and quickly acted the selfless friend offering him the casting opportunity, too proud to admit that I could not see a bloody thing after my long western lakes layoff. However, I didn’t feel I was missing out too much when my companion was refused on every cast, his good presentations were ignored and made fun of by a slow and deliberately tantalising inspection. Funnily enough, by watching these refusals, I was getting my eye in. Cloud cover continued to darken the view, to the point where even my companion admitted a reluctant sight fishing defeat. A cold north westerly breeze reminded us of how much our early hopes of calm weather could be dashed by the unpredictability of the Central Plateau. I was happy that he wanted to have a break to decide our next move, our difference in leg length was slowly telling, I observed how much smaller his torso was than mine, which only served to highlight our difference in leg length, I think he’s part bloody emu. As the cloud was against us, we decided our best hope was a mayfly hatch somewhere, both knowing the back lakes well, we knew where to look. Twenty or so minutes of shuffling along 30 metres behind the gazelle, a much calmer tarn glinted in the flats below us and rising fish instantly greeted us. Whilst no monsters, these were better than the average back lakes fish and almost as if the shore was made for us, there were two rocky points that allowed us to reach the rising trout and talk to each other as we watched our flies bob around in the ripples. Conversation was broken when a head broke the surface and slurped down my fly. Now, I’m a minimalist with everything, including fly fishing gear and so it seems backing. As the fish leaped and took
me to the other side of the lake, I was down to the backing knot before I knew it. My long-legged companion offered some advice that I should continue to let the fish take line, “what line!?” I replied as I pointed to my empty reel. Luck however was on my side, somehow, it didn’t break. Three more fat dun feeders followed until things went quiet again. My friend grabbed his pack and suggested we head further south; however, my short-legged shuffling was never going to achieve it, “I’m a stayer, not a sprinter” I said, as old mate made a “twinkle toes” Fred Flintstone sound effect as I tried hard to stride out towards him. I could tell that he wanted to do a bigger circuit, but he seemed happy enough to turn around and head back after our success with the rising fish, thanks for letting me shuffle along for the day Baz. After all, we’d witnessed the TWWHA wake up, taken in the view, and caught a few fish, which is a mere bonus in this place, a place that deserves to remain wild. “It’s not all about catching fish, or the fact that the area contains trout, that’s a scenario we were given by previous generations. It does however give the TWWHA another powerful stakeholder, to recognise what can be lost to privatisation and noise disturbance. World heritage area deserves to be wild; it’s earned that right for offering the planet another refuge from the expansion of the human population machine, a machine that seems to have a thirst for devouring more and more natural landscapes by the day for pure greed alone. It may not have an audible voice to stand up for itself, but it sure can speak to your soul”. Keep the Western Lakes wild and public. Brett Michael Smith & Mitchell Crowden
Mitch said ‘let him run’, but I was down to the knot. Fishing News - Page 10
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