Flyfishers everywhere were shocked and saddened to learn of the sudden passing of Rob Meade in late January this year.
Rob lived near Geelong in Victoria with his wife Fiona. He spent a lot of time in the Otways, on the nearby estuaries of south-west Victoria, and on the deep, dark pools of the lower Buffalo River in north-east Victoria, to name but a few destinations. And although Rob certainly enjoyed trout fishing, his great passion was natives.
While most flyfishers of my era were focussed on trout, Rob was studiously working on native species, combining an enquiring mind with immense practical ability. Over the years, I fished with Rob in estuaries and freshwater – occasionally for trout, but more often for bream, estuary perch and Australian salmon; and for Murray cod and blackfish in freshwater.
Although it’s hard to imagine these days, mere decades ago, estuary perch were a mysterious species targeted by only a handful of flyfishers. Likewise Murray cod, and I vividly remember the first time Rob took me flyfishing for them. When he passed me one of his hand-sized Huntsman flies to tie on, I assumed he did so mainly for dramatic effect. To a trouty like me, such a monstrosity seemed too much, even for the legendary cod. Rob went on to patiently explain that these were fish known to eat ducks, large lizards, and smaller versions of themselves. In that context, the Huntsman made more sense. Nevertheless, it took a long time to get used to the idea of pulling a fly which, in the water, looked about the size of a typical Otways trout I was used to catching. I was grateful for the loan of one of Rob’s 9 weight rods to cast the thing.
Fishing Rob's cod fly the size of my hand took a bit of getting used to!
On the evening in question, as the shadows grew, the action around the snags and dead trees increased. Following a few useless reflex trout strikes, I finally stripped on the take instead of lifting, thereby successfully setting the hook in a hard mouth. After a short but brutal fight, I had my first Murray cod – and Rob Meade to thank for it.
It was no surprise that Rob was a remarkable fly tier, given his keen powers of observation when it came to fish behaviour (he even kept blackfish in an aquarium at one stage), and his great talent for making things. A typical greeting when we met up was, “Here, give this a go,” and he’d pass me his latest creation. Being free of the constraints of trout fly tradition, usually, his offering looked like no pattern I’d seen before… and usually, it worked! For his flies, Rob used unfamiliar materials, or used conventional materials, but in an unfamiliar way. In a fly-tying world where a change to the colour of a tail tag can apparently qualify as a new pattern, Rob’s flies were genuine originals; so much so, he was able to patent some of them.
I’d like to think that as long as anglers are fishing with Rob’s fly designs, a part of him will live on.
Discussing estuary tactics with Rob - always worth the short break from the actual fishing.
At his packed memorial service in early February, I was reminded of the many facets of Rob’s life beyond flyfishing: the loving husband, the loyal friend, the keen hunter, his work with people with disabilities, and his love of camping and the bush. I often thought Rob would easily slot into Australian country life 150 years ago. He’d build a sturdy cabin no worries, and keep the meat safe well-stocked.
And he’d look out for his neighbours, because perhaps more than anything, Rob was kind, capable, generous and bloody good company. No wonder we’ll miss him.
