With fishing, comes instinct. A deep-seeded drive to hunt, stalk and achieve. What was once out of necessity for the human race is now pure desire, for many. Along with this drive comes a fascination with the unknown and a yearning to explore deeper than you have ever been, perhaps where no man hath trodden. Where no sole has made contact with the delicate leaf litter underfoot, where only the footprint of the wombat, devil and wallaby had ever made in impression in the alpine sand, besides a transitory Indigenous tribe. A place where you can truly get lost, if you are not careful, where no vehicle can reach or no transmission lines reside, for it would surely spoil it forever. A place where blood, sweat and tears are reality, and your soul is bestowed to the elements. Where glacial headwaters engulf their surrounds or where wild rivers spill their guts onto an ancient beach, confronted by a ferocious sea. That penchant lives within me, always poking, prodding. This season and many beyond I will be walking, waiting and watching. Forever intrigued as to what is around the bend or over that next rise.


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