River(s) of Dreams – Acheron Valley and beyond

In ancient Greek mythology, the Acheron was known as ‘the river of woe.’ Well, the Victorian version was carrying a touch of mid spring colour, but to describe it as woeful would be a bit harsh. In fact it would be hard to be down on anything on a day like yesterday. A blue sky framed the Cathedral Range, birds tweeted, bugs buzzed and most importantly, I was back stream fishing again after a bit over a month’s enforced absence.

Good to be back.

Good to be back.

With my friend JD, we planned a bit of a mid-Goulburn tour to get me reacquainted with stream trout. I’d actually not fished a river since the start of June so when I caught a 10 inch brownie on my very first cast only three strides from the car, it felt more significant than usual. For a moment I contemplated performing some quiet ritual of thanks, but then I noticed a very nice pool downstream.

The one JD should have spooked.

The one JD should have spooked.

It seemed that for the first half of the tour at least, the trout had had a little too much of the fish equivalent of red cordial. For example, I snagged the trailing nymph half way up the pool mentioned and as I tried to shake it free, a trout snatched the Royal Wulff above as it swished back and forth in the still water. Then I caught a 12 incher from a pocket JD had just walked right past. About then he started calling me a ‘fish magnet.’ I cheerfully accepted the tag but I also recognised this was one of those occasions when a combination of perfect water temperatures (low to mid-teens) perfect air temperatures (mid-twenties), a good flow (but not too much) and a bit of colour (but not too much) plus some other mystical ingredients we may never identify, had the trout uncharacteristically cooperative.

JD searches the umpteenth gorgeous stretch.

JD searches yet another gorgeous stretch.

About mid-afternoon something changed. While the fishing didn’t become bad, the setting returned to something like normal. We both continued to catch trout and miss them (often on the dry) but it was once again possible to fish a very nice piece of water and not raise a trout. About 6 pm, we stopped for a break and a barbeque. It was so pleasant sitting in the shade with a cold drink and one of JD’s perfectly seared steaks, we were almost late back for the evening rise.

The fish weren't quite as easy during the second half, but they could be caught.

The fish weren’t quite as easy during the second half, but they could be caught.

Overall, we caught trout everywhere we tried, which included the Rubicon, Acheron, Steavenson and Little rivers. (We also glanced longingly at Goulburn which was rapidly dropping to a very fisher-friendly level, but there are only so many hours in a day.)

A nice little evening rise to finish the day.

A nice little evening rise to finish the day.

Interestingly, although every stream was worthwhile, as I’ve already hinted, the best fishing wasn’t always where I expected it to be. I was reminded for the umpteenth time that there really is an extraordinary amount of good water in that area; not all of it where you might think.