicker than a Danny Green jab.

It was pretty relaxing with a bit of claret and taking in the surrounds while admiring the native scoparia in flower and listening to Andy’s fart from over the hill. That boy is as regular as a Metro bus.

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The evening rise session was avoided as the wind was howling and finding sheltered coves seemed too problematic so we remained on the wine-bus. Similar story in the morning as Andy had a quick look prior to 5am and found plenty of wind and nothing showing. We scoffed some breakky and headed for a route around a system we planned to explore over towards Pillans. On the way we ran into a couple of lads that mentioned they had secured a couple of tailers early – Half their luck. We also happened across a couple of guys looking to fish the same system as us but after learning of our intentions, they simply said ‘yeah nah, we’ll just fish the next one over then’. Hell of a nice gesture.

Not long after fishing our new water, Stevie had spotted one and as can happen so often in the Western Lakes, his fly line became acquainted with the native heath in the heat of the moment. By the time he untangled his birds nest the fish had moved on. I spotted a great fish of 4-5lb cruising around an outflow creek but spooked it trying to re-cast. This gave us some inspiration.

We worked our way up this system fishing the larger lakes and lagoons trying to spot in between sun spots and having the odd blind cast. Stevie had a BIG fish come up and eat his ‘tag over a deep drop off but caught him a little unawares and missed the take. Dick reckoned it was a leviathan. I called Dick a puller.

The typical stories played out over the next couple of hours with a couple of missed opportunities and at least one bust off before Dick finally managed to prove that we were not just here for shits and giggles and reclaimed an element of style. It must have been something to do with his Dr Harry hat. The landing however, was not so stylish.

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Lunch time signaled departure time for both Stevie and Dick who had appointments back in the concrete jungle but me and Andy were only just getting fired up. Almost immediately after they left, the sun came out for longer and eventually, turned into a blue-sky day. Finally, it felt like we could see, like someone had taken off a blindfold. By this stage we were fishing well into headwater territory, not knowing if any fish were even up this high or if the blue blotches on our maps even had water in them.

We rounded the last few lagoons and you could almost polaroid their entirety. Nothing was spotted. In fact, they seemed too shallow to hold fish. The next one over had a slightly deeper channel running through it and seemed fishier. I’m not sure how I came to be working the side I was, I suppose we just kept heading up the same sides as the previous lagoons. It could well have been Andy in my shoes…

We joke about them all the time but I finally spotted one: a ‘Fence-Post’. A fish that looked pretty big in the water and almost made me shit right there in my underpants. It was sitting up against the bank cruising ever so slowly. Somehow it hadn’t seen me. I knew of its rough whereabouts and poked my eyes above the heath to gauge its intention. It started to swim up the bank some more…. There was now a boulder in front of me and we were both obscured from each other so I set a trap in the form of a black spinner. This beast of a fish casually nosed up to my fly and…. sipped. The pause at this time felt like an eternity. BANG! He’s got it and I’ve got him!

Yeeeeeeoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooowwww!!!!!!!!

I immediately hooted to Andy who raised an arm as if to say ‘Good one mate’. I hooted with more emphasis and he stopped walking and looked up. ‘I’m gonna need your help landing this one mate’ I yelled as the fish was taking me into my backing. What a feeling that was!! Yapper could sense my excitement by now and was racing around the lake to my aid.

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Photo: Andrew Howell

Tense moments followed as the fish neared numerous times before retreating to the safety of deeper water. At one point the fish took my line under a rock and we both thought the worst. Thankfully, he came out and we battled it out until Andy jumped in the drink to lay him on the bank. There it was, the biggest trout I have ever caught on fly!!

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Photo: Andrew Howell

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Photo: Andrew Howell

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Photo: Andrew Howell

Needless to say I was absolutely stoked. Yarns and high-fives continued until we cross-country hiked back to the larger system to fish our way back to camp. The tough times continued for Andy with a couple of ‘fish behaving badly’ refusing to cooperate and another fish taking his fly but not sticking. Despite his hard luck he was as upbeat as ever, keen to relive our team effort.

‘Here he comes….’

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‘There he goes….’

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We made a bee-line for camp after a big day and quickly made a dent in the remaining shiraz and port which was clearly not enough for a celebration. As we headed off for the evening fish we ran into the same sherpa-clad lad we had seen earlier in the day fishing the next system over. He invited us down for beers, intrigued about our level of success. This is where we met Tim and Snorkel. A mis-matched pair of loose units in their own rights, loving their mission and enjoying the ride and telling yarns from all over. This was a blast and if it wasn’t for our lack of contribution to the beer stash we would have stayed for a dozen more. Thanks fellas – We appreciated the tins and stories, well played!

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Once again we awoke to wind but this time it was gale force! We packed up shop and headed over to Tim and Snorkel’s camp to say catchya but they were already off, inspired by our photos of the fence post. We rounded some of the Lower Julians system without spotting a thing, then checked out a trophy water on the way out which was also fruitless. My boots were eating deep into my flesh by this stage and the thought of wearing my crocs on the walk out actually seemed like a good idea. I slipped them on and it was like sliding into silk slippers with a naked lady massaging my shoulders, I was in heaven! 12 kms in crocs was much better than performing the Turry Two-Step all the way back. I must get new boots otherwise, Everyday I’m shufflin’.

Until next time Western Lakes!

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Classic Hatches

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What a hatch, what a hatch! – Marvellous effort that…. (Must be said in true Richie Benaud style). The Australians may be struggling in the cricket but luckily we have fishing to keep us entertained. I set off after work last week after work and met my cobber Andy at Four Springs for a late-arvo / evening session. I arrived earlier than the olde Crappin’ Fowl so hastily rigged up before wandering down to the water to see what’s up. I found a few red spinner mayfly in the air but no duns in the water. I took my camera along the reeds and found stacks of damselflies doing their thing. Closer inspection revealed masses of mini-mayflies or caenids (kay-nids or see-nids depending on who you listen to) stuck in the cobwebs. It was pretty cool to see but with neither the mayflies, damselflies or caenids actually on the water, I pitcured a grubby old man with soiled flannie and a rollie hanging out of his mouth saying “ya shoulda been here earlier”.

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Yappin’ rocked up and we floated his tin-dish and chugged along at five knots to where we could set a likely wind-assisted drift. It wasn’t long before we were flicking away with a couple of dries waiting for some rising fish. Too distracted by conversation we soon noted some tiny critters on the water. At first I thought the caenids were in force but we scooped them up and bonza – ANTS! Soon, tens of thousands of tiny little flying ants lined the surface, their wings sticking in the surface film like glue. How many trout do you think we saw feeding on them? None. Not one single fish. Around twenty blind casts after along came the gum beetles, then the soldier beetles, then some much larger flying ants which could have been sugar ants. Even some isolated mayfly were about. No fish to be seen – Maybe we should have been there earlier!

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Finally, the sun began to dip behind the hills and the lake was a smorgasbord of food. It was one of those moments where the stage was set and the artists we ready for action - we just needed some bastard to turn the power on. Then a rise – Our necks immediately swung around 120 degrees in unison, a direct response from the audible splash still resonating in our ear drums. We fired up the leccy and headed toward the fish. Then we saw a back, then another. There were a few fish starting to work in a small wind-slick. We backed the leccy off as we seemed to be in the spot. Yep – There’s one! Nope – he’s over there, now he’s heading the other way, no he’s coming towards us, he’s in front of the boat – SPLASH! Spooked. The fish were moving fast and with so much food available, their path was difficult to predict. Andy was attempting to get a fly in front of an erractic fish and I sat my fly away from us in the slick while I waited for a fish to suck his fly down. There was a slurrp alright, on my fly! I turned around and lifted, felt some weight then a subsequent weightlessness. Busted off. Apart from visually missing the eat, I was disappointed about losing two fresh flies I had tied the night before, but gutted most of all about not knowing which one the fish took!! Guess I better tie more of both.

Given the amount of food and lack of light, you would think the fish would be all over the lake by now but we still only saw the odd patch of fish and they seemed to be only up for a few minutes before disappearing. It was just a matter of time before I spotted one within range and encouraged Andy to have a lash, considering I stuffed mine up. It took a few casts to get seen but the fish casually noticed the fly and accepted. Fish on, finally! It was a solid specimen and we were both pretty stoked.

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It was getting dark so we decided to crank the electric motor up to full noise while on the way back to the boat ramp while trying to spot the odd fish. I managed a chance at one fish that ate my fly next to the boat but I missed it – Maybe I struck too early again – Gonna have to nip that nasty little habit in the bud before New Zealand! As we loaded the boat still spinning out on the variety of insect hatches, caddis moth in their hundreds began swarming overhead. What a classic hatch.

Only The River Knows

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These guys are dead-set fucking legends. If they were in close proximity to me I may wish to touch them on the fly rod. In my mind we are freinds. In reality we are strangers. I will continue to stalk them twice daily until they accept my offer to sit down, have a couple of hundred cold beers, perhaps a dirty burner, go fishing and talk shit.

Only The River Knows is a film set mostly in New Zealand but also Australia, Norway and Sweden and sets the bar bloody high in relation to quality and innovation. You may recall these guys from ‘Backyard in Nowhere’ and if so, you know you are in for an epic adventure. I could rant on about how good this is going to be but really, check the trailer then buy the film and sit down with a bunch of good mates and have a right ‘ole blast. To purchase and to find out more info, click HERE

Also – Here is some background info on the project and how they attempted to get it off the ground. Did you throw them some coin? I did!

Struck Too Early…

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5

Tasmania’s Western Lakes region is surely the most enchanting area the sight-fishing angler would hope to encounter. Shallow lagoons and tarns, crystal clear water and silty-bottomed waters brimming with trout that are sometimes keen for a decent feed. My life has been pretty hectic of late, with work and family life taking a hold, which is great apart from the whole work reference. I’ve been fishing around a bit here and there lately, just not enough time to write about it, but when the opportunity came around to hook up with a couple of blokes and smash out a mission in the wild West, I was immediately as toey as a roman sandal and knew some words may follow.

Some people are reluctant to choose a destination in advance, instead waiting for the elements to dictate their movements and style of fishing. While this is the case for me on occasion,  my desire to commit and adjust to the conditions takes priority more often these days. I’ve found myself in some shitty weather due to this philosophy, but you can learn from it too.

I had been well overdue for a walking trip having not made it out west yet this season so rounded up Chump (Paul) and Baz (Mitchell) to explore some water during a day mission. We headed up after work on Thursday night and avoided most of the wildlife before arriving at the Little Pine shack for a wind-down beverage with Tony and Geoff who were sliding into some dinner and a lazy Jameson as we arrived. They entertained us with a few yarns from yester-year when the clock chimed past midnight and our four o’clock start was looming.

I really must change my alarm. I swear I was halfway through a dream and playing out a trophy fish when my kooky alarm persuaded my mind to believe there was a random stalker trying to cut off my head with a butter knife. That fucking alarm licks the bag.

We ‘kicked the pig’ and made our way to the Lake Ada car park, avoiding a few deer and millions of kangaroos along the way. It was already quite light and the need for head-torches was dismissed. Which was a shame as we were hoping for a few tails. We arrived to Ada Lagoon and found a distraction in the form of a waving tail anyway so Baz tried his best to tempt the beast but failed. In any case this fish was just eating in to our short time-frame so we buggered off along the track.

When we arrived at our first water the plan to split up and round this lagoon was made. The sun wasn’t fully up yet and the glare coupled with a slight breeze made it difficult to polariod. We hoped that the lea shore would provide some better water. We were right. It wasn’t long before we spotted a fish, then two…. no, THREE! They were all cruising over the same silty corner and it was my time to have a lash. I picked out the closest one and he came over to the dry to have a look but refused it. That put a dent in my confidence but I remained with the trusty red tag and stick caddis combo. We paced along the bank and one fish was still present so another opportunity was available. I popped the fly a metre or so away from the fish and he soon noticed it and made a bee-line toward the dry. The fish casually nosed up to the fly and opened its mouth and I lifted…. Nothing. Pauly immediately chimed in – “Too early, you struck too early”. Deep down I knew it but I defiantly responded “Nah, he closed his mouth on it, surely”. What I was trying to say was “Who invited you anyway!!”. A little disheartened I accepted that I was too keen and soldiered on. Ten metres on and I spotted another and as Pauly wasn’t even rigged up yet I quickly hurled a fly in its path. The fish saw it and the whole scenario was repeated with me pulling the fly out of its mouth. I was a bit green… and then red! What a muppet.

Further over, Baz had spooked a couple and was trying his best to get a cast to a rising fish that kept showing just out of reach, to no avail. Pretty sure he saw my questionable skills too. The small amount of cloud was burning off quickly and that sun began to tickle our skin, paving the way for a warm and blue-sky day – the perfect scenario for sight-fishing in these parts.

The next lagoon over revealed a caddis hatch, with a small breeze sending moths out into the middle where some nice fish were happily munching them off the surface. Although a small water almost every fish was out of reach and there was nothing cruising the edges. It was still awesome to see solid fish porpoising repeatedly.

With high hopes we headed over to a large and more popular water. We immediately noted a couple of cormorants drying their wings on the rocks. Seems that their presence is widespread this season and despite always seeing fish at this water, we circumnavigated the whole thing without seeing a fish. No doubt they were there somewhere but perhaps in deeper water or thinned out by the feathered fishermen.

We headed back to the main creek that feeds this system and Pauly soon spots one. The fish disappeared and he began winding his line back in when it came cruising back up the bank. Wicked. His first cast went un-noticed but the second landed in the fish’s path and ole spotty zoned in on it. Chomp! Pause! On! As Baz and myself hooted with delight, Pauly muttered the words “See how I waited on that”. I could have kicked him in the shins but instead, I got my camera out.

We continued down the system fishing un-named tarns and lagoons looking for ideal water. Many of them were really low for this time of year which doesn’t look good if the lack of rain and cormorant populations continue. Only a couple of fish were seen here and there but the caddis hatches hanging over the water were left un-molested by any trout. You could almost polariod the entire length too so we would have seen any fish if they were there. We found a couple of small fish in the last lagoon and Baz’s offer was refused by one while I was in position to target the other. I managed the eat but you guessed it, missed once again. Could have sworn that I left it long enough this time but really, I had sworn enough!

We stopped at a sizeable lagoon on the way back and finally found some cruising fish working the edges and others sipping midge further out. We were fast running out of time due to a dinner curfew but stopped to play, of course. Baz eyed off a couple of midge feeders and sent ripper cast out and hooked a nice fish, only to lose it soon after. He was also having one of them days. I found a fish moving quickly away from me along the shore and lost sight of it for a moment. I stayed and watched thinking it had moved out to deeper water but found it again a little further along the bank. The dry was flicked and the fish was keen for it – This time I hit lip. It was just a little one but man it’s always good to get on the board, even more so when you had used up all other chance cards.

Baz had a quick sniff at Lake Ada on the way back and was refused once again along the shore, with a fish denying the well-presented dry. I felt his frustration but that’s how it is some days – You can have a wonderful stage and all props set for a splendid performance only to break a leg. I guess that’s why it’s called fishing, not catching. Despite the scorecard looking pretty low I have no doubt that we all had a ripper day out and watching fish do their thing in a wild environment with two good blokes certainly makes it worthwhile.