JD had been overseas for the best part of a fortnight, when he texted, ‘What’s the weather been like in Vic?’ ‘Stormy and buggy,’ I replied. ‘My car is splattered with insects. Looks like the next 48 hours will be okay though.’

With the Goulburn at a very comfortable level, and unlikely to stay that way, he suggested a visit. The drive up was concerning, with King Parrot Creek the colour of custard after severe thunderstorms the day before. Other gullys and creeks showed signs of recent torrential rain, although the Goulburn at Molesworth didn’t look too bad.

By the time of my late afternoon arrival, JD’s quick reconnaissance of other local streams had determined that the Goulburn was indeed our best bet: 1500 ML/d, and, almost miraculously, carrying only a tinge of colour.

After the traditional coffee on arrival (no need to rush) we headed to the river and settled on our evening stretch – a nice mix of pools, riffles and glides. It was muggy, the cockatoos and cicadas were in full voice, and the ground rippled with thousands of small hoppers. Still, for the first hour or so, we saw not a rise, and against all logic (we often find late afternoon is ‘nothing’ time) the faintest unease crept in.

Fortunately, while searching with a Royal Wulff and caddis grub dropper, I eventually had a ‘down’, and shortly after, a fat brown chased the Wulff out of a snaggy corner and ate it. On the board; what was I even worried about? A chubby rainbow came soon after on the grub, then a bit further up, a really nice fish chased it and didn’t quite catch it. The buildup had begun.

JD and I split up to make sure we had this stretch well covered should a localised rise happen. Mobile phones are very much a mixed blessing when on the water, but at least they enable contact beyond shouting distance.

As the sun dropped behind the ridges and willows, the rises began; occasional at first, then increasing by the minute. South-easterly wind gusts were a temporary interruption, and in any case, we could find shelter here and there behind the willows.

By the time the sun had actually set, the rise was going in earnest on ‘my’ stretch, and JD soon appeared below me, saving the need for an SMS update.

The next hour was happy chaos – trout rising everywhere to a blizzard of duns, spinners and caddis. I was fishing a Royal Wulff and parachute red spinner double, but I soon dispensed with the spinner when I realised that, atypically for a Goulburn evening rise, the trout would happily accept a pinpoint accurate drift with the Wulff alone.

It was frantic, fabulous fishing: trout rising by the dozen; confusing my decisions about exactly which fish to cast to. Two hundred metres downstream, JD had fewer targets, roughly half a dozen apparently, but all large fish. Later, he described big snouts breaking the silvery water of the seam he focussed on.

By the time it was all but over at 9pm, we’d landed several trout between us, and of course missed or dropped several more. Most were browns, with a couple of rainbows thrown in.

I arrived on scene just as JD was landing the fish of the evening – a big brown which took him on a long chase downriver. His initial shout of, ‘must be foul hooked’, was revised as the fish was eventually slipped into the net,  neatly hooked in the jaw scissors on a home-tied rusty red spinner.

Evening rises can be messy, confusing, technically challenging, and, worst of all, a complete letdown if they fail to eventuate. Not this time. With the old-fashioned Royal Wulff starring, and lots of relatively cooperative trout feeding hard, this was a reminder of just how much fun evening rises – and the good old Goulburn – can be.