Thursday, 28 November 2013
What happens to us? One minute you feel like you’re flying along, making the right fly choices, catching a few fish, casting solidly, generally speaking doing pretty well. The following week you find yourself standing on the bank of your favourite stream and things just don’t feel quite right, you don’t seem able to choose a fly let alone find a fish and the one cast that you’ve made has left your favourite emerger firmly embedded in a tree high above. What’s happening? What’s changed? This is one of those times in a fisherman’s life when you have to ask yourself… am I going to think this through or am I just going to blunder on?
From what I have read and when speaking with other fisherman, it would seem that just about everyone at some point has been through the same thing, those times when you just can’t find that place in your brain that will help put it all together, maybe this a plateau? Whatever it is, finding something or someone to help get us through this is our next step. Some people find it with the help of a friend, a lot of people head to the local [...]
Tuesday, 29 October 2013
This little film popped up last year on Vimeo and, deservedly so, stole every anglers heart that watched it. It’s so beautifully filmed it feels like falling into a dream. We never tire of watching By The Lake, Tasmania.
Monday, 7 October 2013
I don’t think it will ever change – that bewildered look on the face of a person of a non-fishing persuasion, when you talk to them about your successful day on the water.
You’re still pretty psyched up and itching to share some of the detail, yet no matter how hard you try it always winds up with something along the lines of what my beloved wife would say: “That’s enough babe, it’s all starting to sound like clicks and whistles to me” – but shit, you just want to get it out; clicks and whistles or not, it was an amazing day.
And again, how many times have you sat quietly at night, reading one of your favourite authors – their stories of amazing hatches of green drakes, western stoneflies, red spinners or pale morning duns – and you can almost feel the air moving and humming, tiny wings catching the light, selective fish gently breaking the surface film… And all the while your feet are warmly perched on the ottoman. Try to explain that to the punter and you may have some trouble.
I don’t know how to adequately express the feelings we all have about fishing, yet at some point [...]
Thursday, 12 September 2013
At first sight this may seem like an easy question to answer.
The challenge of outwitting a fish. A passion for eating fish. A love of the outdoors. A desire to get away from it all.
While those are the obvious reasons, I reckon there are some subliminal influences-the catalysts, if you like, that firm your resolve to get up in the cold grey pre-dawn light and exercise your arm for hours in pursuit of a very elusive quarry.
It’s not hard to recall the many influences that brought about my conversion from an everyday kid to a fisherman and later still, into a fly fisherman.
The odd success on Melbourne’s Station Pier with flathead. Chasing snapper off Mornington in a clinker built inboard motor boat or grass whiting and gurnard in Westernport Bay. Discovering the art of building rods-from Rangoon cane surf rods to split cane fly rods – under the tutelage of a master rod maker. And, reading what I have only recently discovered is the most popular fishing book the world has yet seen, under the bed covers in a cold greater London winter.
Bernard Venables wrote Mr. Crabtree Goes Fishing in the late 1940s. Adapted from a regular cartoon strip that [...]
Friday, 23 August 2013
I only learned about Uncle Rex’s war time experiences some time after he had fostered my love of fishing with short but memorable journeys to country that largely still remains remote to all but bushwalkers and fisherman.
There’s no doubt that returning to the country of Tasmania’s highland lakes and central plateau did much to help heal the wounds of war for Able Seaman Pullen – a sunken ship, comrades lost, endless days of heat and thirst, encircled by sharks on a raft in the Timor Sea.
If he did not say so, I am sure Uncle Rex certainly thought it – the country of the highlandlakes and central plateau is good for the soul.
And, as time has passed I have embraced that country and the passion that took him there.
Uncle, you taught me to love that time, in the minutes before sunrise, when the mist sits gently on the highland lakes.
I learned the thrill of chasing those elusive trout when, even in the borrowed oilskins over two shirts, a sweater, a vest and two pairs of sox in rubber waders, the morning sun could do little to warm my inner core.
You showed me the joy of being remote when we were [...]
Tuesday, 13 August 2013
For some people, getting out of bed is a challenge, regardless of what the day might hold in store. Even serious fly fisherman can be affected by this ailment – the need to stay wrapped beneath the covers, with 3 lb. browns taking a Red Tag at every bend in the stream of dreams.
Sometimes you catch more fish that way than a whole day in chilling water with barely a hip flask to fend off the despondency that results from no rises anywhere.
Not that I was looking for any excuse when I pulled the covers over my head, rolled over and was vaguely aware that the suspension of the camper-van, definitely not a luxurious Winnebago, was in need for some care.
Somewhere in the back of my still comatose mind a voice was calling to me with some urgency. My fishing buddy Roeland.
More than once I told him to go back to sleep. But it was to no avail. He kept calling. So it was that I woke, nursing a head somewhat befuddled by just one or two beverages the night before, beside this reed-encircled lake barely a hundred metres inland from an isolated beachfront on Tasmania’s north east coast.
“Go there,” [...]
Sunday, 21 July 2013
A subject very close to the heart of every fly fisherman: all those boxes jammed with fur and feather, most deemed indispensable, some close to sacred, and always a few secret weapons.
How the hell we all end up with so many different and varied patterns for fishing the same water is beyond me, yet every time you talk to another fisherman, you discover another selection. This never ruffles anyone’s feathers; everybody is entitled to their own choice. One of the most generous gestures in fly fishing is when someone offers you a different fly to try on your favourite water. Sometimes it simply slips to the bottom of the bag; yet others seem like a revelation… you gently roll it in your hand, you can feel the connection – this fly will catch a fish, as simple as that.
Selection in the early years is a pretty hit-and-miss affair. This stage is by far the largest mental hurdle: so many choices, so many sizes and always that niggling feeling that you may have got it wrong. Time and experience is supposed to cure all this, but I’m not so convinced. How many fisherman have been humbled by the ‘untouchables’ [...]
Sunday, 31 March 2013
I’m just going to put it out there.
I love my wading boots. Battered, broken, resurrected, and nearly killed again; they’ve been with me now for so many years that we’re like old friends, both a little haggard, both definitely showing our age and – according to my beloved wife – both about due for replacement.
Most of the other fisherman I talk to about my boots don’t seem to feel the same way, and generally give me a ‘Are you out of your freaking mind?’ kind of look. “What about a favourite rod?” they ask me. Sure, I love my rod – but take away the boots and I can’t bloody go anywhere.
Funnily enough, the boots I’m talking about didn’t get off to a very welcome start. They came home in their Simms-branded box, wrapped in crisp white tissue paper, the packaging blazoned with ‘Bozeman, Montana’. The guy in the fly shop had been very helpful, and there’s no doubt they were the boots I wanted…
What did come as a surprise, however, was that on further inspection the boots turned out to have been made in China. Of course, I realise that Simms obviously moved a lot of product offshore years [...]
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
Foam resembling a thousand drits of snow.
Soundless, the peach and pear trees form their battalions of spring.
With one jug of wine
And a fishing line,
On this earth how many are as happy as I?
I dip the oar – in the spring winds the boat drifts like a leaf.
A delicate hook on the end of a silk tassel,
An island covered with flowers,
A jugful of wine.
Among the ten thousand waves I wander in freedom!
– ‘Fisherman’s Song’, Li Yu (937AD – 978AD)
It may appear to be a strange question to ask – yet so many people are saying “It doesn’t matter”, that I admit I’m a little unsure about the answer.
Maybe, for me, instinct kicks in? That head-shaking, line-tearing feeling on the end of my fly line is something that can’t be duplicated; knowing you’ve deceived a fish that has thousands of years of instinct on its side can do wonderful things to a person – your place in the order of things is correct, or simply that the right choices were made.
Of course, I love the other aspects that come with fishing: the wildlife, the scenery, the peace and solitude… All these are vital for making me a ‘fisherman’, and they form part [...]
Wednesday, 6 March 2013
FlyLife # 71 is out now and our new ad features on page 19, thanks to the whole team for pulling this one together, we hope you like it.