Navigating the water, shrubs, and occasional trans-river fence line, we found the stream was clearing and dropping before our eyes: a known advantage of fishing near the top of a catchment.  We even managed to spook a couple of good fish in shallow water, despite a careful approach. Leaders were lengthened, out came the dainty 5x tippet, and Henry 1 (H1) removed his indicator (presumably off to be skirted, scoured, and spun) and replaced it with a dry of similar girth. As our good fortune continued, I realised that between pastoral activities and the work of National Parks and Wildlife, helicopters are a common sight in this part of the world. Perhaps these have an emboldening effect on the trout when such an enormous fly is presented.   

Upstream, the fish we were seeing and catching were becoming larger. Rather than the abundance of one-pound fish a bit further down, we were challenged by fewer, but larger fish, and from what we could see, exclusively brown trout. This was exemplified by the fish of the day, a two and half pounder plucked from a likely run by H1. The wonderful condition on all the fish meant we had our work cut out whenever one was hooked. Having lost a couple to undercut banks and poor knot tying, a cautious approach and the fine tippet required a good few minutes spent in combat before this one was netted.  

We realised midday was fast approaching, and as such, our time was limited.  A final run was identified, and H1 and Henry 2 (H2) were kind enough to offer it to me, given the commitment shown the day before. A pebbly bottom and roughly a metre and a half of tea coloured water made spotting any low-sitting fish difficult, even in high sun. Nonetheless, I was pleasantly surprised when a lovely fish took my nymph at the bottom of the run, nearly level with where I stood. Old mate brown was clearly the landlord of that particular piece of water, or at least on the Strata Committee, it charged up and down the run a couple of times, and made several efforts towards an overhanging tree that looked to be highly familiar territory.  Thankfully it did the sporting thing and stayed out of the overgrown riffle immediately downstream and in the more placid water above me, and was eventually subdued and netted from where the cast was made.  

Before turning around H2 spied a large dark grass hopper impression snagged in a tree hanging over the same run.  We easily waded up and plucked the size 8 hook from its entanglement, which must have been lodged there in a time of higher water.  It demonstrated that we were not the first to fall victim to poor knot tying on this stream, and that H1 was not the first to cast black-hawk proportioned flies on it. 

Late for our commitment, we hotfooted back to the car, discarding all of the stealth and caution that had been practiced on the way up (though adequate care was taken ducking under an electric fence which had enlivened the morning and the heart rate of H1 a couple of hours earlier).  We headed back to town and met up with Sam for a quick bite.  It’s funny how you’re never hungry until the good fishing has stopped.  We all piled into the car to head out for an afternoon of riding and more relaxed fishing, and enjoyed the sweeping bends of Alpine Way en route. Everything was a bonus in the after glow of a successful morning. 

See the full version of Because we should here