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Got a fishing story you'd like to share?
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 Lagoon Of IslandsFrom: Bruce Phillips The morning was absolutely bitter with horizontal rain and sleet hitting any uncovered area of my face like an attack of crazed ants. Biting, stinging. Hitting with such force that you needed to keep your eyes half shut for protection. The sky was absolutely black and the threatening clouds were low and moving across the sky like a power boat at full tilt. I guess in a way this was part of my development as an angler. From an angler who would open the back door and see grey clouds and feel strong chilly winds and so decide that it was a day better spent sorting out gear by the open fire, to an angler who was so fascinated by catching trout on a fly that any opportunity to improve my skills and spend time with real experts at the sport would be taken up with enthusiasm. Each time I might have faced the day with some disquiet - but on every outing I would come away with a very special memory of what a day fly fishing in Tasmania can be. The rules were tough for my learning too. Only fly gear allowed. No tucking a spinning rod into the car as insurance - it was a no guts no glory system. When we had left Hobart the estimates were - best case scenario - fine day worst case - snow. Problem is on such trips you simply don't know until you get so far into the trip that there 's no way you'll turn around and go home without wetting a line anyway. As we moved along the lake edge pushing against the wind, I was aware of branches breaking in the trees and flying past, adding just a little more to this strange mix of wonderment and fear which can be a day in the Highlands when the weather is bad. The wonderment is from the pure awesome power of bad weather in the Lakes and the fear is the constant number of what ifs that run through the head of someone who does not have the experience of those I was fortunate enough to be fishing with. And I would never suggest that a new comer to Tassie try it without an expert guide with them. How the hell was I going to cast in conditions like this ? What chance have I got of pulling fish in a thundering gale where I can hardly stand up let alone focus on all the things I have to remember to present a fly on the water. As we spread out around the lake following very specific instructions for when and where to meet, I gave my fly fishing skills no chance on such a day. When we met several hours later we had accounted for 4 browns all in the 2kg to 3kg range all taken on wet flies. When I say we - I really mean they. We decided on one more session of about an hour before heading home. As I decided I couldn't handle another session of wind knots and hang-ups in the trees behind, I headed off to the lee side of the lake where at least I could look the part, even if my tally for the day was not going to be great. Taking a break, I was sitting out of the wind and snow and I thought I noticed a rise !!!!! And then again. And then again. Off to one side was a huge blackwood tree hanging out over the edge of the lake - the strong winds were blowing insects out of the tree and a large brown was tracking back and forward surface feeding on the insects. New to all this, my heart was absolutely thumping at the prospect of having a go at this magnificent fish and my inexperience was telling me I had about 2 metres behind me to gerry rig some sort of cast, I was going to have to cast on my knees because of the tree and I was never going to have more than my leader and about a metre of fly line on the water. Frozen by weather and frozen by lack of confidence. I continued to watch and slowly crept down by the blackwood tree to get a closer look - they were small beetles falling on the surface. Hands freezing, heart thumping and my mind reinforcing that this was a lost cause, I searched my fly box and roughly matched the insect with a dark green and black beetle pattern and tied it on. You'll get one chance I thought and if this goes haywire, this great fish will be gone. It went haywire. On my knees, I manufactured a cast which put the beetle pattern under the tree with all the same care and gentleness as if I had fallen out of the tree myself. But it was the second swirl that I hadn't expected. The brown tracked through and took the beetle without a moment's hesitation as all hell broke loose and he headed for deeper water and I tried desperately to get to my feet, hold my rod tip high, not apply too much tension, apply enough tension, avoid flying tree debris and laugh and scream at the same time. He was taking line and I knew that this was not only a good fish, but for me, a personal best. The chaos ended after about fifteen minutes like a picture from a fly fishing magazine with the fish beaten and properly brought in over the net - one of the first things I had been taught to do well. I was exhausted, exhilarated and so absolutely over the moon at my 4.5kg prize. He was magnificent !!!! On the way home, everyone was quiet, exhausted by weather, good exercise and a great day. Until someone said, "Well done mate, you took the only brown for the day on a fly". Excuse me? "Yeah, we gave up earlier in the morning and had telescopic spinning rods in our bags - but we thought it was better for your education that you didn't know that." Yes it probably was, as that great fishing battle still holds pride of place in my fishing memories, thirty years later. (27 June 2003) |
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