Fishing Sense by Philip Weigall

Author:Philip Weigall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: SPORTS & RECREATION / Fishing
ISBN: 9781927147412
Publisher: Exisle Publishing Pty Ltd
Published: 2009-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

It was February on Victoria’s Goulburn River. John fishes this water a couple of times a week during the season, and he all but guaranteed me amazing fishing among the willows and tea-tree if I made it up while the river was fairly high. I reckon promises like that are testing the fishing gods, but I came up anyway. It was an oppressive day, humid and still and I couldn’t wait to step into the river and wet wade.

Cumulus clouds began shooting up from late morning, slowly filling the sky so that any sun-assisted polaroiding was soon ruled out. It didn’t matter. Most of the trout, both the dedicated willow grub feeders and those with more varied tastes, cruised under the willows and spotting was actually easier without the mottled shade sunshine would have produced. Apparently the fishing gods were feeling magnanimous, for bar having to wipe the sweat off my polaroids every few minutes, conditions were ideal. The trout were feeding hard, and as with most fish near plenty of structure and cover, they were relatively carefree. Some Goulburn trout have eyes in their tails, but I guess in the willows, upright anglers, arms and rods just blend in. I don’t own a rod short enough to be perfect for this sort of fishing, so we took it in turns with John’s 6-foot, 3-weight. Actually John mostly spotted while I fished, despite my occasional half-hearted protest. There was no need to cast far, just to present (and strike) in a confined space, hence the short rod. More than half my takes came to bow-and-arrow casts, the rest to a single flick.

It was brilliant fishing, some of the best I’ve ever had on the Goulburn. I landed four trout over 11⁄2 pounds, the biggest closer to 3, and I missed or lost many more. It was up close sight fishing at its finest, sport you’d travel a long way to better. All the fish I hooked took a willow grub imitation or a Wee Creek Hopper—the real grasshoppers were abundant along the grassy edges, even where the willows encroached.

A couple of fussy fish nudged a foam beetle, although ‘fussy’ is probably unfair; my less-than-perfect first presentations seemed to make those particular trout wary. Even fish feeding hard and close to cover aren’t completely blind to danger. When you’re virtually standing on top of them and the first cast or drift isn’t quite right, you normally witness the subtle change from top gear to something a little more subdued. The trout aren’t exactly spooked, but there’s a bit of caution in their behaviour that wasn’t there minutes before. Any sight fisher—from the Oreti to Olive Lagoon—knows just what I mean.

Late in the afternoon the towering clouds began to emit faint rumbles and rain curtains started to form in the middle distance. A combination of poor light and the threat of being caught in a storm persuaded us to call it a day. On the long walk back to the car, John and I talked about maybe staying on to see if evening produced a termite fall or some such.

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