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 The Invariable Laws of Fly-FishingFrom: Alan Swanwick At a meeting of my local angling club, one of the members reported that he and a couple of his friends had spent a weekend fly fishing Emerald Park Lake near Melbourne and had caught-and-released around seventy trout. I resolved to do likewise. The following weekend I was at the lake not long after dawn. I was armed with my brand-new fly rod and a level of confidence altogether out of proportion to my experience. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, I had no experience. Nil. Zero. Zilch. Apart from a few inexpert practice sessions in the casting ponds at Yarra Bend, I had never cast a fly in anger. However it was apparent to me that this was a pretty simple art to master, and I looked forward to the next club meeting at which I could nonchalantly report my own success. I was a little disturbed to note that as soon as I rigged up and approached the lake I attracted the attention of a small band of interested onlookers. Despite my confidence, I would have preferred that my initial efforts be conducted in relative privacy, just in case I needed to iron out some minor blemish in my casting technique. It was with only slight misgivings that I approached the lakeside and made my first cast. I then found that it is actually quite difficult, while climbing a tree to retrieve your fly, to maintain a relaxed and casual air as if to say that of course you intended the fly to hook itself firmly in a branch 10 metres above the ground. Isn't that the point of the whole exercise? And really, from up here you get a very good perspective of the lake and can pick the best fishing-spots much better than from ground-level. My credibility had suffered a major blow and my audience was adopting a frankly skeptical attitude by the time I casually fell out of the tree and with as much dignity as I could muster in the circumstances, resumed my quest for trout. The details of the next hour or so are best passed over in merciful silence. One fly-in-a-tree episode might be regarded as just bad luck, but a score of 10-2 in favour of the trees had reduced the onlookers to raucous laughter. Some of the more technically-minded amongst them were sending SMS text-messages to their friends to come and watch the fun. Gathering the shreds of my dignity about me, I skulked off to a distant corner of the lake. While doing so it occurred to me that, however embarrassing the past hour might have been, I had discovered some great philosophical and physical truths about fly fishing - ranking right up there with Pythagoras and his Theorem and Newton and his Laws. I tentatively decided to refer to them as the Invariable Laws of Fly-Fishing, and they are: 1. Trees are predators which sustain themselves by catching and destroying flies. 2. Flies are suicidal. They deliberately and maliciously launch themselves into the reach of predatory fly-catching trees. 3. The likelihood of falling from a tree with a fly embedded in a painful part of the anatomy increases directly in proportion to the number of onlookers. 4. Fish do not live in trees. While still musing on these important realizations, I set myself up near to where a father and his 10-year-old son were casting. I was fairly sure that even my inexpert efforts would look good in comparison with a mere child. What would a 10-year-old know about fly fishing? Once again I prepared to do battle with the mystical trout. Fifteen minutes later, the father and son wandered away after catching and releasing three very nice trout while I sat on the bank trying to release the fly which had firmly embedded itself in the brim of my hat. The child cast me a pitying and contemptuous glance as he passed by. Ill-bred youth! For the next two hours I worked the waters as well as my total lack of skill would permit - all with complete and absolute lack of success. I changed flies; I modified my casting techniques; I cast in open waters and under branches and beside overhangs; I resorted to the power of prayer - all without result. Just as I was reaching the point of believing that everything to do with fly fishing was some sort of elaborate practical joke, suddenly there came swimming into my Polaroid-enhanced sight the largest and most attractive trout which I had ever seen outside a restaurant! It cruised casually along in the shallows only about 5 metres away from the bank. It was mine! I crouched to avoid being seen. I sidled towards the water. I lifted the fly, powered back, and powered forward in order to drop the fly inches in front of its nose. The result was the fly landing neatly on the water at a distance where the trout could just about have seen it so long as it had eyes in the back of its head, and was equipped with a pair of binoculars. Desperately I tried again. And again. Finally I knew I had the technique just right, and I cast the line one last time - and then turned to retrieve the fly from the only tree within 50 metres of where I was standing. As I watched the trout give a small flick of its tail and disappear forever from my view, I realized that there was one additional Law which I had to add to the Invariable Laws of Fly-Fishing. It was: 5. Fish laugh. AND I SO REPORT (1 December 2003) |
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