October 2005
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Picture #1
Picture #2
Picture #3
Picture #4
Picture #5
Picture #6
Picture #7
Picture #8
Picture #9
Picture #10
Picture #11
Picture #12
Picture #13
As
fishing days go, there has been very few this season, weather wise that
is.
The
boat and I have been ready to go for a while, and I was biting at the bit,
but the weather was wanting.
Even
the low-lying lakes were ‘iffy’ not because of snow, but due to
persistent rain and wind.
Picture
#1 is just a snapshot of the warnings which prevailed during August
and September with picture
#2 indicating the narrow isobars, giving you an idea about the winds
we had to cope with. Gale warnings (75km/hr) changing with Storm warnings
(100km/hr) at times in excess of 120km/hr, I kid you not. That meant power
outages due to fallen trees and flooding. Tasmania got a caning.
Look
closely at picture #3.
Yes Tassie is there somewhere, still not for sale, but in danger of
floating to Antarctica. As I sit here and write the ‘October diary’,
more flood warnings are in place after 150mm rain over the last 24hrs,
resulting in road closures, isolating some villages. There is no relief
from this rain forecast for 3 more days, in fact it rained for so many
days that our wattlebirds applied for wet suits and flippers. Actually it
is not raining, it’s pissing.
A
bad fishing day beats a good working day, but how bad is good enough?
There has to be method in ones madness. I am not a glutton for punishment
and since I have the luxury of fishing any day of the week, as opposed to
weekends only, I can be a bit more pernickety. So if that makes me a
‘fair weather fisherman’ so be it.
The
urge to get ‘up there’ overcame that desire to sit in a warm lounge
room and watch black and white repeats of ‘Tarzan and the planet of the
mermaids’. So I loaded the weilers (as in Rott) into the 4WD and visited
Arthur’s lake in August and September to shoot some snow pictures and
let me tell you, it looked decisively hostile. Picture
#4, #5 & #6
The
polar fleece jacket was no match for the biting wind and I was glad to
have the ‘real’ stuff, the Gortex jacket with me. The heater was on
‘full blast’ not only to keep the windscreen clear but also to thaw my
fingers after a shooting session.
As
you can see on picture #7
(bottom right) there was one fisherman more desperate than me, well good
luck, he can have it. The rivulets were running fast and furious, and
Arthur’s lake was ‘full to the rim’, and that was even before the
big thaw, making for a good season.
Fish
are still deep down and still slabby this early in the season, and August
fishing is only for the lonely and desperados as far as I am concerned.
Mind you the opening weekend is popular, but soon people find out that the
fish are simply not cooperating and if the weather/wind is fine it still
only manages to top 8-10 C at noon. I am very selective and pick fine
fishing days in late September but this year it was either a
‘blow-out’ or a ‘rain-out’.
Soon
September was gone, and October was well on the way and the TV weather map
still showed “small craft alert”, rain and the rest. We know that all
good things must come to an end, but luckily it also applies to all bad
things.
So,
finally it came, the high with a capital ‘H’. I consulted the augur of
all oracles at the MET bureau; Brendan assured me that ‘code’ variable
5-10 NNW was active. That window of opportunity had finally opened.
Lindsay
and I were on the water at 13.00hr and it was like being reborn.
The
extra fast sinking line is made just for these occasions, when fish are
still 3m deep and you don’t have to perform a song and dance routine
while you wait for the line to get down to the fish. Loaded with triple
flies I soon found my target or should I say victim?
The
first fish for the 2005 season was a nice brown, short of 2lb. It hit
hard, and went immediately into aerobatics. Yes he had well recovered from
the spawning trip but finally succumbed and came into the net. About an
hour later a second fish about 2.5lb joint the first one, not without an
aerial display first. The day looked better already. Both hen fish were in
excellent condition, although their stomachs were not really extended. But
they had well and truly recovered from their spawning venture.
The
wind kept to the lower side of 15kt and we found plenty of bays where the
water had merely a small ripple, drifting the boat just at the right
speed.
Lindsay
worked hard, but was a bit handicapped with a weighted fly on a floating
line and that little bit of luck, that makes the difference between a
trout for dinner or fish fingers, was just not with him today. We searched
for fish at various depths and found them at various depths.
As
the sun started to set, four fish were in the bag and three or so hit the
line hard, spooled some line off the reel and yet somehow spit to dummy.
Another three or so followed the flies within a meter of the boat, and
then rushed down to safer depth. All that keeps the spirit up and the mind
concentrated.
Due
to heavy cloud cover the sunset was very ordinary, and that ‘five more
casts’ time came quickly. My last and fifth fish for the day struck and
must have made his mates curious as to what the fracas was all about. As
Lindsay wound his line in to make room for the incoming fighting fish, he
briefly connected to a fish as well, which unfortunately got off. Although
disappointed, Lindsay had a ‘taste’ what it is like to have a fish on
the line. I am not saying that in a condescending way, according to
Lindsay he is jinxed (or as he puts it ‘a Jonah’) when it comes to
catching fish. I disagree with him; occasional bad luck is as far as I’m
going. Improving technique, either casting or retrieving or both will
improve the catch rate. Nothing, which can’t be fixed with some
practice.
Well,
we arrived back at the boat ramp at pitch dark, weary but happy, how
fulfilling it is, to have nice day fishing with a good friend.
The
window of opportunity which was so long in coming, opened unexpectedly
further and the next day promised to be a carbon copy. More than two
months had passed since the opening day and I suffered severe deprivation
disorder. The boat was still connected to the 4WD; all I needed was food
for my body and nourishment for my soul. Sandwiches for the body were
quickly packed, and it was off to the lakes, where ‘soul food’ was
available. While the wind was very slight as I left the low land, it was
certainly very stroppy at the lakes boat ramp. White horses (what other
colour could they be?) were pounding the shores. Brendan calls that
‘local effects’.
But,
once the boat was launched, I quickly found a sheltered bay with a nice
drift. We all know about the fickleness of trout. The seemingly same
weather as yesterday, which made the fish hungry then, does the opposite
today.
Three
hours later I hooked the first fish (picture
#8 & #9), a
beautiful hen, a bit shy of 3lb. She gave as good as she got. The camera
in one hand and the rod in the other makes for a few anxious moments,
especially when you don’t know how well the hook has set. But softly
softly catchy monkey.
During
the next few hours, a few fish followed the fly but I didn’t find a way
to make them take it, not on that day anyway good luck to them. Another
good size fish followed the flies but broke the attack off as I ran out of
space closing in to the boat. Another ‘drift-by’ (as opposed to
fly-by) was a blank, he was a fast learner, I could not raise him again,
but I kept an eye on his ‘living quarters’.
And
then, gorblimey, I saw him coming to the surface and taking food from
the top. He obviously was still in the area and was still feeding. I
changed rods and went up wind in a wide arc and drifted with the dry,
offering close and far, but gorblimey or not, he either didn’t see my
flies, or he had moved elsewhere or he wasn’t interested or I had
inadvertently lined him or all of the above.
There
are many a fish in the lake, so it’s best to move on, the more one
pounds the area with the line, the slighter your chances are to catch the
fish. They simply go down or leave the feeding ground.
But
in Arnold Alois
Schwarzenegger's words ‘I’ll be back’, I know where he lives and
where his children go to school. (Just kidding, trout don’t go to
school, they go to hatcheries).
The wind had lost its punch and reduced merely to a northerly breeze by now. I fished pretty much the same area as I fished the day before with Lindsay expecting a strike any minute. And, as it happened, I finished just about the same spot where I caught fish number five the day before. The depth finder showed a drop off from 2m to more than 5m and the fish work this reef at evenings.
The
wind had dropped by now and while the skyline to the west displayed a
beautiful sunset picture #10,
even it was not as spectacular as others, the easterly sky displayed the
rising full moon, both at the same time picture
#11.
Again
I saw a very nice fish close to shore and within casting distance, slowly
breaking the surface and taking food from the top, although there was
nothing edible I could see. I put searching casts out in all directions.
My cyclops was just turning over to ever so gently moving me along
the reef, when I snagged into a submerged tree. I turned the cyclops
around to free my flies, when a fish took the top fly (how did I know it
was the top fly? – read on). With the bottom or middle fly hooked in the
tree, I didn’t fancy my chances, but suddenly the fish had freed my line
from the tree and was on the run. She was a beautiful 3lb hen fish unlike
the other fish, she was a ‘downer’, as opposed to an ‘airhead’.
She used all her weight to push deep and tried to seek freedom by diving
into the submerged tree. Luck was not on her side and after I removed the
top fly from her mouth, I noticed that the knot to the middle fly had
broken, leaving the two flies probably lodged in the tree.
There
was just enough time to enjoy the full moon, as it took over the role of
the night watchman of the sky and gave me just sufficient light for a safe
home passage. Picture #12
& #13
If you would like to contact me for comments or contributions click here: thetroutwhisperer@bigpond.com