Connect Four

Fly fishing has always been bigger than fish. It is travel, sport, friendships forged in wind and sun, and moments that stay with you long after the gear has dried. What draws me back isn’t just the fishing itself, but how different anglers approach it — what they notice, what they prioritise, and what they leave behind — especially when the water is demanding and choices matter.

Last season, several accomplished fly anglers spent time fishing some of Northern Australia’s more remote saltwater systems. What follows are a few observations from those days on the water: four individuals, four approaches, and a shared appetite for wild places.

SAGE JOHNSON

Sage is the real deal. Before fly fishing consumed her life, it was basketball. And at nearly six foot tall, she’d been well suited to it. She was a serious athlete, completely immersed, until an injury forced a pivot that would change everything. Fast forward a few years and Sage, along with her husband James, now owns and operates a fly-fishing lodge in Alaska. James runs the lodge while Sage guides. In the off-season, they travel the world, chasing fish and hosting trips.

Sage and I met at the 2025 fly fishing show, and not long after, we met up in Cape York. It was late April in the Cape, with the skies just clearing after the wet season. The options were wide open: flats, creeks, blue water, and plenty of distraction.

But Sage had a primary target. If permit were a disease, Sage would be terminal; a drug, she’d be addicted. Although she’d be happy casting to whatever swims past, permit had her heart.

At the boat ramp, Sage walked down carrying a Turtlebox pumping out Blink 182, while locals turned their heads. She didn’t exactly blend in to the Weipa norm.

Within fifteen minutes of stepping onto the flats, Sage had her first shot at an anak permit. James had landed one minutes earlier, and Sage was ready for her turn. The signature anak ‘moonshine’ flashed beneath the water ahead, a small school approaching. Sage wasted no time and placed the crab right in the zone.

‘Slow…slow…’ I said. ‘Sl-ow,’ I faltered, watching her strip-strike into the fish.

Engrossed in the moment, Sage jumped onto the flats and fought the fish to the beach. Dream fish are part of what places like this are about, but Sage fished the moment on her own terms — unhurried, deliberate, fully present from eat to release.

The week unfolded just like the first day, but with a variety of species: blue bastards, queenfish, tuna, barramundi, golden trevally. They were enjoying themselves so much, they extended their stay and Sage has since declared it as the best fishing trip of her life.

Few would have guessed that an aspiring basketballer would one day be so deeply invested in permit.

BESSIE HUDGENS

Bessie is a Bozeman-based realtor and committed fly-fishing traveller. She’s been surrounded by the sport her entire life. I first met her years ago at a fly-fishing film premiere in Montana, and since then we’ve crossed paths randomly across the globe, always somewhere fishy.

Last year, while fishing at South Fork Lodge with my family, we ran into Bessie and her kids. Somewhere between river sessions and family chaos, she mentioned she was coming to Australia for a close friend’s wedding. The question inevitably followed: ‘Is there any fishing I can do while I’m there?’

Bessie spent years living on New Zealand’s South Island, where her freshwater obsession deepened. Before motherhood, she hosted and sold fly-fishing adventures worldwide. She knew her trout fishing was strong, but was keen to spend more time developing her saltwater skills. The idea of squeezing fishing into a wedding trip wouldn’t go away. She shuffled her flights and the dates came together.

Although she’d played down her saltwater experience, it didn’t take long to see otherwise. Bessie landed two anak permit on her first day. By the end of the trip, she’d landed six. Bessie’s energy carried through the trip. On top of the six permit, she added huge golden trevally, big cobia, and barramundi. Still, it’s the one that got away that lingers.

One day, I joined Bessie in the boat while she pursued a giant trevally. Having ticked off ample permit, Bessie was keen to find a GT. Flat after flat turned up only permit. Then four GTs finally appeared — big fish moving fast. The boat was repositioned wide to intercept their cruising path. Bessie made a good cast. The eat was instant. But the hook didn’t stick. Not quite a trout strike, but close enough to hurt.

A few drinks that evening softened the loss. But any regret was replaced with how well last-minute plans came together. After all that sun and salt, Bessie still had a wedding to attend — swapping buff and sun shirt for a dress, watching the sun set somewhere far from the flats.

WHITNEY MCDOWELL

Whitney has been fly fishing most of her life, travelling the world alongside her mum, the two of them inspiring each other on their fly-fishing journey.

I first met Whitney in New Zealand in the early days of the saltwater flats scene there, chasing yellowtail kingfish. She and legendary Kiwi guide Tony Entwistle were early adopters of fishing in Golden Bay, and we eventually bumped into each other on the beach.

She’d mentioned that Australia was always on her list.

We stayed in touch, and years later paths crossed again in the Wessel Islands. I’ve seen plenty of people hook fish in bad situations, but few know how to land them. Watching Whitney fight a large blue bastard on 16-pound leader, surrounded by reef, was a lesson in patience, pressure and timing. Knowing when to hold, when to give, and how to pluck a fish from chaos.

Whitney returned to Australia. She spent time fishing in Far North Queensland before heading out for a week at sea. On that trip, if it swam, she caught it. But despite a haul that included blue bastards, a massive tuskfish, big permit, barramundi and golden trevally, there was still one fish missing — a metre-long GT.

Late one morning, opportunity arrived. A long, dark school moved down the flat. At first glance, it looked like more permit. Then their size and shape became clear as Whitney reached for her 12-weight. She delivered the cast. The fly moved once and every fish turned in unison. Aggressive GT heads fought for the brush-fly and one finally latched on. Whitney fought that fish hard. The fish was finally tailed to complete the capture.

Whitney’s smile was broad and bright. She’d finally ticked the box. Later she said simply, ‘Australia’s been kind to me.’ She wasn’t wrong.

KATE CRUMP

Kate is understated, with a quiet confidence. I had known of her for years through Patagonia’s global ambassador program, but we’d never met face to face. She and her husband run a lodge in Alaska and steelhead adventures out of West Coast Oregon, USA. Hard-working, understated and quietly tough.

Danny Frank, a good friend of Kate’s, has a habit of buying spare spots on trips and letting Kate and her husband decide who takes it. This time, Kate did and found herself headed to the far north of Australia. Living at sea was new to her but she settled into life aboard quickly.

The fishing started with frustration. Two good permit shots, two well-executed fights, both ending in bad luck. Fish falling off. Hooks failing. Sometimes it just doesn’t go your way. Kate took it in her stride. She was always the first to celebrate others’ fish, even if her own tally was left wanting.

It wasn’t long before Kate connected with a large blue bastard, staying composed and deliberate, putting the earlier bad luck behind her.

On the final day, despite plenty of species caught, she was hoping for a permit to top off the week. Positivity stayed high. Kate got her fish, and moments later Danny hooked up too — a double of the beautiful blochii permit. Over dinner, Kate reflected on the week. New water, hard-earned fish, and time well spent.