Trout sisters
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I hate September. It’s a tough time to be a NSW fly angler devoted to stream craft. August, I can stomach as our season has only been wrapped up for a month or so. But September - I really struggle with September. It feels like an age since you’ve felt the current of a river against your waders. To add fuel to the fire - Victorians, gleefully boasting about the masses of trout they catch, seem to emerge from the woodwork. Every year through the month of September I am anxious for October 1 and completely encapsulated with the idea of fishing again.
September 2022, I found myself in the familiar situation, at the family dinner table banging on about fishing with Dad and planning our next drift boating trip on the Tumut River, we were struck with an unfamiliar contributor – Mum. She simply chimed in with “Can I come this time?”. It was, at the time, out of the blue. But why was it? Our ignorance and obliviousness came crashing down on us both. “Of course you can come Mum”. Dad and I felt like fools. Why hadn’t we asked her before? With the dawning reality of this blatant omission setting upon us, a plan was soon hatched to get Mum and her sister, Aunty Jen, out on the boat at some point during the upcoming season.
“Game on. I was keen to get out on the drift boat and fly fish the Tumut River with my Mum and my Aunty.”
A cross reference of a couple of calendars and the busting out of a red marker to circle December 3rd 2022, resulted in the usual excitement that I enjoy when a fishing trip is confirmed. However, this time, I could see I wasn’t the only one experiencing this feeling. Mum had a grin ear to ear. As I got up to clear my plate I wandered past the bench where Mum had been sitting moments before. Fly Life issue # 105 innocuously lay there, Whilst never confirmed, I suspect that Elsa Caruso’s fantastic article ‘See it, be it’ encouraging anglers to get out fly fishing, may have played an influential factor in encouraging Mum to speak up that evening. Game on. I was keen to get out on the drift boat and fly fish the Tumut River with my Mum and my Aunty.
The morning arrived without the usual energy and urgency that I know ahead of a day on the water. Yet as this was Mum and Aunty Jen’s first opportunity to explore Tumut, I soon learnt that this day was going to be a little more than just fly fishing. Mum and Aunty Jen are keen bird watchers and quickly flagged that they would love to spot a few along the way. Polaroiding of a different kind. But first, cups of coffee and tea were to be sourced from a trip into town.
“When boat excitement peaked at the spotting of a platypus, I thought there and then the hopes of finding a fish that day were lost.”
Dawn on the main drag of Tumut is a special time. One of those moments that straddles both eerie and calm. Devoid of people, bar those wrapped in exercise gear accompanied by pups, it lies quietly in the soft creeping light, waiting for the customary bustling activity of small country town life to burst onto the scene with true daybreak. It’s not often you get to take your time to appreciate those moments, but that morning I enjoyed dropping out of 5th gear and taking it in. It was a theme that would hold us in good stead for the rest of the day and one I would have to lean in to. Steaming cups of tea and coffee accompanied our pre-drift detour to the Rotary Lookout atop the ‘hill’. A towering vantage that allows your eye to stretch to the furthest corners up the Goobagandra Valley and away across to the Blowering Cliffs, all while offering a birds eye perspective of the Tumut township nestled below. Not the only notable landmark to be seen in Tumut, we swung by Junction Bridge on the way out to the put in. Junction Bridge is a breathtakingly beautiful piece of timber-based, McDonald-truss style engineering and architecture. Completed in 1895, that bridge would no doubt have played party to some incredible tales. Looking at it, you can almost hear the ancient native hardwood mumbling its stories from behind flaking white paint. No doubt more truthful than some of the fishing recounts that some of the old crusty angling locals seem to roll out over the bar at the Oriental Hotel. But I digress, back to the main event.
Unsurprisingly for 2022, a wet year resulting in most catchment storages bursting at their seams, Blowering Dam was pumping crystal clear water into the Tumut. The light breeze felt breathless, and birds chimed away in the lifeless willows bordering the river. It had the feeling of a really good day. Considering Mum and Aunty Jen were new to fly fishing, the 101 of casting, drifting and striking were explained at express pace to maximise time on the water. Doing so on the grass at the riverside campground, the grey nomads were like bees to a honeypot. It drew the standard 1 or 2 wisecracks about casting on the grass, catching sticks and rowing back up against the current. The kind off comments that serve as exhibit A as to thinking before chiming in. But alas, some people just need to be heard. We set off with a certain vigour and determination (and underlying relief to see the back of a few outspoken octogenarians). Today, this boat wasn’t going to be messed with.
The first couple of meandering bends came and went without hide nor hair of a descending indicator. The angling concentration levels of the two fly fisherwomen left a little to be desired as the bird sightings were many and varied and drew attention upwards, away from the river. A Yellow-faced Honeyeater and Striated Pardalote were accounted for - aided by their calls singing with clarity up the river valley uninterrupted. Nature in its undisturbed form. More and more birds species were spotted and my hopes for catching a fish were evaporating further with every passing, fishless run. When boat excitement peaked at the spotting of a platypus, I thought there and then the hopes of finding a fish that day were lost. Indicators were drifting unmanned, unwatched, unattended at will. A tough day to be a guide.
“The angling concentration levels of the two fly fisherwomen left a little to be desired as the bird life was comprehensive and drawing attention upwards, away from the river.”
However, our luck was to turn. As the platypus-induced exhilaration subsided, a reluctant refocusing on the fish transposed. It was as if we had finally worked our way down the list of things to do and see whilst drifting the Tumut and were now ready to consider tackling a trout. Focus tuned in, the indicators drifted a particularly fishy, traditionally productive run, and Aunty Jen’s natural drift was rewarded - plunging deep and disappearing into the turquoise. A frantic strike, with some hasty line stripping soon had a healthy Tumut River rainbow under control and cradled in her net. A watershed moment for the group.
Well, the proverbial floodgates seemed to have opened and fish after fish started coming to hand. The rainbow trout seemed to oblige with the stark improvement in 10 to 2 casting, upstream mending and natural drifts. As the thicket of sub-aquatic action quickened the attention directed upwards to the skies and tree line lessened. Fly fishing had well and truly captured their attention.
“The rod was bent over on itself and, despite my cries to get the rod tip upwards pointing to the sky, Mum couldn’t seem to heave it up. It was what we came for.”
Stopping for lunch was a little different to the general riverside lunchtime I had become accustomed to. Cups of tea and biscuits seemed to be the flavour of the day. I took a decided pass and stuck with my trusted chicken wrap. But over our wraps and tea, the conversation gravitated towards how good the fishing had been and how much Aunty Jen and Mum had enjoyed it. Within the context of having never picked up a fly rod, expectations of one, maybe two fish were already blown out of the water. It was time for the next challenge. We set ourselves the task of a big fish for the afternoon.
We continued on, bend after bend, pulling more and more fish from all the usual spots. But as the January mercury continued to rise, the hopes of meeting our challenge and landing a big one began to fade. With two bends to go, things were getting dire. The boat ramp was fast approaching and we were in need of a genuine buzzer beater. Pushing through a flat, slow section, riddled with snags and enroute to the second last section of productive water before day's end, Mum cried out, “I’m on, it's big!” My first reaction was one of annoyance. Knowing we were passing over a bunch of heavy-duty log jams I assumed Mum had got herself tangled on one and a case of re-rigging was inevitable. However, snapping my neck around to see the damage, I was met with a bouncing rod tip brought to life by the reaction of any angry trout. It is often difficult to tell how big a fish is when hooked down below and you're not the one holding the rod, however given the rod tip resembled a cordial fuelled toddler loose on a trampoline, the fish had to be good. The rod was bent over on itself and, despite my cries to get the rod tip upwards pointing to the sky, Mum couldn’t seem to heave it up. It was what we came for. Abandoning its efforts to bury itself on the bottom of the river in the crevasse of the aforementioned log jams, the fish took a new tack and decided to head off downstream. Tearing line from the reel, for a moment, Mum would have had better chance of putting the brakes on a plummeting elevator. But she gathered her angling skills, refined throughout the day, and was able to wrestle control back. She was soon cradling a solid Tumut River trout. Box ticked. It’s great when a plan comes together.
Reflecting on the day whilst running the boat shuttle, I had my previous confusion and ignorance confirmed. There is no reason why fishing trips can’t be with the Mums and Aunties of the world. Forget the Dads and Uncles. Not only are you spared from pretty ordinary jokes, you’re also accompanied by people who might be more interested in learning how and why the nuances of fly fishing are necessary and are ultimately much more considered with their fly fishing. Of course, that’s a generalisation, but it may well be a fair one. It’s great fun and the cups of tea at lunch don’t hurt either. Do yourself a favour. Pick up FlyLife #105 and read ‘See it, be it’. You won’t regret doing so.
