Gratitude and great fishing - the 2020/21 season so far

I don’t know about you but when I cast my mind back to this time last year my chest tightens and I get a sense of impending doom. While the relative normality (at least for us in Australia) of the present is a tonic to the past, everything still feels so fragile - like the 6x tippet bearing the strain of a massive wild brown that could snap and break your heart. For now, things seem to be holding up and hope is most definitely on the horizon. But that’s the thing about a global pandemic, you just never know what’s around the corner. For me, it was great fishing and a new level of gratitude.

After the lockdown comes sunshine and rainbows

Like millions of others, I tuned into the daily pressers and was front row when they lifted the ‘ring of steel’ in November. It was like someone had just opened the blinds and I don’t think I’ve ever been so keen to visit regional Victoria. I rang up my fishing partner in crime and booked us into a cabin the following week. I felt like a criminal leaving my 25km perimetre to drive up to Noojee. Locals treated me with caution and it felt miles from the warmth I usually feel on country trips. I couldn’t blame them but it played on my mind and by the time I hit the water, I was already doubting myself - never a good start because I swear the trout can sense it!

Partner crime bagging one of many lovely little browns in west Gippsland

Everything felt wrong. Despite practising during the lockdown, I was throwing sloppy loops, getting tangled in trees and tripping over submerged snags … I could feel a rage brewing inside of me. Dropping a good fish was the straw that broke the camel's back and it sent me off into a foul-mouthed tirade at myself and everything around me. I’ve never felt this kind of anger before and certainly never verbalised the kind of bile that came out. Hot tears stung my cheeks and I felt shambolic. Luckily, my fishing partner wasn’t nearby to witness my tantrum and I managed to get my shit together and join them again to close out a slow morning’s fishing (well, for me at least!). 

I fished alone in the afternoon because I needed to find my groove and make peace with the water. I started the session with deliberate and kind self-affirmations and apologised to the river out loud. Yes, you may think I’m mad, but the gods were listening and it wasn’t long before I was netting pretty little trout. And then the tears came again. But this time the saltwater washed away months and months of fear and melancholy and triggered the most intense feelings of love and gratitude for everything and everyone I hold dear in my life. Grief and celebration collided and left my body feeling so much lighter. I went on to have one of the best sessions I’ve ever had on the Toorongo and it’s all been uphill since then.

The Toorongo trout that helped turn around 2020

In December, I headed to Bright and the region's rivers were on fire! I won’t theorise about why but there were plenty of good size, well-conditioned fish about. First up was Mountain Creek and the conditions were magic … blue skies, balmy and just enough humidity to get the insects going. The water was crystal clear and flowing beautifully, and as I was tying up on the bank something moved out the corner of my eye. A perfectly presented caddis pattern prompted an immediate take from a gorgeous 1lb wild rainbow. And the action just got better, with two incredible brownies among the 15 I landed during my morning mission. The Ovens boiled too, with an evening above Harrietville that saw healthy brown after brown rise to different drys. Honestly, it was the stuff of dreams and that night my friends thought I was high when I returned home. 

One of many of Mountain Creek’s gold ingots

The week before Christmas I hit the Stevenson River with my nephew who’d just graduated from primary school. It was without a doubt the highlight of 2020. A complete novice, he patiently completed a basic casting course on the grass before fidgeting to get onto the water. After 30 minutes of fruitless labour, I couldn’t help but laugh at his comment: “can we go to another river because there aren’t any fish in here.” So, I took the rod, talked through how and why I was doing what I was and in 2 minutes disproved his theory. From there his ears really opened and fish started to bite. Two hours in and the lad had landed a few little one’s and then shocked himself when a 2.5lb rainbow took him for a ride and hit his net. How did he feel? I think the words “this is one of the best moments of my life” summed it up. It was a privilege to be part of such a right of passage.

My nephew about to get hooked on fly fishing

January marked the start of my official guiding season. My soul felt refreshed and I was in great shape to take on the back to back bookings ahead of me. From fishing next to platypus, dodging big swimming snakes and watching kangaroos splash about to marvelling at the regrowth of bushfire impacted areas, 2021 has filled me with so much love and gratitude for the beauty of what’s on our doorstep. And the joy of sharing it all with my clients who feel exactly the same is a feeling that’s beyond words. Each fish landed, each memory made, is done so with a whole new level of collective thankfulness that feels cathartic and is helping reestablish hope and those human connections we’ve been denied for so long. 

The days are getting shorter now but there’s still plenty of time to wet a line before the cloak of winter wraps itself around the earth. With the vaccine roll out underway in Australia and in other countries around the world, there is real reason to feel confident about brighter days ahead. For me, I’ll be losing my heart to the wild as much as I can before the season closes and thanking Mother Nature for everything she’s given me. I’m sure I’ll see you there. Tight lines.

Gone fishing …