The Perfect Window

The washed-out 4WD route meandered through changing landscapes with rocky outcrops and vast treeless plains, as we made our way further into the lakes system. Even on a cold summer’s day, giant stoneflies, mountain katydids and golden cockroaches fumbled their way into our path. All seemed strangely new to me, but were a very likely breakfast for a trout.

The track rose and fell, but the distant glimmer of the lakes guided us to our destination. By the time we arrived at our base camp the temperature had barely reached double figures and heavy cloud still smothered the sky. Nevertheless, we set up camp and quickly rigged up our rods.

I had been told that a clear day was best for good sight fishing in these lake systems. Searching some of the larger lakes close to base camp, we still spotted several cruising trout, but they failed to cooperate. We made our way back to camp hoping that tomorrow would bring more favourable conditions.

That evening we huddled around our gas cookers, enjoying cask red wine and dehydrated meals. Due to the fire ban in the area we had limited resources to combat the cold. It might have been summer, but at this elevation it’s always worth being prepared.

THE PERFECT DAY

After a chilling night camped by the lake we rose at sun-up and not a cloud was in sight. “Today’s the day!” I called out to Brendan as he crept weary-eyed from his tent. After a quick batch of oats, the map was out and we plotted our day’s adventure. The map displayed a web of lakes and tarns with so many opportunities to fill our day. We chose a general direction and set off.

Arriving at a tiny connecting tarn, no bigger than an Olympic swimming pool, Brendan hooked into his first fish and mine quickly followed. This was the beginning of our fishing window. Both trout managed to achieve an ‘early release’, but I was loving every minute of this new fishery.

Making our way through a system of tarns, I stumbled upon my next feeding fish, working along a shallow edge collecting anything in his path that resembled food. He moved so fast I found it almost difficult to keep up, except when he slowed to feed from the surface. After following his behaviour for quite a while, I realised it was better to wait for his next pass and set a dry fly ambush when the timing was right. Along he came and without hesitation consumed my surface offering, a size 14 black spinner. He fought strongly, making several runs into the middle of the tarn before yielding to the net.

With a perfect day — clear skies, light breeze and a morning filled with memorable dry fly catches — we approached the afternoon with enthusiasm. Brendan suggested that we go and check out a headwater tarn that had previously produced a large trout on the same day the year before. I agreed and after crossing a small ridgeline the tarn was in sight. It was no bigger than a third of a football field. Cautiously approaching the edge, we laid eyes on a huge trout in the shallows.

After gazing in silent awe, we both crouched down in the scrubby bushes before us. “Have a shot,” Brendan whispered.

“No way mate, it’s your round,” I replied, with a sense of regret rising in my voice.

Then the magic began.

Brendan threw out a short cast, landing his dry fly a metre from the trout’s nose. It came slowly towards the fly, broke the surface, and after what felt like five excruciating minutes…

“You’re on! And it’s huge!” I yelled. “Don’t lose this fish, man – he’s ten pounds for sure!”

It must have been 15 minutes be-fore the fish finally surrendered to the net. The 5 lb tippet was heavily frayed and the size 16 hook bent to a near-circle. The first thing that rang clear from Brendan’s mouth was “Nooo Waaay,” followed shortly by “Stick that in your top pocket!” I’m still not quite sure what that meant, but it didn’t matter. The scales registered 10½ pounds. I have never witnessed such a perfect wild brown trout: beautifully marked, deep, and full-finned. And more than that, it was taken by sight-casting in 30 cm of water, on a dry fly, and on a beautiful sunny day.

As he released his long-awaited trophy, Brendan proclaimed his retirement from fly fishing! I have experienced the same sense of satisfaction after catches of my own, and it was just as good sharing the moment of someone else’s ultimate catch. Words don’t need to make sense. The world stands still, life is good, and the moment is sweet.

It took some time for us to settle down, re-telling our own accounts of what happened merely moments after the release. We finally came to grips with reality and decided to move on. The maps were out again as we made our way back to camp. It had been a great day, topped off by a night sky full of stars as we stared straight into the Milky Way.

Another chilly night passed and we woke to strong wind battering our tent. The skies were still clear, but yesterday’s calm lake was filled with whitecaps as the wind blew hard across the plateau. That was it. We’d had our window. It delivered, and then the weather changed.

Not ones to give up easily, we made our way around the closest lake to our camp and had a few hook-ups fishing the wind lanes and sheltered bays. No success for our final day, but satisfaction ran deep as we packed up camp and hiked back towards the car. The lakes faded into the distance, and already I wondered when I would next get a chance to return.

THE PURE EXPERIENCE

If it’s dry fly sight-fishing you’re after, the Western Lakes region has a lot to offer. I now realise that even categorising these waters as ‘lakes’ seems unfair. This diverse system of natural lakes and tarns connect with a web of small perennial and intermittent creeks, creating an expansive wilderness with a playground of opportunities. Each day we opened the map and chose a system to explore. Just about any direction was host to a myriad waters – big and small, but all gin clear and perfect for dry fly and sight fishing.

I hardly even changed my fly for two whole days. A beaten-up black spinner imitation was more than enough to undo each of the fish I landed. At times when a searching pattern was required a simple Red Tag or Stimulator style pattern was chosen. With the array of big terrestrials seen on a high summer day (FL#70), a big buggy dry could be an excellent alternative when the wind is up. Nymphs were not considered. Streamers? That idea just seemed outright sacrilege for this pristine fishery.

Tasmanian fish are wild and at times very spooky. Long leaders were required to get takes, and we needed careful presentation when the water was calm and protected from the wind. Sometimes even what seemed like the perfect cast would send fish flying for cover. Our days oscillated between moments of tough fishing and moments, like our window, when we could hardly go wrong. It is a challenging but rewarding fishery for sure.

As a side note, the high-country Tasmanian sun was very harsh. Even on the overcast and windy days, sun protection was paramount — hats, buffs and collared shirts. I applied sunscreen each day, but still returned home with a defined ‘sunglasses tan’.

I’m already planning my next trip into these superb wilderness lakes. What’s your excuse?