Start of the evening rise on the Goulburn; day two. By nightfall, we must have cast to literally dozens of rising trout, for only two to hand. The previous rainy evening I could only find three risers, and yet I caught two of those. Go figure!
What makes a great fishing trip? Besides the company of course, for me, the answer would seem obvious (and probably predictable): lots of trout, including some big ones, and a decent helping of sight fishing.
But sometimes, there’s more to it, and the last few days in the Eildon district were a case in point.
In typical spring fashion, JD and I went from drizzly puffy coat weather at the start of the trip, to sun, broad brims and shirtsleeves at the end. The one constant was dry fly fishing. Even in the rain, the insects kept coming off. As if to say, “Right, it’s almost summer, we’ve waited long enough!”
Anyway, to the waters themselves, and part one was the Goulburn: tailwater fishing on a justifiably famous (if fickle) river; on this occasion flowing at a clear and stable 2500 ML/d. At this height, it’s a somewhat manageable pools-and-runs stream, albeit a big one; dripping with potential.
Hooked up to a Goulburn beauty on a cold, rainy evening...
... and the eventual result ten anxious minutes later.
Despite what I sometimes hear, I find the big G regularly carries a lot of trout, with some big ones among them. When the Goulburn is not too high, enough of these are accessible on foot to make for exciting fishing. Note I said ‘exciting’ rather than easy. This river is what Americans might call a technical fishery: home to a bewildering range of trout stream insects which can in turn lead to bewildering trout behaviour. More than once this trip, JD and I were convinced that, as a range of species of mayfly, caddis, and stonefly drifted down the current, or skated and skipped across it, the trout changed what they were feeding on mid-session – and perhaps even more often than that. One hour, a grey size 14 paradun was perfect, the next only a dark caddis worked. And don’t be fooled by the clouds of red spinners dancing above the water and then dying on it; apparently the fish weren’t interested… at least not on this occasion. At times over the last few days, we caught enough Goulburn trout to feel quite pleased with ourselves. At other times, not so much.
We must have seen a dozen different sizes and colours of mayfly this trip - and that was just the duns!
Another interesting stream this trip was the Howqua, flowing quite high and cold (11C) for late November. The Howqua is one of the first trout streams I ever fished – we go back over 50 years, when it was only a few miles from home. Every time I visit, there’s a faint sense of trepidation that I may find it very different to the river of my childhood. But so far, that hasn’t happened, and the smells, sounds and nature of the Howqua this trip took me back decades.
JD landing a brown that was sipping in a tailout on the Howqua.
Under those circumstances, the fishing didn’t need to be exceptional, simply good enough. And it was. Fishing carefully, and seeking out the somewhat shallower and softer water, we caught several browns and rainbows that, like the river itself, didn’t seem to have changed in half a century.
A chunky rainbow from a racing Howqua run. A couple of hours wading, and you certainly felt it in your quads!
The last afternoon was on the Rubicon, a Goulburn catchment stalwart that’s provided JD and me with its share of fishing highlights. Yes, it can be a challenge too, but this time the ‘Rubi’ let its guard down for a couple of hours. Duns came off in a steady trickle, including a big black model I’ve never seen before. Most of the trout responded to a similarly large dry: at the very least looking, and often eating. It was the perfect offset to the complex Goulburn, where after some sessions, my vest patch looked like a mini fly shop.
The rainjackets were long gone by yesterday's Rubi session, where big dries with dark hackles worked best.
So I think that’s what made this a great trip: not the winter-to-summer weather, not the unusually generous action on the Rubicon, or the happy memories relived once again on the Howqua, or the problem-solving sessions on the Goulburn. Rather, it was all the parts together. Bloody lovely!
