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Evening action on the Goulburn.
I need to take a deep breath and acknowledge that not all evening rises are as productive – or as reliable – as the one I fished on the Goulburn a few nights ago. Instead, you can be left staring helplessly at a lifeless river. A cold breeze getting up at just the wrong moment, an unexpected lift in river level, or simply an indecipherable quirk of nature, are just a few of the possible saboteurs. Good reason to fish your day without relying on evening to make or break it.
While I adopt that mindset as best I can, I’m only human and except for very early or very late in the stream season, evening is always at the back of my mind.
Rubi afternoon
In the spirit of not being evening rise dependant, my afternoon began with a pre Goulburn session on the nearby Rubicon River. It started slowly – a little surprising given the lovely conditions. The Rubi’s flow was strong without being out of control, the water clarity good in a typically tannin-stained way, and the air was warm with a touch of humidity. The surrounds hummed with life, including a regular procession of inch-long stoneflies fluttering clumsily past.
For all that – plus quite a few small beetles on the wing – in the first 30 minutes, I saw only one rise. While my dry/ dropper attracted a couple of slashes to the green caddis grub beneath, the small Royal Wulff above was ignored.
Meanwhile, my companion JD, persisting with a single size 14 grey Comparadun, was eventually rewarded with a fat brown.
The Rubicon in all its spring finery.
It turned out that, as is so often the case, none of this was a harbinger of the fishing to come. Gradually, the river (or at least its trout) seemed to ‘wake up’. I caught a littlie on the caddis grub, and a pool later, I rolled a 2 pounder. In a run further upstream, I was delighted to land a fish only a bit smaller. The next hour was full of action – a couple more to hand among more misses, a really good one to JD, and then the trout of the session…
Towards the end of our ‘beat’, we were leapfrogging upriver as usual, and while I carefully fished a sweeping bend pool, I became aware of my mate 50 metres ahead gesturing eagerly for me to come up. I wound in, gave the unfished top section a wide berth, and rejoined JD just below a fast and awkward-looking pool; more a pocket really. Blocked at the top by a large log, and lined on either side with flood-deposited branches, it looked hard to fish, and the swift current suggested nothing special for a trout either. To add to the degree of difficulty, fly-catching wattles loomed overhead.
Still, JD explained that a really good brown had chased his Comparadun, before aborting the chase where the ‘pool’ spilled into the rapid below. His thinking was that my heavy grub beneath the Wulff might slow the drift somewhat, and tempt a swipe from the fish.
My awkward first cast – more a flick really – landed about half-way up the mini pool. Sure enough, the brownie appeared out of nowhere in a curious rather than committed chase, before giving up as both my flies were sucked into the rapid below. The next cast was a mess, putting the flies up the wattle on the right. Somehow, I pulled them out, but I was unsure if the target fish would now be spooked.
Third time lucky? Without overthinking it, I launched the clunky combo and the flies landed a metre further up the pool. Apparently, this extra few feet was enough, because the fish reappeared right beneath the racing Wulff this time – and ate it with the nonchalant grace of a trout right at home in current that seemed too fast.
The Wulff chaser.
As I set the hook, JD and I were already laughing in disbelief. The trout charged downriver with me in pursuit, and a few minutes later it was in the net.
With an obvious exit point and the car not far away, it was perfect timing to quit while we were ahead, and move to the Goulburn.
Goulburn Evening
Aside from the good forecast and almost ideal river conditions – clear, with cold Eildon releases of 1700 ML/d (both down to dumb luck as I only had this one free day to fish), there was another motive behind my enthusiasm to head over to the big river. A month earlier, at a particular point on a particular bend, a sparse evening rise right on dark gave me fleeting shots at what seemed like a couple of very good trout. In puffy coat temperatures back then, I hooked and dropped both of them.
As is usually the case with me and big fish lost, the memory lingered. Maybe perfect conditions, a month further into the season, would offer another chance? Whatever happened, at least the Rubicon had ensured it was already a good day.
JD and I walked down to that Goulburn bend with plenty of daylight left. Our plan had been to leave the Rubi in time to explore and settle in, but not so early that we’d lose enthusiasm before the main rise started. We expected this rise to happen either side of sunset; preferably before, so we’d have time on our side to seek out the better fish and have plenty of shots.
A rise like the one I’d fished at the end of September is as much a curse as a blessing: a frantic few minutes getting darker by the second, a race to convert before the light or the rises or both run out. In that case, I lost the race, something I’d had weeks to dwell on.
A big Goulburn dragonfly leaper for JD early.
This time, everything felt much better. All afternoon, the mid-twenties warmth plus humidity had the insects busy, and their activity only increased as the sun angled lower and the shadows expanded. I saw the odd dun or spinner as soon as we reached the bend around 5pm. JD caught a nice dragonfly leaper soon after. Around 6pm, I found a sipper in a backwater which took a small parachute red spinner. So far so good.
There was a slight lull for half an hour: one big fluttering Kossie dun, a couple of slashy rises, and a few random softer sips.
By 7pm, I’d found two or three semi-regular sippers in the deep water on the far side under the willows. It was a long cast and the drift was tricky, but after 10 minutes I was satisfied these trout didn’t want the spinner anymore.
Getting in under the willows.
Meanwhile, a regular procession of small duns and spinners flew past. I changed the spinner for a size 16 Bassano Parachute Possum Emerger a regular winner for me on lake or stream; especially when smaller mayfly are about.
On the second cast with this fly, its drift seemed on track for the most recent rise, and an audible clip confirmed it. I lifted into a thickset wild brown which felt and fought much bigger than 1½ pounds.
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JD brings another riser to the net.
I won’t detail every subsequent fish, except to note that what had seemed like a just few trout rising, turned out to be many times that number – more than enough for JD and me to comfortably ‘share’ the bend – and that’s not including some extra fish which began to rise closer in the slacker water on our side.
We caught plenty and missed only a few – all sharp-finned wild browns, with a couple big enough to exorcise the demons of my evening losses a month earlier. It’s been a while since I’ve finished a day so satisfied.
Proof perhaps that if you fish for long enough, you’ll get those days which measure up to your dreams – even if this one may make it harder to plan a future day without putting too much emphasis on evening rise potential.
