King for a day (and a few other rivers)

For various unexciting reasons, Max and I missed our north-east Vic stream trip a couple of weeks ago. He’s in New Zealand right now but just before he left, Max emailed that he’d almost rather be joining me on the new north-east adventure I was about to embark on, and he was only half joking.

Spectacular country.

Spectacular country.

I’m not sure how you effectively rate one fishing destination against another, but if ever the north-east was going to offer cross-Tasman competition, it’s now. I’m just back from a trip that included various sections of the Delatite, Howqua and King rivers, followed by a drift on the Goulburn and even a dabble on the Murrundindi on the way home today.

A long way down, but worth the walk.

A long way down, but worth the walk.

The highlights are too many to detail here, but included seeing the most trout per square metre I’ve seen in a stream, anywhere… ever. JD, who was with me that day, concurred – and he’s a fisheries researcher with decades of experience (not to mention a keen flyfisher). I’d also have to thumb through a few diary volumes to find the last time I saw so many daytime risers.

The King and JD.

The King and JD.

The fish of the trip was one on the mid Howqua. I polaroided it 10 metres upstream (the Howqua is New Zealand clear at present) delivered what I thought was the perfect cast, but I actually lined a smaller trout I didn’t see below it. That fish shot upstream and spooked my original target – a very solid brown – which then came downstream, swam right over beside me and eyed me off disdainfully. It then swam upstream and disappeared into the green depths at the head of the pool.

New Zealand clear.

New Zealand clear.

I could easily have shrugged and moved on, but for some reason I took a deep breath, sat down on a convenient boulder and completely re-rigged from a single Stimulator, to a Cadillac Nymph two metres beneath an indicator. I presented the new setup into the spa-like area where I’d last seen the fish, and about 5 seconds later the indicator dipped and I was in. Like the Delatite trout I reported on a few weeks ago, this one was ridiculously powerful for its size. I expect 2½lb browns to pull, but this trout felt like something literally twice as big and came within a whisker of busting me off on snags 20 metres downstream. The trout’s incredible condition offered part of the explanation for the tenacious tug-of-war, but I still don’t know quite what’s got into the north-east trout this season!

The Howqua 2½ pounder was a fat as any lake trout.

The Howqua 2½ pounder was a fat as any lake trout.

The other standout fish was on the King. In the midst of a happy chaos of rises and splashes, a three pound brown swam slowly down towards us just as JD was landing a bouncing rainbow. The big trout then parked itself in clear view beside a log only two rod lengths away. We both tried several casts with several flies, but I think that fish was just messing with us. After a few minutes, it tired of the bombardment and headed off downstream again. I may have seen it yawn as it went.

Another bouncing rainbow.

No 3 pounder, but another bouncing rainbow.

After several kilometres of backcountry scrambling, a drift in Will’s inflatable down the Goulburn on Sunday was perfect timing. On a muggy and mainly overcast day, we cast to splashy Corixia feeders or quiet sippers that took an F-Fly if presentation was perfect. The only downside was the rain arriving about an hour before the take-out point, leaving us wringing wet – although I’m sure JD’s barbequed steaks later tasted even better in dry clothes with rain drumming on the roof.

Drift fishing reward.

Drift fishing reward.

I was so satisfied with the trip I could have headed straight home today content. But call me greedy, I stole a quick session on Murrundindi on the way. With the river flowing hard and tannin-stained, I immediately thought of Craig’s Diable Nymph, described in the latest issue of FlyStream, as being perfect for exactly those conditions. And it was. Two 12 inch browns soon came to hand, followed by a third on the Stimulator ‘indicator’. When an old boy in crumpled hat wandered right down the bank I was about to fish and cheerfully asked if I ‘was get’n any?’, I was feeling so magnanimous, I didn’t offer my usual reply in such circumstances (‘Not any more.’). Instead, I said yes, as a matter of fact I was catching a few, and wasn’t it good to see so much water in the rivers at the start of summer? Then I wound in, wished him a good day, and walked back to the car.

Murrundindi brown on the Diable Nymph.

Murrundindi brown on the Diable Nymph.