“How’d you go Craig?” I asked as he joined our group of anglers on the shack veranda, took a seat, and reached for his freshly-poured beer. “I think I ended up minus two,” he said. Then he took a sip from his glass, and pointed towards his fishing companion who was still getting out of his waders. “And Jim, I believe, finished on minus one.”
While I usually enjoy the après fishing reports and stories on these Tassie trips, this one sounded rather dire. There was a shocked pause from the rest of our group, before Mark bluntly enquired, “What do you mean minus?” Craig grinned, evidently expecting – even looking forward to – the question.
“Well,”, he began, “If you catch a fish, it’s obviously one point.” He had another mouthful of beer, probably for effect, and continued, “But if you miss a fish, it’s minus one.”
“So, what constitutes a miss?” asked the ever-reasonable Justin.
“A rise but no hook-up”, Craig answered solemnly, “Or a fish getting off halfway through the fight, or even a follow and a refusal.” “Even a refusal?” I accused like a frustrated John Cleese, “That’s ridiculous!” I think I saw Jim nodding in agreement in the background, before Kiel added, “So, by your system Craig, someone could stay in the shack all day and score a zero, and still beat an angler who caught two, but had four follows?” “Precisely”, agreed Craig, apparently pleased that his excellent new system had been understood.
Craig’s proposition was cause for much mirth that evening. I recall one unnamed member of the group on the veranda calculating that they had finished the day on minus eight, and might therefore have to consider taking up another sport! It was all a lot of fun, and obviously not to be taken seriously. Our group aren’t fish counters as a rule. When I complete my diary each day, there’s usually a significant pause for mental arithmetic when I ask each member of the party how many they caught, and of which species? Partly, that’s because for us, the take is a big slice of the enjoyment of flyfishing. Sometimes, it’s the most enjoyable part, and so remembering back to whether that actually resulted in a trout in the net, can take a moment.
So, by the end of the night, we all agreed that Craig’s new system was nonsense. Although it was good for a bit of a laugh, it was otherwise so full of holes, no one would adopt it.
But like an earworm, for the rest of the trip, something about the system stuck. On a typical day, we regularly met up and compared notes, either in person, or by phone or UHF radio (in the unlikely event we had freakin’ reception). Now, the conversations invariably included lines like, “Craig is minus 2… Whoops, now he’s on minus three.” And a trout ‘lost at the net’ was no longer counted – in fact worse, it was now a minus one! – whereas for a group of primarily catch-and-release anglers, prior to Craig’s mid-trip announcement, it would most likely have been included in the tally.
Despite our best efforts to dismiss Craig’s system as a joke, a part of each of us recognised there was a kernel of truth to it. What Craig was basically saying was, if you have a positive encounter with a fish, then if you’re good enough, you should be able to convert that to a fish in the net.
Only a follow or a refusal? Then something was wrong with your fly or presentation. Missed on the strike? Poor timing, awareness, or line management. Dropped or broken off? Bad fish-fighting, or an inadequate hookset to begin with.
A day after the shack veranda discussion, Mark missed several trout on the strike, only to discover his hook had partially opened up – probably on the first missed trout of the session. Needless to say, the unsympathetic response from Craig was, “Well you should have checked your hook, shouldn’t you?” It didn’t matter that Mark had hit a patch of crazy surface action after an hour of nothing. No excuse!
All very harsh, and yet we had to admit, fair in a brutal sort of way.
We all have our own definitions of flyfishing success, or at least, what makes a highlight. For my mate Steve, the tug is the drug. He’s very effective at prospecting ‘blind’, and he loves that moment when an invisible trout takes his wet fly. For Mark, I’m guessing it’s finding a subtly-rising trout in a wind-lane or foam-line, and presenting a dry well enough that it gets eaten. And when Kiel and I watched as a good brown hard on the shore in crystal-clear water, move out a rod length to casually scoff a big foam Bruisers Bug, we both agreed it was the very definition of why we come to Tasmania. The fact I happened to subsequently land that fish, was almost incidental.
On the other hand, for serious competition fishers at least, perhaps the only thing that matters is getting a fish in the net. After all, there are no points awarded for a mere ‘encounter’.
Yes, the take is a massive part of my own enjoyment of flyfishing, and the same applies to many of my fishing mates. However, I have to admit, on that recent Tassie trip alone, there were a few fish I really wanted to land, but didn’t. One was a very big rainbow which responded to a near perfect leading cast (if I do say so) with the Bruisers Bug, then a perfect strike… then it casually broke me off on the only stick for 10 metres. I’m still thinking about that fish, and what I might have done differently.
Interestingly, it’s another big Tassie rainbow which I recall more often than is probably healthy. Unlike the first, this one came out of the depths from nowhere to eat my Bug, so I was somewhat taken by surprise. But the strike hooked up solidly, and I survived about a minute of leaps and fast runs, before it came off. Just like that. No break-off, no bent hook. Just off.
In terms, if you like, of my personal tally system, both those fish were certainly a minus. In fact, I had to land a few trout after the break-off rainbow before I felt I was back to par.
So, I’m not saying I agree with the detail of Craig’s system, but I am prepared to concede that sometimes, a mere encounter is not enough.
Philip Weigall
Editor
