Part II: The Tension and Release of Dillon – Beaverhead, Big Hole & Ruby

By Anthony Boliancu

After four days of drifting the broad, steady flows of the Missouri, we packed the vehicles and turned south. Within a couple of hours, the canyon walls gave way to something altogether different-big sky desert plains, sagebrush flats, and long ridgelines that rose abruptly from the grasslands. It was a striking shift in geography. Gone were the fir-lined cliffs of Craig; in their place, Dillon unfolded with a sense of space and dryness – more ranchland than river valley.

Our base here was a renovated barn a few miles out of town – an upstairs loft with all the comforts: hot showers, solid beds, gear space, and a long porch that opened up to views of the surrounding mountains. At night, with a glass of whiskey or red wine in hand, we’d sit out there and watch the colours change over the distant peaks. Somewhere between cowboy country and trout camp, it felt just right.

The Beaverhead – Precision Required

Fishing the Beaverhead is like operating on a smaller canvas, but with finer brushes. It’s technical water, tight and sometimes claustrophobic, with dense banks and narrow drifts. At first glance, it seems unremarkable – a low, spring-fed tailwater meandering through farmland. But don’t be fooled. It holds some of the largest fish we encountered on the entire trip.

Just below Clark Canyon Dam, we ran classic bobber rigs – double nymphs with a touch of weight and subtle indicators. It wasn’t elegant, but it was devastatingly effective. Trophy fish came steadily to hand, one after the other. The kind that make even experienced anglers second-guess their hooksets.

Further downstream, near Barretts and beyond, things changed. The water widened and shallowed, with long grassy margins. Hoppers came into play. We didn’t see the full emergence of the PMDs or caddis, but even on the shoulder of the hatch, the dry fly potential was obvious. Big fish lurked in skinny water, and when they committed to a hopper-mouth wide, slow rise, back breaking the surface-it was electric.

One moment that stands out was a fish that took an emerger, then turned right around and sipped the dry as it trailed behind. Two eats in one drift, clear as day, in water barely knee-deep. It was like watching a slow-motion lesson in trout behaviour.

The Big Hole – Moving Water, Moving Hearts

The Big Hole was a different beast altogether. With hoot owl restrictions in place by late July, we set alarms for 4:45am and were on the water shortly after first light. These early starts brought their own kind of magic. Mist rising off the river. Birds cutting across the valley. That cool, lavender light that only exists for a few minutes in the Montana dawn.

The Big Hole gave us fast pocket water and room to wade. It felt wild-less tailwater, more freestone energy. We fished dries where we could, streamers when the water called for it, and got some solid fish to hand. The scenery here left a mark. Towering cliffs, old buffalo jump sites, and long grassy meadows that whispered stories older than any of us.

One morning, just as the sun crested the ridgeline, we landed a thick brown that had tucked itself tight behind a boulder. A textbook rise, a perfect cast, and a clean eat. But it wasn’t just the fish-it was the light, the air, the moment. It reminded us why we come all this way.

The Ruby – Delicate Negotiations

The Ruby was fickle but beautiful. We only had one session on this smaller, trickier river, but it was enough to glimpse its personality. A mix of overgrown banks, tight casts, and crystal-clear runs made for some nerve-wracking sight-fishing. Browns would hover mid-column, slowly shifting in and out of view, requiring absolute precision to fool.

This was fly fishing at its most intimate: light leaders, subtle drifts, and no room for error. We didn’t catch many, but the few that came to hand felt earned. Hard-earned.

The Dillon Vibe

Back in town, the days wrapped up with classic Americana: burgers and beers at Sparky’s Garage, steak nights at The Den, and the kind of conversation that only happens when a group of anglers is three rivers deep into a trip. Talk turned to rod action, leaders, tippet sizes – and eventually drifted into politics, history, and home.

There’s something grounding about this middle leg of the journey. The Missouri introduces you to Montana’s grandeur. Yellowstone delivers its epic final act. But Dillon? Dillon is where you settle into the rhythm of the trip. Where the fish don’t come easy, and that’s part of the point.

It’s also where the relationships start to deepen. Guiding days gave each angler a chance to fish with each member of the group and work on specific goals – mending techniques, reading micro-currents, changing fly strategy based on water depth or clarity. There were personal breakthroughs. Quiet moments. Shared frustration. And laughter. Always laughter.

Weather, Water, and What Comes Next

Despite it being mid-summer, the weather remained unusually mild. Most days sat in the mid-20s, with just a couple nudging past 30°C. This meant comfortable fishing and fish that stayed active throughout the morning. We watched the sun arc across big Montana skies and felt time slow down.

In just a few days, we’d be packing the vehicles again – headed towards the final leg: Henry’s Lake and the west entrance to Yellowstone National Park. But before that, we soaked in Dillon for all it was: quiet, challenging, expansive. A place where you don’t just fish – you learn.

Coming up in Part III: Yellowstone’s upper reaches, the famed Madison River, and high alpine creeks that test your timing, presentation, and patience.

30 Years on the Goulburn, and What We’ve Learned

By Anthony Boliancu

In an age where anyone can buy a raft, throw up a few drone shots, and call themselves a guide, you’d be forgiven for asking: does experience still matter?

After three decades on the water – thousands of days, countless conversations, and more kilometres walked, drifted, and driven than I care to count – I can answer that quietly, but firmly:

Yes. It matters more than ever.

A River That Shapes You

The Goulburn River doesn’t suffer fools. Nor does it reveal itself easily. Like all good teachers, it offers its lessons in layers – some slow and subtle, others swift and humbling.

I’ve fished the river through floods and droughts, bushfires and frosts, through long summers where the water barely trickled, and deluges of biblical proportions where it surged brown and angry. I’ve sat beside it on still days, waiting for a hatch that never came, and I’ve raced its currents in a drift boat chasing evening rises against the clock.

But what stays with me isn’t just the fish or the photos. It’s how this river – my home water – has shaped the way I see the world. It’s taught me patience, attention, humility. And it’s shown me, over and over again, that nature doesn’t bend to our will. It requires respect. And time.

Guiding here isn’t about “knowing the spots.” It’s about understanding the interplay between light, current, season, and bugs. It’s about noticing when the flow from the dam has subtly changed through the day, and how that change – though invisible to the untrained eye – alters everything from where the trout hold to how the boat should be positioned.

More than that, it’s about reading people. The guests in your boat. Their energy, their limits, their need for silence or laughter or challenge. That’s a skill that takes years – not just of guiding, but of living.

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What Three Decades Teaches You

Longevity brings clarity. You stop chasing gimmicks. You stop believing in silver bullets. And you learn, often the hard way, what really matters.

You come to understand that most breakthroughs on the water don’t come from new gear or secret techniques. They come from quiet, incremental refinement. From getting things 5% better, then doing that a thousand times.

You also learn the value of timing – knowing when to teach and when to step back. When to correct, and when to let someone make the cast their own way, even if it fails. Because sometimes that failure teaches more than a perfect drift ever could.

You learn how to build a trip that’s more than just fishing. The little things: hot tea on a cold morning. Remembering that someone prefers a left-hand retrieve. Carrying an extra fleece for the guest who insisted they were fine in just a shirt.

These things aren’t in any manual. But over time, they become second nature.

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Behind the Curtain: The Business of Guiding

There’s a romance to the idea of being a guide – sunrises, fish, wild places – but behind that lies a reality few see.

It’s early mornings and late nights. Gear repairs, food orders, insurance renewals, safety briefings, permit applications, and vehicle maintenance. It’s being a host, medic, counsellor, and mechanic – often all in the same day.

And it’s pressure. Real pressure. Because when people entrust their time, their money, and their hopes to you, you carry the weight of delivering – not just technically, but emotionally.

At Goulburn Valley Fly Fishing, we’ve built systems over the years that allow us to handle that pressure. Systems that give us room to improvise when needed, and resilience when things go wrong (as they occasionally do in the outdoors). We’ve made mistakes. We’ve learned from them. And each season, we refine things further.

It’s not just about delivering “a good day.” It’s about building trust – trip after trip, year after year.

That’s how we’ve built a loyal following. And it’s why so many of our international trips, particularly in Montana and New Zealand, are often booked out by returning guests before we’ve even had a chance to advertise them.

Because people don’t just want fishing. They want consistency. They want to know the person they’re travelling with has been through it all, and knows what to do when the plan changes.

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The World of Fly Fishing Today

We’re in a moment where social media can make anyone look like a seasoned expert. A few edited reels, a slick website, and suddenly someone with a few years  of part-time experience is packaging trips that appear to rival long-standing operations.

There’s nothing wrong with newcomers. We all start somewhere. And there are some excellent young guides coming through who genuinely care about the craft.

But experience matters. Not because it guarantees perfection – but because it teaches humility. It teaches restraint. It teaches you to think long-term.

Fly fishing, like medicine or aviation, is not a field where confidence should be mistaken for competence. It takes time. And it takes mistakes – hundreds of them. The difference is, with enough experience, those mistakes become less frequent, less costly, and more instructive.

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A Culture Worth Preserving

One of the things I worry about isn’t just the future of rivers — but the culture around them.

Fly fishing, at its best, has always carried with it a sense of stewardship. A code. A humility before the fish, the river, and each other. That’s why we teach etiquette. Why we preach catch and release. Why we talk about leaving the river better than we found it.

That culture is easy to lose when guiding becomes a commodity. When trips are sold like theme park rides, with little understanding of what the sport actually stands for.

That’s why experience matters. Not just for catching fish – but for passing on something older, and deeper.

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Passing the Rod: On Mentorship and Legacy

As the years have gone by, one of the quieter joys of this life has been watching others grow into the craft.

Some were guests who became friends, and eventually, guides themselves. Others were younger anglers I mentored, who showed promise – not just in their casting or river knowledge, but in how they carried themselves. In how they watched. How they listened.

Mentorship in fly fishing isn’t formal. There are no graduation certificates. It happens in drips – over campfire conversations, shared drifts, or quiet moments beside a pool. You offer what you know, but only when asked. You model steadiness more than you explain it. You teach not by instruction, but by presence.

That’s the part of experience no one sees. The part that leaves a mark long after the rods are packed away.

I’ve had the privilege of helping a few young men find their footing as guides over the years. Some stayed in the game, some moved on. But all of them left carrying a little of the culture we tried to instil: patience over ego, humility over hype, and care over convenience.

Fly fishing, done properly, is a slow apprenticeship. And if we’re serious about keeping it honest, we need to pass on more than techniques – we need to pass on values.

That, to me, is the true legacy of experience. Not what you keep. What you give away.

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Why It Still Matters

In the end, this business isn’t about rods or rivers. It’s about people.

It’s about building something solid enough to stand the test of time – and flexible enough to evolve.

It’s about showing up – season after season, year after year – and doing the work with care, honesty, and respect for the craft.

That’s what we’ve tried to do at Goulburn Valley Fly Fishing. It’s not flashy. It’s not loud. But it’s real. And it’s built to last.

If you’ve fished with us, you’ll know what I mean.

If you haven’t – we’d love to show you.

No gimmicks. No shortcuts. Just thoughtful, time-earned experience – shared between casts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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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How to Avoid Tormenting Your Fly Fishing Guide

As we dive into these friendly nuggets of wisdom, remember, a fishing guide doesn’t just guide you to fish – they also guide you away from turning the fishing trip into a comedy of errors. So, grab your fly rod, waders, a sense of humour, and let’s set sail!

Fly Fishing Guide Peeves – A basic list

⏱️ Hooked on Punctuality – Don’t let tardiness get in the way of a great day on the water. If you’re late, you could miss the hatch and a chance at that trophy fish. So set your alarm, and be punctual! Or if you’re going to be late, let your guide know, so he can get a coffee.

🤝 Handle with Care: It’s a Handshake, Not a Strength Test  – When you first greet your guide, bear in mind they’ve been rowing heavy-duty anglers around for years. Their hands are as tough as nutcrackers. And remember, your guide needs their hands for rowing, casting, and undoing tangles all day!

📏 Expectation Management: Keep it Reel – Now I’m all for reaching for the stars, but don’t try shooting for the moon with a water pistol. If you haven’t even seen a trout up close, let’s not aim for a Guinness world record just yet. Dream big, but stay in the same post code as reality.

🌦️ Weather or Not: It’s Not Up to Your Guide – Remember, your guide doesn’t control the weather. So if the day turns out gloomy, don’t take it out on them. We’re here to fish, rain or shine!

👨‍✈️Backseat Angler: Trust the Guide – Your one-time success with hoppers doesn’t make you the expert. Don’t counter the guide’s advice with past experiences. They know the river’s current conditions better than anyone. After all, they’re on the water every day. Trust their judgement and let them lead the way.

🍌 Food Faux Pas: Be Wise with Your Eats – Don’t let superstition ruin your day; avoid bringing bananas on board. It’s a widely believed fishing bad luck charm. And that Banana Boat sunscreen? Leave that at home too. Let’s not tempt fate.

🎥 Filming Faux Pas: Request Permission – Your guide is a fishing professional, not a Kardashian. Want to capture parts of the trip on film? Politely ask for their permission. No one enjoys finding videos of themselves they didn’t know existed on the internet.

🤔 Knowledge Acknowledgement: Listen to Learn – It’s easy to nod and say “I know” when your guide offers advice, but doing so might cause you to miss out on valuable expertise. You’re there to learn from their experience, not just to nod along pretending you know as much as the guide on the one subject they are experts in.

🎗️ Knot Knowledge: Blame Not the Guide –  If you lose a fish due to a snapped line, don’t just blame it on a “guide knot.” Your guide is a pro knot-tier. Instead of pointing fingers, use the experience to learn better technique in playing fish.

🍭 Delicate David / Sensitive Sally – Take Constructive Criticism – Good guides aren’t sugar-coaters. If your casting resembles a toddler’s tantrum, they’ll let you know. If your gear is subpar, they won’t hold back. Embrace their advice and be grateful they’re  preventing you from flailing around like a blindfolded child in a piñata showdown. Critiques on your casting are for your benefit, not to hurt your feelings. Take them in stride, be thankful for the guide’s honesty, and improve.

🪰 Fly Supply Fiasco: Respect the Guide’s Flies – Think of your guide’s flies as a finite resource. Each lost fly represents time and effort – don’t carelessly allow your sevength dry-dropper rig in-a-row to drift into log jams. Consider the time it takes to tie a fly and multiply it by the number of flies lost during your trip. A guide who’s working at a rate equivalent to minimum wage, after accounting for fly loss, might have to resort to using any old, rusted bits of junk he can find in the carpet of his truck. Let’s not force them to reach into that box.

🦟 Fly Selection: Trust in the Guide – Doubting your guide’s fly choice is like questioning your doctor’s prescription. They’re the experts, so trust them to make the right calls. And if you die, it’s on them.

📍 GPS Deception: Don’t Steal the Guide’s Spots – Secret fishing spots are a guide’s livelihood. Resist the urge to sneakily mark these spots on your GPS. It’s not just bad manners, but it’s also against the unwritten rules of the fishing community.

🧭 Trust the Guide’s Compass: Sure, you’ve seen your share of rivers and hooks, but hold your horses before you start playing the armchair expert back at the lodge bar. “If only the guide listened to me, we’d have caught 50 fish!” exclaims the corporate honcho who juggles spreadsheets more than fishing lines. Listen, your guide has probably been fishing this river since they tossed their graduation cap in the air. So, let’s leave the fish counting to them, shall we?

🔕 Audio Annoyance: Keep It Down – An aggressive ringtone can shatter the tranquil atmosphere in seconds. Keep your phone on silent to maintain the peace and quiet that makes fishing so enjoyable.

💏 Significant Other Syndrome: Think Twice – Bringing your significant other because “they might like the drift” is like taking them to a chess tournament because they might enjoy the quiet. If they’re not into fishing, they’re going to hate being stuck on a boat for eight hours without shade. Trust me, no one’s going to be getting lucky tonight if you put them through that ordeal.

💰 Gear Responsibility: Pay for Breakages – Handle the guide’s gear with care, and treat it as if it were your own. If you break something, offer to cover the repair costs. It’s the right thing to do.

🥾 Footwear Faux Pas: Choose Your Wading Boots Wisely – Studded wading boots may give you the grip you want, but they’re a drift boat guide’s nightmare. They can wreak havoc on a boat’s floor, costing time and money in repairs. Choose your footwear wisely depending on the style of fishing you’re doing.

🗣️ Be Aware of Guide Relations: Careful with the Chatter – It’s great that you’ve fished with other guides. But constantly name-dropping them to your current guide is like talking about your ex on a first date. Some guides are friends, some are rivals, and no one wants to hear about the one who got away all day. Keep the past in the past and focus on the fish in the present.

🗣️ Politics: The Ultimate Conversation Killer  – Want to debate tax policies or climate change? Save it for Facebook. The river isn’t the place for it. The only ripple effect you want on the river is from your fly, not from heated discussions.

 

Well, there you have it, the fly fishing clients do’s and don’ts. Let’s keep the bellyaching to a minimum, the high fives frequent, and the fish stories only mildly embellished.

As you cast your line into the vast watery expanse, remember these pointers. Not only will it save you from becoming the punchline of the guide’s next campfire story, but it’ll also make your time on the water that much more enjoyable. After all, fishing isn’t just about the thrill of the catch, but also about the camaraderie and the tales spun in the wake of the setting sun.

Guides are passionate about fly fishing and dedicated to sharing their knowledge with you. Avoid these pitfalls, and you’ll have a better time out on the water, get more value for your money, and who knows, you may even get invited to come back.

Tight lines! Happy fishing!

P.S. Annoying things Guides do and say. COMING SOON…