Western Lakes Adventure – Tim Feely

from Tasmanian Fishing and Boating News Issue 143 2020 November

I Ain’t Leven – Leven River — Casey Pfeiffer

A Western Lakes Adventure

A Western Lakes Adventure and Ten Tips to Live By by Tim Feely

Each January for the last few years I have been fortunate to have backpacked into the Western Lakes to fish some of the more remote areas of Tasmania that don’t see too many fishermen. A good mate called Nigel Meek ventures in with me for three days exploring pristine country looking for wild fish. We watch the weather closely in mid-January, waiting patiently for a big high-pressure system to develop over Western Australia and watch it gradually move toward Tasmania. These systems usually bring two to three days of blue sky, moderate Northerly winds and warm temperatures.

Rocks on the edges of the lake make for a perfect polarioding platform www.tasfish.com - Get the knowledge - Get the fish.

The rewards of a long hike to a untouched location

If we are lucky enough to get this weather pattern in our time frame the excitement builds to a fever pitch and the race is on. There’s camping gear to check and pack, batteries to replace, laces and boots to snow seal, first aid kit to be restocked (more blister bandaids), maps to study, flies to tie and fishing gear to prepare for the annual trek. Two blokes could hardly be more excited if Christmas and trout opening coincided.

The combination of crystal clear water, shallow bays and tarns provide classic places to search for patrolling trout with the aid of a pair of polaroid sunglasses. With the sun over your shoulder, you can sometimes find cruising fish that can be seen at 10, 20, 30 or even 40 metres if your vantage point offers enough elevation. On the other hand, you may wander around in circles wondering if there are any fish in the lakes that you are exploring, such is their ability to disappear if the conditions don’t suit them. Their ability to vanish into thin air has always intrigued me and whilst polaroiding you certainly get a privileged heads up into some of their antics. The Western lakes are a wonderland of wilderness dreams and when the lure becomes too much, the nerves and reservations Float tubes are a great way of covering more water are shrugged

to one side and the confidence is finally plucked, it may well be your time to venture out west. But until then join me as I relive a special trip from January 2009. The walk into the Wadley Lakes region reminds me of the importance of getting the 1: 25,000 map. I have been using the 1:100,000 map with a growing suspicion that it just doesn’t have enough detail when you are in a country that does not have standout features that are easily distinguishable. I reckon the topographers and map makers have a pretty good sense of humour at times when you find yourself pointing at ridges that are not on the map and then others that appear when you don’t want them to. Usually, our confusion was settled when we arrived sooner or later at an expanse of water and the shape of the lake was used to great effect giving us an overdue bearing and renewed confidence. We had to resist the urge to pull out the fly rod on one occasion after seeing a pair of browns on the backshore of Augusta. Despite this rare display of discipline, the walk from Augusta to Wadley’s still took about 4 hours with some off-track exploring along the way. This was about double what I had expected, but then I didn’t think the track would be so camouflaged amongst the myriad of animal trails. Not being able to establish a modest track on the way in cost us a couple of hours walking.

We were happy to have made our destination into the Wadley’s area without too many hiccups. I had to stop to apply blister bandaids for the first time in 15 years and thankfully Meekie had a good supply of heavy-duty blister bandaids which saved me from wrapping my foot with black electrical tape.

A quick fish on dark around our hastily erected tent was surprisingly quiet with nothing seen or caught. A traditional dinner of cooked salami and chilli sauce tops of a good start to the trip. My exhaustion balances out my excitement of the days ahead and sleep comes quickly.

I awoke early by the song of an unnamed highland bird; at exactly 4.30 am. I would be annoyed in any other place but not here, time seems to evaporate before your eyes in this country. I lie awake now planning today’s adventure but my enthusiasm gets the better of me and I have to get out of the tent and begin exploring before good light has yet arrived. I untangle myself from the sleeping bag and bully the tent fly open with fumbling fingers to survey the new day.

Through the emerging dawn light, I stare through squinting eyes, pretending that I can see more than I can to justify my curiosity, whilst wrestling a breakfast bar open that threatens to break my concentration. Then it happens, on the opposite side of the lake, I see my first fish of the day rise gently in the glassy water and then disappear, leaving me wondering if I had imagined

the whole thing. I rush down my breakfast bar whilst recounting the event to Meekie, who seems to believe me and even asks an encouraging question. He is soon out of the tent wandering around in a flattering pair of torn multicoloured thermals. If I look anything like him we are bound to spook all critters within a coo wee. Another rise and an audible clomp confirms my first encounter and the adventure has begun before breakfast has been eaten. This has the makings of a special day and I adjust my boots and gaiters with extra care.

We have perfect weather, blue skies and light wind. As soon as I decimated the breakfast bar, I found myself wading over my hips across the first bay to get to the shore I had seen the first fish of the day. Meekie headed back toward a likely bay and we would keep in contact with each other by UHF radio for the remainder of the day fishing different shores to cover as much ground as we could. He is undoubtedly one of the most highly skilled and passionate fishermen in Tasmania and it is a delight to share another trip with him. I always poach a few tips from him and he pretends that he would get lost if he wasn’t following me, which is pretty funny considering I can’t even find my car keys, wallet or glasses. On our first trip together three years ago he managed to convince me that perhaps the “winch rope” that I use to polaroid Great Lake in two-foot waves may not be the ticket out here. I nodded, caught 4 fish in twenty minutes and wondered what all the fuss was about as he had not even seen a fish. Then I managed to get 13 refusals in a row on a variety of good flies and Meekie managed to catch the next 7 fish to make the point really clear. As another friend of mine says I may do stupid things, but I ain’t stupid. I now use a good quality five-pound tippet in the still clear water and the refusal problem has disappeared. Some lessons hurt but you can be sure they are never forgotten.

Back to the hunt, I know I shouldn’t wade too deep but the blood is up and excitement takes over better judgment. I make it to shore without drowning self or gear and begin a careful stalk along the bank, watching the caddis moths skitter along the glassy edge that runs along the bank for about 30 metres. My senses are fully amped with anticipation and sure enough, a nice fish explodes from an undercut bank. He hasn’t seen me, he has felt me through the vibrations of the bank. Talk about dirty fighting early on.

Oh well, that would have been a tough cast, I console myself unconvincingly. A few more metres and another fish is spotted coming straight at me from close range. I freeze and flip a little role cast out well in front of him confident he will find the red tag. Find it he did and eat it, NOT. Another presentation, landed closer to excite him into a take. Not so, this fish had not read all the red tag articles that I have that’s for sure. I dipped my hat and continued on, truth be known I had little choice.

Two western lakes lessons already for my trouble, I adjust my strides and twist my hat firmer to my head thankful no one was watching me. Meanwhile, Meekie radios to let me know that he has opened our account with a nice two pounder polaroided and released after taking his red tag. Obviously, his fish was a wider read than mine.

The pressure is off now for one of us at least. I slow my pace down but the first 15-minute tutorial has me scratching my chin. I then realise that my fish was probably chasing the grey caddis that were presenting on the shore. So not wanting to end up with more lessons before morning tea, I changed the fly to a nice little grey caddis pattern on a size 14 hook. Immediately a trout jumps as if he watched me tie the fly on and with the same enthusiasm I present the fly with a crisp snap of the wrist. A brief moment passes and then an aggressive snatch pulls me from the trance to find myself attached to a feisty young trout that seemed happy to spend as much time in the air as in the water. The riddle was looking a little easier now and my confidence in the modest homemade fly was growing. The fish was unusually small for this water weighing not much more than a pound but he had broken the fish monkey curse that mother nature sends down from time to time to challenge complacency. On some trips when the fish monkey makes an appearance it can be difficult to budge. If not dealt with quickly and strategically it may reach gorilla proportions when new batteries suddenly will go flat, tyres blow, boots fall apart, fly rods break, headlamps fail, torches disappear, deer threaten to jump through your front window, fuel disappears, carefully hidden packs play hide and seek, the list is endless so beware whatever your religion, do not muck with the fish monkey and leave all bananas at home.

We walked about 10 km and each step was worth the effort as we found progressively better water as we explored our new country. We deviated here and there and our exploring nature helped us hit the jackpot. We looked for structure, deep water drop-offs and cool water. We polaroid dozens of magnificent wild fish and saw not another boot mark. It was sensational to watch big browns cruise up and stick half their head out of the crystal clear water to crunch nervous dry flies.

The small caddis fly continued to out fish the normal tags, wulffs and emergers. I had several break off’s on five-pound tippet and some fish were so wild they swam back after being hooked or broken off, to pick another fight in less than two minutes (this happened to me three times). This behaviour is only seen in truly wild fish and made the trip one I shall never forget. We were both astounded at the end of the day to realise we had caught 20 fish that weighed between two and four pounds. We knew this was a freaky day never likely to be repeated in this tough country but no one could ever take it away from us. It is a day we shall both cherish forever. We celebrated with a couple of extra plastic cups of Meekie’s favourite box monster and were glad the next day that we had only humped a 2 litre in to keep us company.

These fish were not always easy though and the standard red tag did not live up to its reputation all the time. I found the number one fly that did not get any refusals was a size 12 or 14 grey stonefly or caddis pattern. They loved that fly and I am using it at all the lakes I fish this January given the explosion of stick caddis that is present on most waters.

Massive pencil pines are a beautiful sight in the western lakes

The western lakes are not just for fly fisher’s and I would like to encourage all adventurous soles to head out there at least once to experience something special to Tasmania. The fishing is not always easy as our day two and three demonstrated when we caught one fish on both days sacrificing numbers to explore potential trophy waters. We saw two very big fish and they both ignored our dry flies so I am going to throw a Galaxia pattern at them next time. Soft plastic fishing would be outstanding in some of the deeper lakes I am quite sure.

Come share the adventure and beauty so you too will be prepared to fight to protect it when the time comes as it surely will. A wilderness without choppers and floatplanes is our highland gold. I have hiked into so-called wilderness areas in other countries to have overweight tourists with fat wallets and thin skill, leapfrog their way up rivers using choppers. Money can not buy a piece of our highland gold. It is there for all people who are keen enough and I will fight for it to remain just as it is with equal access for all.

Tip No 1: Buy the 1: 25,000 map as the detail is required especially if looking for specific headwaters and small tarns.

Tip No 3: Even a very modest track can almost halve your walking time even through thin scrub. So take the extra time to locate noted tracks as this will save you more time than you think.

Tip No 4: Breaking your boots in does take more than a fortnight around the house.

Tip No 5: If you ignore tip no 4, take plenty of proper blister bandaids as this can spoil your trip in a matter of minutes. A mate of mine lost a full week off work from severe blisters. He was caught with a thick weave pair of socks marketed by a leading camping chain as great bushwalking socks. Which leads me to tip 6.

Tip No 6: Thick weave socks are terrible bush socks and potentially kill your feet with blisters. The best allround sock that I have found is the humble explorer sock. Often wearing a very fine weave tight sock under an explorer sock is a great system to avoid blisters.

Tip No 7: If you feel any hot spots developing on your feet stop and check immediately, not when you get to the next ridge!!! Ignore this at your peril. I narrowly avoided a three-day limp by applying good bandaids and changing socks as soon as I felt the hot spot develop.

Tip No 8: Don’t use winch rope for tippet in calm clear conditions. Yes you can often get away with it but then sometimes you will get 13 refusals in a row, you do the math.

Tip No 9: Fish often hold under the banks right at your feet. This is not fair play, carry shovel or bazooka.

Tip No 10: Have UHF radios secured around your neck with a good rope and stick them in your left-hand shirt pocket. Works well and keeps the radio from learning to swim which is always a disappointment. If you do drown it turn it off immediately and pull the batteries out, we have saved a couple doing this believe it or not.

New Sector Saltwater Salty, and Sweet

Imagine a rod that casts tight high line speed loops effortlessly and turns over your leader straight into the wind; a rod that delivers the fly on target with just one release of line on the back cast and can pick it back up and redirect if the fish changes course; a rod that is intuitive and gives you constant feedback; a rod that feels light and alive in your hand and has the touch and feel needed to make short quick shots or float the fly in quietly. All that, plus a rod hand crafted with the very best components ever to grace a fly rod.