Montana skies, Australian roots, and a quiet sense of loss.
I’m writing this from the porch of a cabin in Montana. It’s been nearly a month on the rivers – long days of dry-fly fishing, laughter, late-night debriefs, and coffee-fuelled mornings that come around faster than you’d like. The Missouri, the Madison, the Yellowstone… these names have become part of our rhythm.
I’ve been making this journey for years now. Not as a guide or operator – the local professionals here do an outstanding job of that, and besides, I’d rather not get myself deported – but as a fellow traveller. I organise the logistics and share the experience with a small group of like-minded anglers, most of whom have become good friends over the years.
It’s become a winter tradition – our winter, their summer. A seasonal rhythm that offers both great fishing and, strangely enough, a chance to think more clearly about home.
And no matter how far you travel, a part of you stays back there.
Australia on My Mind
Maybe it’s the altitude. Maybe it’s the distance. But I often find that it’s here, halfway around the world, that I reflect most deeply on where Australia is heading – and what we may be leaving behind.
Like many others, I was raised in a version of Australia that felt… quieter. Fairer. Cohesive, even when imperfect. People worked hard, looked out for one another, and had faith that the country was broadly on the right track.
These days, I’m not so sure.
It’s not just one issue. It’s everything, all at once. Cost of living. Housing. Political distrust. A creeping sense that too many of our leaders are asleep at the wheel—or worse.
Over decades of guiding I’ve spent thousands of hours in drift boats and dusty utes, in honest conversation with Australians from all walks of life—doctors, sparkies, farmers, barristers, and soldiers. Lately, a common theme has emerged:
“It doesn’t feel like the country I grew up in.”
That’s not nostalgia talking. It’s concern. Quiet, thoughtful concern – for the future.
The Drift Boat and the Current
Back in the ’90s, when I first began guiding on the Goulburn, drift boats were almost unheard of here. We were the first to use them in Victoria. Not because it was trendy – but because it made sense.
You see the river differently from water level. You move with it. You learn to read its shifts. You feel the current and adjust. You don’t fight it – you flow with it.
That simple act – drifting – taught me something lasting.
Australia feels like it’s caught in fast water right now. There’s turbulence, conflicting pulls, and no clear signpost to a safe eddy. And while I don’t pretend to have the answers – no one really does – I do believe we need to pay closer attention to the current.
Where is it actually taking us? And is that where we want to go?
If we don’t pause and read the water, we risk drifting right past the takeout… into waters unmapped, and not entirely by choice.
Between Casts
This blog – Between Casts – was born out of reflections like these. A space between the action, where we can stop and think.
Some posts will be about fishing. Others will explore the deeper currents: philosophy, politics, history, and the stories we tell ourselves about who we are.
I don’t claim to speak for anyone but myself. What I write is simply the product of three decades spent in quiet conversation with people on rivers and roads across Australia. These are the thoughts of one man who still believes in the value of honest discussion and considered words—spoken with respect for all, regardless of creed or conviction.
If that sounds like a conversation worth having, I’m glad you’re here.
Author Bio:
Anthony Boliancu is the owner of Goulburn Valley Fly Fishing Centre. A full-time guide since the mid-1990s, he helped to pioneer drift boat fishing in Victoria and has led thousands of trips both locally and abroad. When he’s not rowing, teaching, or being a father, he’s reflecting on the state of the river – and the world around it.
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