Easter near Dinner Plain

Dark as Guiness.

From the track, the river looked almost as dark as Guinness, with white foam at the edges of the pools like the froth at the top of a pint glass. Not being able to see to the stream bed added a sense of mystery and excitement to the anticipation I was  feeling. Last time I had fished the Victoria River (unsuccessfully) was with lures over 15 years ago, when I chucked a few small Celtas around and cursed not having proper waders or even sturdy boots to let me traverse its banks. And runners weren’t going to protect me from the resident tiger snakes.

This time, I parked the car and carefully picked my way past tussocks and fallen tree limbs. I was soon standing under a bankside willow. (As this was just a quick recon on what was a family Easter holiday, rather than a dedicated fishing trip, the fly rod stayed in the car for now.)

Up close, the water still seemed dark, but the pale rocks on the river’s edge were now visible. Out in the middle, it was difficult to judge depth, so wading upstream was going to be interesting to say the least. Despite the generally small size of the river, in places, a good wading pole would be handy if I stepped off the bank.

Tempting!

Fighting the urge to get the rod out for a quick flick or three, I walked back to the car – I had other committments that afternoon and evening.

A day later, and the afternoon was a cool 12 degrees. After stepping off the bank and into the current, I checked the water temperature. It was 13 degrees, a single degree warmer than the air. Two earlier bushwalking sessions at Dinner Plain had shown there were still grasshoppers moving about: brown, pale green, or tan. Black crickets also occasionally scuttled away when a hiking boot dislodged a stone or stick they were hiding under.

Tied on the end of my tippet was a Muz Wilson Wee Creek Hopper, with tan body and white and black banded rubber legs. A logical choice to ‘match the hatch’ – I hoped!

For perhaps two hundred metres, I mostly bow-and-arrow cast; willow branches or tussocks seemed to snare my tippet when I cast overhead. I had limited time to fish – and certainly none to waste dealing with snags! Each cast drifted down bubble-lines, or hugged the bank to entice any overhang ambushers. There was plenty of structure on this section. Surely a strike would come on the next cast. No, okay, well what about on this one? No?

Bow-and-arrow water.

I found myself pursing my lips and holding my breath with each splashdown of the Hopper, sure a fish would attack it at any moment. I didn’t want to be daydreaming when it did! After all, this was true close quarters fishing. Some stretches of water were only 3-5 metres long before they turned a sharp corner, or fallen timber blocked the way forward. Sometimes the tussocks were brushing both shoulders as I stalked forward. I’d be very close, if not almost on top of a trout if I rushed ahead, so each fishable run got three casts minimum before I took a couple more steps.

Promising pool.

Another metre-wide section of stream began to broaden into a pool ahead, with a cascade of water tumbling in at the top. This was the third or fourth good pool I’d encountered. The Wee Creek Hopper had been dispensed with a run or two back after nothing hit it. I’d also noticed that, down along the river, I wasn't actually seeing a single grasshopper or cricket.

So, I'd changed to a Blowfly. It didn’t get any reaction the two times it landed at the tail of the pool, and so the next cast was sent to the centre. A moment later, water exploded around it, and I immediately stripped the line and whipped my rod up. I felt weight, and it was fighting back – finally! Keeping the rod tip up but not retrieving my line too quickly, I brought the struggling fish in close. My left hand reached behind me and clasped the handle of my landing net. I angled it and pushed it forward, manoeuvring the angry bundle of fish in, and was eye to eye with a fine brownie. A couple of quick snaps, and it was on its way.

It was the first Victoria River trout I’d met and I really want to meet more! There was something very appealing, even addictive, about this particular river. 

I was able to wrangle another short session the next day. I started right where I’d finished previously. This time, the sun was out and the air temperature was three degrees warmer. Whilst clouds became more numerous as I worked upstream, it still felt ‘fishy’.

Something landed on the water from a tree overhead, and then a second later, a trout rose and hit it. A feeding fish is more likely to be a catchable fish, so with anticipation, I carefully bow-and-arrow cast ahead, with three slow steps after each drift. Soon, I had a rise on my experimental CDC fly. I struck, felt the struggle, began stripping line, and was pleased to be still attached to the fish. A little later, a streamlined brown was in the net.

The river itself was changing now. After a while, I had left the metre-width stretches behind and broad, gravelly runs began to appear. There were still a few clumps of willows, but the difference in habitat was noticeable. Working a slower pool under some willows, I had a refusal. Something came up, looked at my Royal Wulff, then butted it away with its head.

Intrigued, I swapped the Wulff over for a small Snowflake Caddis. This too was inspected, then I saw a flash of the fish’s belly as it turned 180 degrees and headed away. Uncertain if the trout would be foolish enough to inspect a third fly, I tied on a small brown Paradun with green post. A couple of casts, and nothing. Shuffling forward very slowly, I carefully bow-and-arrow cast again. Still nothing. Yet another shuffle forward, and then another bow-and-arrow cast. A small splash, and it was taken. That very hungry brownie, smaller than the others, was quickly netted.

Though lesser in size, that trout felt like the greatest victory of the three I caught on this first fly trip to the Victoria River, and a great way to finish my ration of Easter fishing sessions.