Reflections from the final week on the Goulburn

By the final week of the trout season, the boat ramps on the Goulburn are generally quiet. The summer visitors have gone, the mornings are cold and even the regulars seem to choose their days more carefully. It is a considerable change from September, when anglers return after winter with new equipment, fresh leaders and all the optimism that comes with the beginning of another season.

I’ve always enjoyed these final days. There are usually a few trout still rising, particularly when the weather settles and the smaller autumn mayflies begin appearing. The river is often low and clear, making it possible to fish sections that were inaccessible during the heavier summer releases. There is little reason to hurry, and after months spent guiding, I find the absence of other boats rather pleasant.

Looking back, this has been an unusual season in several respects. In November, I experienced one of the busiest mornings I can remember on the Goulburn. Over the course of a couple of hours, four commercial rafts managed to get ahead of me. It seemed that every guiding operation in Victoria had chosen the same section of river on the same morning. Yet after returning from New Zealand in March, I did not encounter another commercial boat for the remainder of the season. Not one.

I have spent more than 150 days on the water, and there were other peculiarities. Perhaps the strangest was the almost complete absence of snakes. I saw only three throughout the season, all swimming across the river. None at the boat ramps, none along the banks and none during those occasions when I stepped out of the boat into somewhere that looked particularly promising for a snake. After so many years working on the Goulburn, I have become accustomed to seeing considerably more of them. I have no particular explanation for their absence, although I cannot say I was especially disappointed.

The fishing itself was inconsistent, with some excellent periods interrupted by days when the trout were remarkably difficult to find. There were occasions when conditions appeared almost perfect, yet we struggled to raise a fish. At other times, an unexpected hatch or a small change in river level transformed things within a matter of hours. I tend to remember individual days rather than the season as a whole, and several of those stand out for reasons that have little to do with how many trout we caught.

One involved a client I first met twenty-nine years earlier. He was travelling through Australia on his gap year when we originally fished together, and this season he returned with his daughter, who had recently finished high school. It was an extraordinary thing to consider. When I first met him, he was a young man travelling through a country on the other side of the world. Nearly three decades later, he was back on the same river with a daughter approaching the age he had been during that first visit.

There were moments during the day when I found myself thinking about how much had happened in the intervening years. He had established a career, raised a family and returned to a place that had evidently remained important to him. From my perspective, it was another day on a river I had scarcely left during those years. I have guided several generations of some families now, but encounters like that still catch me by surprise.

We also welcomed back a number of clients who had been absent for several seasons. Some had travelled with us extensively through New Zealand, Montana and Patagonia before gradually disappearing from the bookings. I had occasionally wondered what had become of them. There are plenty of reasons people stop travelling or fishing for a while, and it is not always appropriate to ask. Then a familiar name appears in an email or somebody telephones about another trip, and the conversation resumes with surprisingly little difficulty.

One of the more entertaining incidents involved a trout feeding on willow grubs. We had located the fish and were presenting a small imitation when it took the fly and everything promptly went wrong. The fish came unstuck, and I assumed that would be the end of our opportunity. Instead, it immediately resumed feeding in almost exactly the same position. We watched it for a while, made another presentation and hooked it again. This time we landed the trout and recovered both flies. I have seen some unusual behaviour from fish over the years, but I cannot remember many occasions when the same trout has given us two opportunities quite so obligingly.

There were memorable days away from the Goulburn as well. Perhaps my favourite day with a fly rod during the wider fishing year was spent alone on Montana’s Upper Madison, in the Slide section below Quake Lake. The river there runs through enormous boulders deposited during the 1959 earthquake, creating long stretches of turbulent water where the trout occupy the relatively quieter pockets between rocks. I spent the day casting large dry flies into those small areas, often finding fish in places where the current seemed almost too violent to hold them.

I saw no other anglers. The sound of the river was constant, and I had enough water ahead of me to keep walking for as long as I wanted. I caught some beautiful trout, but I particularly enjoyed being able to fish without considering anybody else’s timetable. After spending so much of my life helping other people catch fish, a full day devoted entirely to my own fishing is something I still appreciate enormously.

That Montana trip also provided a reminder of how fortunate I have been with the people who have travelled with us over the years. A difficult series of late withdrawals left me carrying considerably more financial risk than I had anticipated. Some clients became aware of the situation and offered assistance in ways they were under no obligation to provide. They did not make a fuss about it or expect recognition. They simply understood what had happened and wanted to help. I have not forgotten their generosity.

It would be easy to describe the past season entirely through fishing reports, river levels and the trout we caught. Those things occupy much of my attention while the season is underway. Yet when I look back, it is often the people and the more unusual incidents that I remember most clearly. A client returning after nearly thirty years, an old friend getting back in touch or a trout behaving in a way that leaves everyone in the boat laughing. They are difficult things to anticipate when we begin organising the next season’s bookings.

There are still a few days of fishing left before the winter closure. After that, the boats and trailers will need servicing, equipment will be cleaned and repaired, and the usual collection of administrative jobs will demand attention. I will be heading towards another Montana season before long, while preparations for New Zealand are already underway. We also have a family road trip approaching, and there is a manuscript occupying whatever time remains between everything else.

I suspect winter will pass quickly.

For now, I would like to squeeze in another drift or two. The Goulburn has been an unpredictable river this season, and there are still sections I would like to revisit before it closes. After more than 150 days on the water, I am tired enough to appreciate the prospect of a break, but not quite ready to put the oars away.

Ant

Watching a Trout

What a Fish Holding in Current Can Tell Us

Most anglers spend relatively little time watching trout unless they are preparing to cast to one. Even when a fish is clearly visible, the temptation is to begin fishing immediately. The rod comes out, a fly is selected and attention shifts towards getting a presentation into the right place. There is nothing particularly wrong with that, but I often wonder how much more people would understand about trout if they occasionally left the rod alone and watched one for twenty minutes.

The fish in the accompanying footage had been occupying the same section of the Goulburn for some time. Weeks in fact. From a distance, it often appeared almost motionless, holding in the current with little apparent effort. Look more carefully, however, and there is considerably more happening. The trout makes small adjustments with its fins, changes its body angle and occasionally moves sideways before settling back into almost exactly the same position. Some movements are so slight that they are difficult to distinguish until you have watched for a while.

Holding in current involves a continuous balancing act. Water may be travelling at quite different speeds only a short distance apart, particularly around submerged rocks, changes in the riverbed or the edges of a current seam. A trout occupying a suitable position can remain close to drifting food without constantly fighting the strongest flow. It may need to move only a few centimetres to intercept an insect before returning to the quieter water where it was holding.

That economy of movement is one of the things I find most interesting about watching larger trout. A good fish may allow dozens of drifting items to pass without responding, then move quite deliberately towards something worthwhile. Sometimes it rises gently in the water column, takes the insect and returns to its original position with scarcely a movement of the tail. On other occasions it travels considerably farther, especially when there is a fall of terrestrials happening.

The distinction between a fish that is actively feeding and one that is simply holding can be surprisingly subtle. A trout may remain in the same position for several minutes, making occasional adjustments but showing little interest in food. Then, perhaps as insect activity increases, it begins moving repeatedly into an adjoining seam. Its position may be almost unchanged, yet its behaviour is now entirely different. Recognising that change is vital if we are going to be succesful.

The Goulburn offers excellent opportunities to make these observations, particularly when flows are moderate and the water is clear. There are long glides and slower runs where trout can be watched from a suitable bank or a stationary drift boat. Good light and polarised glasses make an enormous difference. With the sun at the right angle, it is sometimes possible to follow almost every movement of a trout against the riverbed. Move a few metres or let a cloud obscure the sun and the same fish can become remarkably difficult to locate.

I often encourage clients to spend longer watching a trout than they initially think necessary. The first thing I want to establish is not which fly we should use, but where the fish is actually holding and how it is moving to intercept food. The visible rise ring can be misleading. A trout may begin several feet upstream of the disturbance, lift towards an insect and then return to its original lie. Casting repeatedly at the last rise can mean presenting the fly behind the fish rather than allowing it to drift naturally towards it.

On a recent drift we spent close to an hour working on a single trout. Much of that time was spent watching rather than casting. We anchored nearby, adjusted the leader and flies, and followed the fish as it moved between a seam and an adjoining backwater. At one point it disappeared for so long that I stood on the rower’s seat trying to improve my view. Eventually we located it again and continued watching. The clients may have wondered whether the exercise had become a little excessive, but most of the positions the trout occupied would have made a clean presentation extremely difficult.

We waited until it moved into a piece of water where the fly could arrive naturally without immediately being dragged away by another current. When that opportunity finally appeared, the trout ate. I suspect we would have frightened it much earlier had we begun casting as soon as we found it. There was nothing particularly complicated about the fly. The difficult part was understanding the fish’s movements and waiting until we could make a worthwhile presentation.

That relationship between current and holding position becomes especially important on the Goulburn because releases from Lake Eildon change so substantially throughout the year. A trout holding comfortably behind a submerged rock at one flow may find the current considerably stronger after an increase. Alternatively, newly flooded edges, bankside structure and side channels may provide better feeding opportunities. Sometimes the fish move only a short distance, but that can be enough to make an established feeding position appear empty.

I have watched this happen repeatedly. A run that held several good fish one day may be much more difficult after a relatively modest change in releases. When the river settles, the trout may return to their earlier positions or establish themselves somewhere else entirely. This is one of the reasons I am reluctant to assume that a fish will be in the same place simply because we found it there the previous afternoon. The water may look familiar, but the current passing through it can be quite different.

It is also worth remembering that the best holding water is not necessarily the most impressive-looking part of a river. A deep pool with substantial structure may attract our attention, while a relatively shallow run beside a modest rock can provide a more efficient feeding position. I have found very good trout in places that appeared unremarkable until I began examining the current more carefully. Watching fish use those positions gradually changes what you look for when approaching unfamiliar water.

This is particularly useful when teaching beginners. It is easy enough to explain current seams, drag and holding water while standing on the bank, but the lesson becomes much clearer when somebody can watch a trout intercept a drifting insect and return to its lie. Suddenly there is a reason to cast upstream of the fish rather than directly at it, and a reason to position the leader in one current rather than across several. What seemed like a collection of technical instructions begins to make practical sense.

After thousands of days on the Goulburn, I still find it satisfying to discover a good trout in clear water and spend time watching what it does. Sometimes the observation confirms what I already suspected. Occasionally it reveals something about a particular piece of water that I had overlooked. More often, it is simply an opportunity to examine the small adjustments and movements that are easily missed when all our attention is directed towards catching the fish.

The trout in this footage may continued to occupy the same lie for months, provided the current and available food remain suitable. A substantial change in releases could alter the position, or another fish may eventually occupy it.

The current passes around the trout. It adjusts its position slightly, settles again and continues facing upstream and feeding. Nothing particularly dramatic happens, and someone walking past might scarcely give it a moment before excitedly casting.

I think it is worth watching a little longer.

Ant

 

Experience, reputation, local knowledge and the questions worth asking before you book.

Choosing a fly fishing guide has become considerably easier in one respect and more difficult in another. Thirty years ago, you generally found a guide through a fly shop, a fishing club, a magazine article or the recommendation of somebody you trusted. Today, a search of almost any well-known trout river will produce an assortment of professional-looking websites, impressive photographs, enthusiastic testimonials and operators promising an unforgettable experience. There is certainly more choice, but distinguishing between those choices can be surprisingly difficult.

A photograph of a large brown trout tells you that somebody caught a large brown trout. It doesn’t necessarily tell you who found it, how the fishing was conducted or what the rest of the day was like. An attractive website might belong to somebody with decades of professional experience or someone who has only recently begun taking paying clients. Both could provide an excellent day, but their knowledge, experience and ability to manage difficult conditions may be quite different. Unfortunately, the websites themselves rarely make those distinctions clear.

I have spent more than thirty years guiding, much of it on the Goulburn, and have also been fortunate enough to fish with guides across Australia, New Zealand and America. I’ve learned a great deal from watching other people work, including some considerably younger than me. I’ve encountered outstanding guides whose names would mean little to most anglers, and others with considerable reputations whose approach didn’t particularly suit my fishing. It has made me more interested in what I would ask before booking somebody myself, particularly when the fishing involves unfamiliar water, a substantial financial commitment or placing my safety in another person’s hands.

There isn’t a single formula for choosing the right guide. Much depends on what you want from the day. But there are ways of looking beyond the photographs and promises to establish whether somebody is likely to be a good fit.

Experience: Years in Business or Days on the Water?

The first question I would ask is how much guiding the person has actually done, particularly on the river I intend to fish. This is not quite the same as asking how long they have been a guide. Someone might have started guiding fifteen years ago but worked only a handful of weekends each season. Another may have been guiding for six years and spent well over a hundred days annually on the water. Both can legitimately describe themselves as experienced, but their working histories are very different.

The distinction becomes even more important with drift boats. Someone who has personally completed several thousand drifts on a particular river has accumulated an enormous amount of practical information. They have watched that water through changing seasons, floods, droughts, different flow levels and countless variations in weather. They have seen how trout respond when water rises or falls, which banks produce under particular conditions and how the behaviour of the current changes as water moves through different sections over the course of many seasons.

Consider the difference between somebody who has completed 100 drifts on a river and another who has completed 5,000. It isn’t simply a matter of one having fifty times as many trips behind them. Those additional days represent thousands of decisions about boat positioning, water selection, weather, client ability and safety. They include days when the fishing was extraordinary and many more when very little happened as expected. Much of what experienced guides know was learned during the latter, when they had to work out why the river wasn’t behaving as anticipated.

None of this means the guide with 5,000 drifts is automatically the better teacher, the more enjoyable companion or even the more successful angler. Nor does it mean an enthusiastic newcomer shouldn’t be given an opportunity. Everybody begins somewhere, and I have met young guides with remarkable judgement and ability. But if I were paying for a drift on an unfamiliar river, I would certainly want to know the difference. It is information I would consider more useful than the age of the business or the number of photographs on its website.

It is also worth distinguishing the experience of the business from that of the person who will guide you. A company may have operated for thirty years while employing somebody who joined last summer. Conversely, a newly established business might be run by a guide with twenty years of experience working for other outfitters. Neither arrangement is inherently a problem, provided you know whose experience you are purchasing.

Drift Boat vs Raft: Does the Boat Matter?

Another consideration that rarely receives much attention when people compare guides is the boat itself. Most advertisements simply describe a guided float trip, often without explaining what sort of vessel will be used. Yet there is an enormous difference between spending eight hours fishing from an inflatable raft and doing the same from a purpose-built fibreglass drift boat. Having spent much of my working life rowing both, I have definite views about their respective merits, particularly on the sort of tailwater rivers we fish in Australia.

The first distinction is safety. Rafts are remarkably forgiving vessels. Their inflatable chambers provide substantial positive buoyancy, and their flexible construction allows them to absorb impacts and bounce away from rocks and other obstacles that might cause serious problems for a rigid hull. They are particularly well suited to whitewater and can tolerate a degree of mishandling that would be considerably more consequential in a fibreglass drift boat. Neither vessel is immune to accidents, but I would generally regard a properly equipped raft as the more forgiving choice for a relatively inexperienced rower on our local rivers.

Fibreglass drift boats are a different proposition. They are rigid, responsive and remarkably precise in capable hands, but they can be extraordinarily unforgiving when somebody makes a serious mistake. A poorly judged angle against an obstruction or a strong current pressing against the hull can develop into a dangerous situation very quickly. They demand anticipation, sound judgement and sufficient experience to recognise trouble before the boat reaches it. A guide who is still learning those skills has a considerably smaller margin for error than they might have in an inflatable raft.

Where the fibreglass drift boat comes into its own is the fishing. On a tailwater such as the Goulburn, there is simply no comparison in my experience. A properly designed boat can be held against strong current, positioned accurately around feeding fish and controlled with a precision that an inflatable raft struggles to match. For the angler, that translates into more useful casts, better presentations and less time dealing with the limitations of the vessel. Proper seating, solid floors, footrests and secure places to stand also make a substantial difference over a full day. Depending on their design, rafts can leave passengers feeling exposed or perched on inflatable tubes, and self-bailing floors can mean spending much of the day with wet feet.

We began floating the Goulburn in inflatable rafts in 1994, and they served us very well for years. I still own two, both perfectly serviceable, but they remain rolled up and packed away in the shed. There isn’t a day of the season, nor a particular set of conditions on the Goulburn, when I would choose one over a properly designed fibreglass drift boat. For rowing precision, boat positioning and the comfort of the people fishing, the difference is simply too great. That is a judgement based on the fishing we do and the water we know, rather than a suggestion that rafts have no legitimate place elsewhere.

There is also a considerable difference in cost and availability. An inflatable raft can be purchased and, when the model is in stock and freight arrangements cooperate, landed in Australia by air within a week or so. In my experience, a commercially equipped raft can generally be landed for around a third of the cost of an imported fibreglass drift boat. An American-made fibreglass boat is a much more substantial investment. By the time sea freight, import charges, GST and equipment are accounted for, a new boat can realistically cost A$40,000–$50,000 landed and ready for commercial use. I generally allow as much as twelve months for ordering and importing one. That doesn’t make it a better boat simply because it is expensive, but it helps explain why operators make different choices about the vessels they use.

Not all drift boats are alike, either. American manufacturers produce different hull designs intended for different rivers and styles of fishing, and there are considerable variations in construction, seating, handling and suitability. Rivers such as the Goulburn, Swampy Plain and Tumut each present their own demands, and choosing a boat that works well across them involves more consideration than simply buying a recognisable American brand.

If you’re considering a guided float, I would ask what sort of boat will be used, whether it suits the river and how much experience the guide has operating it. A raft is generally more forgiving of the person rowing it. A purpose-built fibreglass drift boat is, in my experience, considerably better for the person fishing from it on these rivers. The experience of the guide determines whether you receive the full benefit of that difference.

Full-Time Guiding and the Value of Recent Experience

There is another distinction between somebody who guides as their principal occupation and someone who does it occasionally alongside other work. I have known excellent part-time guides, including anglers whose technical ability would embarrass plenty of professionals. Some deliberately limit their guiding because they enjoy their other careers or prefer working during particular fishing periods. Being part-time is not a criticism, and being full-time is certainly no guarantee of excellence.

Nevertheless, regular professional guiding develops skills that recreational fishing alone does not. A guide working four or five days a week spends those days making decisions for other people. They learn to manage beginners, experienced anglers, changing weather, difficult personalities and the inevitable complications of commercial trips. They also develop a continuous understanding of conditions. Someone who guided the river yesterday, the day before and several times during the previous week is likely to have a different view of what is happening from somebody whose last outing was a fortnight ago.

This becomes particularly valuable when the fishing is difficult. It is relatively straightforward to appear knowledgeable when trout are rising everywhere and almost any reasonable presentation produces a result. The more revealing test comes during a succession of difficult days, when the obvious methods are producing little and clients are becoming frustrated. A guide who works regularly has more opportunities to develop the judgement, patience and adaptability required to manage those situations.

Someone guiding ten or fifteen days a season may be a very capable angler, but they are not accumulating the same professional experience as somebody who works a hundred or more days annually. That difference deserves consideration, particularly when operating boats or taking inexperienced clients into challenging water. I would therefore ask how many days somebody guides during a normal season, how recently they have been on the water and how familiar they are with the conditions likely to occur during my booking.

Is a Guide Who Is Difficult to Book Worth Waiting For?

Availability is something I pay attention to when arranging guided fishing for myself. A guide who is consistently busy, particularly with returning clients, is worth investigating. Good guides often develop a following, and their regular customers tend to arrange dates well ahead of time. Some of the best people I have fished with are difficult to secure at short notice, especially during the periods when their rivers are fishing well.

There is a practical reason for this. A busy guide may spend most daylight hours on the river, often somewhere without reliable telephone reception. By the time they have finished guiding, recovered the vehicle, cleaned the equipment and prepared for the following day, the ordinary working day has disappeared. It isn’t unusual for enquiries to be returned in the evening or handled by somebody else while the guide is working.

I wouldn’t take that observation too far. Someone answering the telephone immediately might have finished early, be enjoying a scheduled day off or employ somebody specifically to manage bookings. Likewise, somebody who never returns calls may simply be poorly organised. Being difficult to contact is not a professional qualification.

What I would pay attention to is the pattern. Is the guide regularly booked ahead? Do clients return season after season? Are popular dates already committed, or is the business simply unreliable about communicating? A full diary is worth investigating, but so is an operator’s willingness to answer questions and make clear arrangements once contact has been established.

If there is a particular guide you want, I would rather arrange the trip around a date when that person is available than assume another guide from the same business will provide an identical experience. They may be equally capable, but their approach and personality will almost certainly be different. If somebody else is being assigned to the booking, you should know that before committing.

Decide What Sort of Fishing You Actually Want

One of the most useful things a prospective client can do is establish what they want from the experience. It sounds obvious, but people frequently book guided fishing without giving it much thought. Most people want a good day, perhaps a decent trout and preferably a few. Those are reasonable ambitions, but they don’t tell the guide very much about what would make the day satisfying.

There is an enormous difference between spending a day fishing squirmy worms beneath an indicator and stalking individual trout with small dry flies. While both can be productive, they offer quite different experiences. Some anglers enjoy covering water, casting continuously and catching as many trout as possible. Others would happily spend an hour working on a single fish they can see feeding. A guide may have a strong preference for one approach, and that can influence the day considerably.

I would ask a prospective guide what they particularly enjoy guiding. The answer can be revealing. Someone who becomes enthusiastic discussing technical dry-fly fishing is likely to approach a river differently from somebody who specialises in deep nymphing, streamer fishing or searching with large attractor patterns. There is nothing wrong with having a speciality. In fact, it can be an excellent reason to book somebody, provided that speciality matches what you want.

You should also be realistic about the conditions. If you particularly want to fish dry flies, explain that before booking and ask whether the proposed time of year is suitable. A thoughtful guide might recommend a different month, another river or a particular period of the day. I would regard that as encouraging. Somebody who promises exceptional fishing at any time, regardless of flows, weather or insect activity, deserves a few more questions.

Your experience matters too. Tell the guide how long you have been fishing, what you are comfortable with and whether there are techniques you want to improve or avoid altogether. Did we mention squirmy works already? There is no advantage in exaggerating your ability. Guides encounter beginners regularly, and most would much rather know where to start than discover halfway through the morning that the person they expected to cast forty feet comfortably is struggling at twenty.

Safety, Judgement and the Questions People Forget

Safety deserves more attention than it usually receives when people compare guiding services. Most clients understandably concentrate on the fishing. They look at photographs, check prices and consider which river they would prefer. Relatively few begin by asking how experienced the guide is at operating a boat in difficult water, whether the business conducts safety training or what arrangements exist if something goes wrong.

On a substantial river, particularly one subject to rapidly changing flows, I would consider those questions essential. A drift boat is an excellent fishing platform, but it remains a vessel operating in moving water. Its safety depends heavily on the competence and judgement of the person rowing it. An experienced operator looks beyond the next fishing opportunity, anticipating bends, obstructions, pressure lines and places where a change in current could cause trouble.

Much of that work is invisible to the person fishing. While an angler is concentrating on a rising trout along the bank, the guide may be watching a difficult corner farther downstream, deciding whether there is enough room to stop or whether the boat needs to move towards the opposite bank. The best decisions often attract no attention because nothing happens. The boat passes safely through the section and the fishing continues.

That is also why there is a considerable difference between being able to row a drift boat and being ready to guide paying clients from one. Recreational rowing provides valuable experience, but commercial guiding adds an extra level of responsibility for the people in the boat. A guide needs sufficient familiarity with both the vessel and the river to recognise hazards early, make decisions under pressure and respond appropriately when something unexpected happens. Being able to negotiate a familiar stretch in favourable conditions is not the same as possessing the judgement required across a full range of river conditions.

I would ask how long a guide has been operating drift boats commercially, how familiar they are with the river at different heights and what happens if the weather or flows make the intended trip unsuitable. Do they have alternative sections available? Will they postpone or cancel when necessary? What emergency equipment do they carry, and what arrangements exist for communication and assistance? I would also be interested in whether they have been involved in any serious boating incidents and what they learned from them.

Rolling a boat is not necessarily the result of poor judgement. Accidents can happen even to experienced people, and a guide’s response to an incident can sometimes be more revealing than the incident alone. Nevertheless, I would want to understand that history before setting out on a large, fast river such as the Goulburn, particularly if I were putting inexperienced anglers or members of my family in the boat.

Licensing, insurance and safety documentation remain important, but they should not be confused with proof of practical competence. They establish aspects of compliance and preparation. They don’t tell you how well somebody reads a trout stream, whether they can teach a beginner or how skilfully they will manage a difficult afternoon.

Comparing Price and What You Actually Receive

Guided fishing varies considerably in price, and comparing advertised rates can be misleading unless you understand what is included. A full day might mean eight hours on the river with lunch and equipment supplied, or a shorter period that includes travel to and from the fishing. Some operators charge by the boat, others by the person. Private-water fees, vehicle shuttles, licences, equipment and other expenses may or may not be included.

I would want a clear account of what I was purchasing before paying a deposit. How many anglers will share the guide? Who supplies the equipment and flies? Is lunch included? How many hours are spent fishing? What happens if the river becomes unfishable, and what are the cancellation arrangements? For overseas trips, these questions extend to accommodation standards, room sharing, transport, meals, guide ratios and whether every advertised fishing day is fully guided.

A lower price can represent excellent value, particularly when a capable guide is establishing a business or working independently with modest overheads. A higher price might reflect greater experience, private access, better equipment or more comprehensive arrangements. It might also simply be a higher price. Neither tells the whole story.

The sensible comparison is between what each operator will actually provide, the experience of the person delivering it and the suitability of the fishing for your needs. A guide who costs a little more but gives you precisely the sort of day you wanted may be considerably better value than a cheaper alternative whose methods or arrangements don’t suit you. The reverse can be equally true.

Reputation, Returning Clients and the Evidence Behind Reviews

Recommendations remain one of the best ways to find a guide, particularly when they come from somebody who has actually fished with that person. I would place more weight on a detailed account from an experienced angler I trust than on a collection of anonymous five-star reviews. The useful questions are not simply whether they caught fish or enjoyed themselves, but how the guide worked, how well they communicated and what happened when the fishing became difficult.

Returning clients are worth paying attention to as well. When people repeatedly choose to spend their limited fishing time and money with the same guide, it suggests the relationship is delivering something they value. That might be exceptional fishing, good instruction, easy company or simply confidence that the arrangements will be handled properly. Whatever the reason, repeat bookings over many seasons are useful evidence of customer satisfaction.

Reviews should still be considered carefully. A glowing account written after an extraordinary hatch may tell you relatively little about the guide’s ability. Conversely, an unhappy client who caught no fish may have experienced competent guiding under very difficult conditions. Look for recurring observations about preparation, patience, communication, safety and whether the guide made a genuine effort to meet the client’s expectations.

I would also pay attention to how the guide treats the fishery. A professional operator earns a living from access to rivers and trout, and that brings responsibilities beyond the immediate interests of the paying client. Does the guide handle fish carefully, respect landholders and access arrangements, and recognise when temperatures or other environmental conditions make fishing inappropriate? Are they considerate towards other anglers? On smaller, vulnerable fisheries, do they exercise discretion about locations and fishing pressure? Those things tell you something about the person you are entrusting with your day.

The Person You’ll Spend the Day With

Finally, there is personality. You may spend eight hours in a drift boat with somebody, or several consecutive days together on an overseas trip. During that time you will discover whether conversation comes easily, whether their sense of humour suits you and how they behave when things don’t go according to plan. These qualities are difficult to measure, but they can influence your enjoyment enormously.

Some guides are naturally enthusiastic and talkative. Others are quieter, offering instruction when necessary and otherwise allowing the fishing to occupy the day. A beginner may appreciate frequent encouragement, while an experienced angler might prefer a guide who can position the boat well and leave them to concentrate. Neither approach is necessarily superior. The important thing is finding somebody whose temperament and way of working suit what you want.

A telephone conversation before booking can help. Pay attention to whether the guide asks about your experience, preferred fishing methods and expectations. Notice whether they listen to the answers. Someone who seems genuinely interested in understanding what you want is more likely to plan the day around you than somebody who spends the entire conversation describing their own accomplishments.

I would also be wary of guarantees. No guide can promise that trout will feed, that the weather will cooperate or that a river will remain in suitable condition. They can promise to prepare properly, communicate honestly, make sensible decisions and give you their best professional effort. Those are things within their control. The fish have never been particularly interested in the arrangements we make on their behalf.

Ten Questions Worth Asking Before You Book

You don’t need to conduct an interrogation, but a few sensible questions will often tell you more than an hour spent comparing websites.

1. How long have you guided professionally, and how many days do you guide during a typical season? This helps distinguish actual working experience from years merely holding a guiding qualification or operating a business.
2. Approximately how many days or drifts have you personally completed on the river I want to fish? For drift-boat fishing in particular, this is one of the most useful measures of local experience.
3. Will you be guiding me yourself, or will somebody else be assigned to the booking? If another guide is involved, ask about their experience and preferred fishing methods.
4. What sort of fishing do you specialise in, and is it suitable for what I want to do? Explain whether you prefer dry flies, nymphing, stalking fish, learning techniques or simply covering water.
5. How recently have you fished this river, and what conditions should I expect at that time of year? Recent knowledge can be as important as accumulated experience.
6. If we’re floating, what type of boat will we use, and why is it suited to this river? Ask about seating, comfort, fishing positions and the guide’s experience operating that vessel.
7. What safety arrangements, permissions and insurance apply, and what happens if conditions deteriorate? A professional operator should be comfortable discussing these matters.
8. If you belong to a professional guides association, what does your membership level actually certify? Ask what documentation has been checked and whether any practical guiding or boat-handling assessment is involved.
9. What is included in the price, how much time will we spend fishing, and what are the cancellation arrangements? Establish exactly what you’re purchasing before paying a deposit.
10. Can you provide a reference from someone who has fished with you, preferably more than once? An established client can often tell you more about the experience than a promotional description.

You may not need to ask every question. Some will already be answered clearly on the operator’s website, while others may emerge naturally during a conversation. What matters is having enough information to make a considered decision.

Making the Choice

After thirty years, I remain convinced that experience matters enormously, particularly on unfamiliar or technically demanding water. But experience needs to be considered properly. The number of years a business has existed is not the same as the number of years an individual has guided. A person’s fishing ability is not necessarily evidence of their teaching ability, and an impressive website tells you very little about their competence with a drift boat. Even a long professional career does not guarantee that somebody will be enjoyable company.

I would begin with the things that can reasonably be established: actual days guiding, familiarity with the particular river, recent experience, reputation, and the ability to provide the style of fishing you want. If the trip involves floating, the suitability of the boat and the guide’s experience operating it deserve consideration as well.

Then I would consider the person. How do they communicate? Are they interested in your expectations? Do they seem comfortable acknowledging that conditions may not be favourable? Are they prepared to recommend another date or approach if that would give you a better experience?

There are many excellent guides working across Australia and overseas, from long-established professionals to younger people developing their own reputations. Some are exceptionally difficult to book, while others may have an opening at precisely the right time. The aim is not to find the guide with the grandest claims, the most impressive photographs or the longest list of affiliations, but somebody whose experience, judgement and manner give you confidence in the day you are purchasing.

A little research and a proper conversation before booking can save considerable disappointment. More importantly, they can help you find somebody whose knowledge will leave you a better angler, and whose company you’ll be happy to share for the day.

Ant

Most people assume fly fishing is about trout.

At first glance, that seems reasonable enough. Rods, flies, currents and rising fish are the visible parts of the sport. If somebody unfamiliar with fly fishing watches a drift boat slide quietly down a river at dusk, they naturally assume the entire exercise revolves around catching fish.

And of course, the fish matter enormously.

Even after thirty years on rivers, I still feel that small lift of anticipation before a cast into a difficult lie. There are mornings when the river seems alive with possibility and evenings when fading light, drifting insects and the quiet confidence of rising trout create moments that remain deeply satisfying no matter how many seasons pass. The challenge never completely disappears.

Yet the longer I spend around rivers, the more convinced I become that many anglers are searching for something slightly harder to describe. If catching fish alone were the entire story, most people would eventually move on to easier pursuits. There are certainly easier ways to catch fish. You can troll lakes, soak bait or cast lures. Modern electronics can reveal structure, depth and fish locations with astonishing precision. Yet countless people continue choosing a method that often involves standing in cold water, learning difficult skills and spending long periods observing insects and currents before making a single cast.

Something else is happening there.

That thought has stayed with me more and more as I’ve grown older.

I still remember the first trout I caught on fly quite clearly, though not because it was particularly large. What stayed with me was the feeling of entering a different world for the first time. The concentration required. The movement of current around my legs. The strange silence that settles over a river late in the day. The growing awareness that water is never truly still, even when it appears calm from a distance.

Looking back, I think that was the moment the river itself became important. The fish simply opened the door.

Fly fishing teaches observation slowly. At first, beginners understandably focus on mechanics. Casting. Knots. Fly selection. Line control. Like learning any new skill, there is a tendency to become consumed by technique. Over time, however, attention begins shifting outward. You start noticing weather patterns more carefully. The direction of wind. Tiny insects gathering beneath overhanging branches. Shadows moving across riffles. The subtle difference between water that merely looks good and water that actually holds fish.

Eventually the river begins teaching lessons that have very little to do with trout.

Patience, for one.

Modern life encourages speed, immediate outcomes and constant stimulation. Rivers tend to resist all of that. Some days they humble you completely. Conditions that appear perfect may fish terribly, while difficult days occasionally transform without warning during the final hour of light. There is no controlling that uncertainty. Only learning to work within it.

Perhaps that is one reason rivers remain so valuable. They remind us that not everything can be hurried.

Over the years I have watched countless people arrive at rivers carrying far more than fly rods and waders. Some are exhausted from work. Some are quietly grieving. Some are recently retired and trying to rediscover rhythm in their lives after decades of responsibility. Some are navigating illness. Some are processing family difficulties. Some simply need space away from phones, meetings, traffic and noise.

The river rarely solves any of those problems directly. But it changes the pace at which people think.

That matters.

One of the great misconceptions about fly fishing is that it is an elitist or overly technical pursuit. Certainly, there are technical aspects to the sport. Fly casting takes practice. Reading water takes time. Rivers reward accumulated experience. Yet at its heart, fly fishing remains surprisingly simple.

You stand in moving water and pay attention.

That is really where it begins.

Somewhere along the way, many anglers realise the river itself has become just as important as the fish living within it. The places start mattering deeply. Certain bends become tied to memory. Particular stretches of water become inseparable from people, seasons and moments in life.

I can still drift sections of the Goulburn and remember conversations from twenty years ago almost exactly where they occurred. An older client speaking quietly about retirement while rain moved across the hills upstream. A father watching his son row a drift boat for the first time. A mayfly hatch appearing unexpectedly during difficult conditions. The shared silence that sometimes settles over a boat late in the afternoon when everybody realises they are exactly where they want to be.

Those moments become part of the river too.

The river remembers in its own way. Or perhaps we simply leave small pieces of ourselves behind.

I have experienced the same feeling elsewhere. There are sections of the Waiau River in Southland where I can still picture clients from years ago stalking trout along particular banks. Certain bends on the Missouri River in Montana instantly bring back conversations, laughter and shared experiences from previous seasons. I can drive through Paradise Valley or cross the Henry’s Fork and immediately feel old memories resurfacing.

The fish are part of those memories.

But only part.

What stays longest are usually the people.

Perhaps that is why many anglers become increasingly reflective as they get older. The obsession with proving oneself softens slightly. Fish numbers matter a little less than they once did. Atmosphere matters more.

You begin noticing things younger anglers often rush past: steam lifting from cold water at dawn, the sound of current against the hull of a drift boat, the smell of eucalyptus after rain along the Goulburn, a wedge-tailed eagle circling above a valley, and light changing on distant hills during the final hour of the day.

These details quietly accumulate over years until they become inseparable from the fishing itself.

Travel deepens the feeling even further. Some of my strongest memories from Montana and New Zealand are not individual fish at all. They are moments between the fishing. Crossing Wyoming at sunrise beneath enormous skies. Coffee before daylight in a small Montana town. Snow appearing unexpectedly on distant mountains during summer. Watching clients see Yellowstone National Park for the first time. Wind moving through Paradise Valley late in the evening.

Those places carry emotional weight because they become connected to experience, memory and friendship.

And perhaps that is another reason people keep returning to rivers. Fly fishing rarely remains a solitary pursuit for very long. Over the decades I have watched lifelong friendships emerge through rivers. Complete strangers sharing a drift boat in New Zealand later travelling together overseas. Fathers bringing sons. Grandparents introducing grandchildren to fly rods. Clients who initially came to learn how to cast eventually returning year after year simply because they love the atmosphere surrounding the experience.

Fishing creates its own strange little communities. Not loud ones. Usually quiet ones. People connected by weather, water and accumulated time outdoors.

The older I get, the more grateful I become for that continuity. For familiar rivers. For old clients. For guides and friends scattered across different parts of the world. For the privilege of making a life outdoors. And for the understanding that fly fishing has always been about far more than trout alone.

The fish draw us in initially. But they are rarely the only reason we stay.

What keeps people returning to rivers, I suspect, is something much harder to market neatly. A search for stillness. Perspective. Meaning. Connection to landscape. Connection to memory. Connection to earlier versions of ourselves.

Or perhaps simply the growing realisation that time spent outdoors—properly outdoors, immersed in weather, current and changing light—remains one of the few experiences in modern life that still feels genuinely restorative.

Rivers ask very little from us in the end.

Mostly attention.

And perhaps that is why, despite all the changes in the world around us, people continue returning to them generation after generation.

Because somewhere beside moving water, many of us become slightly more aware of what actually matters.

Ant

The Goulburn River Through the Seasons

People often ask me when the best time to fish the Goulburn is. After more than thirty years working on the river, I still find it a difficult question to answer, partly because the river changes so much throughout the year and partly because different anglers are looking for entirely different experiences. Someone who enjoys wading clear, shallow water and sight-fishing to individual trout may have little interest in the heavier summer flows. Another angler might happily wait until December, when the river rises and the banks become the centre of attention from a drift boat. For some, the arrival of the first substantial mayfly hatches is reason enough to plan a visit. Others prefer the quieter weeks of autumn, when the crowds have largely disappeared and the fishing becomes more deliberate.

I have my own preferences, although they have changed over the years. There were times when I would have chosen November without much hesitation, particularly during seasons when the insect life seemed almost limitless and trout were rising from early morning until dark. These days I am equally drawn to April, when the weather settles, the river begins losing some of its summer urgency and there is often a remarkable variety of fishing available. But ask me after an exceptional evening on the river in October and I may give you a different answer again.

Much of what makes the Goulburn so interesting is the influence of Lake Eildon. Unlike the surrounding freestone rivers, where flows follow rainfall and seasonal runoff, the Goulburn below the dam is heavily regulated. Water is released to meet irrigation, environmental and other operating requirements, and the timing and volume of those releases can change the character of the river almost completely. A section that appears broad, shallow and easily waded in September may be carrying many times as much water by December. Gravel bars disappear, banks become inundated and current lines move towards the edges. Trout that were feeding in the middle of the river only weeks earlier may now be lying beneath grass or overhead willows, sometimes within a metre of the bank.

When we began drift boating the Goulburn in 1994, very few anglers approached the river that way. Most fishing was done on foot, and large sections of the river received comparatively little attention, particularly once irrigation releases made wading difficult. Drift boats allowed us to explore water that had previously been awkward or impossible to fish effectively. They also changed the way I looked at the river. Spending so much time moving downstream, often over the same sections in very different conditions, gave me an opportunity to watch the entire system change through the seasons rather than concentrating on the handful of pools and runs accessible from the bank.

Since then I have watched floods move gravel through long stretches, seen entire bends altered by erosion, endured drought years when the fishing deteriorated badly and witnessed hatches that would be extraordinary on any trout river in the world. I have also seen seasons when the conditions appeared almost perfect but the trout were difficult to find. Water temperature, clarity, insect populations and river flows can all be encouraging, yet none guarantees a strong fish population or a successful day. The longer you work on the same river, the more careful you become about drawing conclusions from any single set of conditions.

Even so, certain patterns return often enough to be useful. What follows is not intended as a rigid calendar. The weather does not organise itself around the months, and the timing of irrigation releases, insect hatches and seasonal changes varies considerably from one year to another. It is simply how I have come to recognise the Goulburn through the fishing year, beginning with the opening of the trout season in September and finishing when the river closes for winter.

Spring

September: Low Water, Clear Flows and Careful Fishing

Opening week often finds the Goulburn running relatively low and exceptionally clear. Unless Lake Eildon is near spilling or other conditions require higher releases, much of the winter and early spring is spent with comparatively modest volumes of water entering the river. The larger gravel bars reappear, long shallow runs become accessible and there are opportunities to wade sections that would be difficult to reach during the irrigation season.

The contrast with the surrounding rivers can be remarkable. The Rubicon, Acheron, Steavenson and other freestone streams may still be carrying cold runoff or discoloured water from winter rain, while the Goulburn is flowing clear below the dam. For anglers keen to begin the season, that stability is particularly attractive. There is often a great deal of river available to explore, although the appearance of easy water can be misleading.

Trout that have spent months in low, clear conditions can be extremely cautious. They may occupy shallow feeding lanes beside gravel bars, softer seams along inside bends or positions close to submerged structure where they have a good view of anything approaching. A careless step, a shadow across the water or several unnecessary false casts can be enough to end an opportunity before the fly has landed. On the Goulburn, a fish does not always need to move far to avoid an angler. Sometimes it simply slips out of the feeding lane and becomes almost impossible to see again.

September rewards people prepared to approach slowly. I often encourage anglers to spend several minutes looking at a likely section before stepping into the water. Use the light, work out where the current is delivering food and try to establish whether anything is moving before deciding where to cast. Polarised glasses are invaluable, although even with good glasses there will be plenty of trout that are difficult to distinguish from the riverbed until they shift position.

One mistake I see repeatedly is assuming that a lack of rising fish means the trout are not feeding. Early in the season, much of their activity may be taking place beneath the surface. Small nymphs, midge pupae and other aquatic insects provide food even when little is visibly happening above the water. A carefully presented nymph can be extremely effective, particularly through slower runs where fish are holding close to the bottom. The important distinction is between a river that is not showing much surface activity and one that is genuinely holding few feeding fish.

As the month progresses, insect activity generally becomes more noticeable. Midges are often present from the beginning, with small mayflies and increasing numbers of caddis appearing as the weather improves. On suitable evenings, larger pale duns sometimes emerge much earlier than expected. I have always enjoyed those first proper rises after winter, particularly when trout begin feeding in water that appeared completely lifeless an hour earlier. It is often a brief opportunity, and there are seasons when the better fishing occurs during the final half-hour of daylight.

September can be a wonderful month, but it is rarely one for anglers expecting the river to provide obvious opportunities from morning until evening. Much of the satisfaction comes from finding fish, approaching them properly and making relatively few casts count.

 

October: The First Substantial Hatches

October is usually when the river begins feeling more active. The days lengthen, water temperatures gradually increase and insect activity becomes more consistent. The timing depends heavily on weather and releases from Eildon. Some years the river remains low and clear well into the month. In others, increasing water demand or environmental releases bring a substantial rise, forcing fish to adjust to new current lines and feeding positions.

It is tempting to assume that rising water must improve the fishing immediately, but that has not always been my experience. Even relatively modest changes can unsettle trout for a period. A fish that was holding comfortably in a shallow seam may find that the current has strengthened or that a newly submerged edge now offers a more efficient feeding position. Until the river stabilises, the fishing can be surprisingly difficult. I have spent plenty of October days looking at clear water, good temperatures and considerable insect activity while wondering why so few trout seemed interested.

When conditions settle, however, October can produce some of the finest technical dry-fly fishing of the year. Caddis become increasingly important, mayfly activity builds and caenids can begin appearing in extraordinary numbers during suitable weather. These tiny mayflies are responsible for some of the most demanding fishing on the river. Trout feeding on them often establish themselves in slow, almost featureless water, where they rise repeatedly to insects that are difficult to see without getting close enough to examine the surface.

During a substantial caenid hatch, the problem is rarely finding a fly small enough to resemble the natural. It is getting that fly to arrive in the correct feeding lane without drag. A trout may be taking hundreds of insects drifting at almost exactly the same speed, and an imitation travelling slightly faster or slower can stand out immediately. Long leaders, fine tippet and careful positioning become far more useful than casting another ten metres. Sometimes a small adjustment to the boat or the angler’s position is worth more than changing flies.

The feeding behaviour is equally interesting. A trout may remain almost stationary, moving only a few centimetres to take each insect. Others travel slowly through a slick, rising in a sequence that becomes predictable once you have watched them for long enough. Learning where the fish begins its movement is often more important than casting at the last visible rise. The ring tells you where the trout took an insect, but not necessarily where it was holding before the take.

I have seen mornings on the Goulburn during which the number of rising trout would compare favourably with anything I have encountered on the celebrated dry-fly rivers of New Zealand or Montana. Those days are not guaranteed, and there have been plenty of disappointing Octobers as well. But when the river is carrying a heavy fall of small mayflies and the fish are feeding confidently, it can be extraordinary. A good angler might spend most of the morning working individual fish without moving far at all.

November: The River at Its Most Generous

November has traditionally been one of my favourite months because so many different insects can be present at the same time. Caenids may be bringing fish to the surface early in the morning, caddis can become increasingly noticeable through the day, and larger mayflies often appear as the light begins to fade. Spinners, beetles, flying ants, termites and occasional stonefly activity add further variety.

Some years the abundance is difficult to believe. A quiet pool may be carrying several species of mayfly simultaneously, while caddis gather along the willows and trout rise in different parts of the current to entirely different bugs. It is one of the reasons the fishing can remain technically demanding even when there are plenty of insects available. Finding rising trout is only the beginning. You still need to work out what they are taking.

Ciacadas are now far more likely to start appearing in the middle of November than. This is a marked shift from when I was a child and their emergence was generally a December event. The good news is this gets the fish eating big flies earlier in the season.

The Kossie Dun is one of the insects I particularly associate with this part of the season. These large mayflies can begin appearing towards evening and sometimes bring better trout to the surface during a remarkably short feeding window. I have guided plenty of days when the afternoon fishing was ordinary, with only scattered rises and little indication that anything substantial was about to happen. Then, as the light faded, large duns began appearing and trout that had shown themselves only occasionally started feeding with considerably more confidence.

It pays to be prepared to stay late. There is often a temptation to finish at a reasonable hour, particularly after a long day on the water, but some of November’s better opportunities arrive just as the river is beginning to disappear into the evening. A fish that has ignored smaller insects for hours may suddenly become very interested in the larger mayflies. The important thing is being in position when it happens, rather than spending the best part of the hatch travelling between pools.

Flying ants and termites can provide equally memorable late spring fishing. Their appearance is strongly influenced by weather, particularly warm and humid conditions, and the timing is never entirely predictable. A substantial fall can bring fish to the surface in places where little activity had been visible beforehand. Trout sometimes become so focused on these insects that they will ignore everything else drifting past them.

There are few more frustrating experiences than watching large trout rise confidently across a slick while discovering that the one pattern you neglected to carry is precisely what they are eating. I have become fairly particular about ensuring that suitable ant and termite imitations remain in the fly box throughout this period, even on days when there seems little reason to expect either.

November does not always produce the same hatches in the same order, and a sudden increase in releases can rearrange the fishing almost overnight. Nevertheless, when the weather, water levels and insect activity come together, it can be a remarkable time to be on the Goulburn.

Summer

December: Rising Water and the Importance of the Edges

By December, irrigation demand commonly brings a substantial increase in releases from Lake Eildon. Depending on the season and the operating requirements, the river may rise in stages or move relatively quickly towards the higher levels associated with summer. For an angler accustomed to fishing the Goulburn on foot during spring, the change can be dramatic.

Gravel bars that were exposed only weeks earlier disappear beneath several feet of water. Runs that were easily crossed become fast and deep, while the main current occupies a much greater proportion of the channel. The fish respond by moving towards more efficient feeding positions. Softer edges, flooded grass, willow roots, backwaters and submerged structure become increasingly important because they allow trout to remain close to food without expending unnecessary energy fighting the heaviest current.

This is the season when drift boats become particularly valuable. Much of the productive water is difficult to reach from the bank, and even where access is possible, the current can make wading uncomfortable or unsafe. From a boat, we can work long stretches of shoreline, positioning anglers to cast beneath overhanging branches or along the narrow seams created where fast water meets the quieter margins.

People fishing the Goulburn for the first time are often surprised by how close to the bank we ask them to cast. There is a natural tendency to look towards the middle of a large river and assume that the best fish must be holding somewhere in the deeper water. In summer, however, some of the most productive lies may be within a metre of the shore. A trout tucked beneath an overhanging willow or undercut grass bank can intercept insects drifting along the edge without having to move far from cover.

The challenge is getting a fly into those positions without immediately catching it in the vegetation. Good drift-boat fishing involves a constant series of adjustments. The guide changes the boat’s angle, slows it against the current or moves slightly closer to the bank while the angler prepares for the next opportunity. There is often only a short window in which the cast can be made effectively. A fly landing a metre too far from the structure may travel through perfectly good-looking water without attracting any attention from fish that are loathe to wasting energy chasing small rewards out in fast current.

Terrestrial insects become increasingly important as summer develops. Beetles are frequently present, grasshoppers become more common as the surrounding country dries and cicadas remain active. These insects introduce a different kind of fishing from the delicate mayfly work of spring. A larger dry fly landing close to cover may be taken aggressively by a trout that has been waiting beneath the bank for something worthwhile to arrive.

Then there are the willow grubs.

For some anglers, willow grub fishing is almost synonymous with summer on the Goulburn. The larvae fall from overhanging willows and become available to fish holding beneath the trees. When the grubs are falling consistently, trout can become remarkably focused on them, rising repeatedly in a very small area while ignoring all other food.

The takes are not always obvious. Sometimes a large brown simply appears beneath a willow, makes the slightest movement at the surface and disappears again. Watching the same fish feed repeatedly can reveal its patrol route in backwaters, allowing the guide to position the boat so the angler can place a small imitation exactly where the fish is likely to return, or even better, in the fish’s path. It is absorbing fishing, but it can require considerable patience, particularly when the trout is moving back and forth between heavy cover and open water.

December is when much of the summer character of the Goulburn becomes established. More water brings more habitat into play, the banks become increasingly important and a great deal of the fishing begins taking place in areas that were not available earlier in the season.

January and February: The Tailwater’s Greatest Advantage

The hottest months of the Australian summer reveal one of the principal advantages of the Goulburn. While many surrounding rivers become low, warm and increasingly difficult for trout, the release of cooler water from Lake Eildon can maintain comparatively favourable conditions through much of the upper river.

That advantage should not be mistaken for a guarantee. Water temperatures vary with distance from the dam, weather conditions, flow rates and the contribution of tributaries. Nor does cool water automatically mean that trout populations are strong. Nevertheless, during periods when freestone rivers are suffering from prolonged heat, the Goulburn can remain one of the more reliable places to fish.

By this stage, fish have often established themselves in the softer water available during the higher releases. Backwaters, flooded margins, small side channels and undercut banks can hold trout feeding away from the pressure of the main current. These places are particularly interesting because the fish are frequently visible, moving slowly through clear water and searching for insects on or immediately beneath the surface.

Some of the best fishing is little more than stalking from a boat. We approach a backwater quietly, stop rowing and look. There may be no obvious rises initially. Then a trout moves beneath an overhang, or a broad brown back appears briefly as the fish takes something from the surface. Once you know where to look, other fish sometimes begin revealing themselves.

The fishing can be surprisingly delicate. Although we may have reached the area by drifting down a river carrying several thousand megalitres a day, the actual presentation may involve a tiny fly and a long leader in water that is barely moving. Trout cruising slowly through a backwater have plenty of time to inspect an imitation. A fly that would be taken without hesitation in fast water may be refused repeatedly when the fish can examine it from several angles.

This is where it becomes important not to assume that bigger flies are always better simply because it is summer. Grasshoppers, beetles and other substantial terrestrials can produce excellent fishing along the main river, but there will be occasions when the fish are taking something much smaller. Willow grubs, tiny beetles, ants and other insects trapped in the film may require sparse imitations and exceptionally careful presentation.

I have spent many summer afternoons watching trout move through backwaters without making a cast for considerable periods. There is little point repeatedly throwing a fly at a fish that is moving unpredictably or positioned where the leader will immediately drag. Sometimes we simply wait for it to return to a particular feeding lane. At other times we change the position of the boat by a few metres and suddenly find that the presentation becomes straightforward.

Good fishing during these months often comes down to understanding how much water is actually worth covering. It can be tempting to drift continuously because there is so much river available, but some of the most memorable opportunities arise when we stop and devote time to a small area holding a handful of worthwhile trout.

The late evenings can also be excellent. As the heat begins leaving the valley, caddis and other insects may become more active, and fish that remained beneath cover during the brighter part of the day sometimes begin feeding along the margins. The river takes on a different appearance as the light fades. Long shadows reach across the water, and a rise that was easy to overlook in the afternoon becomes obvious against a dark reflection beneath the willows.

For anglers who enjoy visual fishing, January and February can be exceptional. The skill lies less in covering large amounts of water than in locating the right fish, understanding its movements and presenting a fly without disturbing it.

 

Autumn

March: The River Between Seasons

March is difficult to characterise because it often contains elements of both summer and autumn. Warm days remain common, terrestrial insects can still produce good fishing and irrigation releases may continue at substantial levels. Yet the shortening days and cooler nights gradually begin changing conditions.

As demand for water eases, releases often begin declining, although the timing varies considerably. Sections that were inaccessible during summer slowly become easier to fish, while trout that occupied flooded margins may begin redistributing themselves into the runs, seams and deeper holding water exposed by the falling river.

It is not always a smooth transition. A substantial change in flow can unsettle the fish for several days, particularly if the river is dropping quickly. Feeding lanes that were productive during high summer may disappear, and trout have to find new positions. There are times when the river looks better to the angler after a reduction in flow, yet the fishing becomes more difficult until the trout have settled.

The insects begin changing as well. Beetles, hoppers and other terrestrials remain important during until the end of April, but aquatic insect activity often becomes increasingly noticeable again. Mayflies and caddis can provide good fishing, particularly when stable conditions allow fish to establish themselves in predictable feeding positions.

March is one of those months when carrying a varied selection of flies is particularly useful. A day might begin with small nymphs through a deeper run, develop into delicate dry-fly fishing during a mayfly hatch and finish with trout taking terrestrials along a grassy bank. There is no need to commit to one method simply because the calendar says summer has ended.

The fishing can be inconsistent, but the variety is part of its attraction. It is often a month when local knowledge becomes especially valuable because the river may change noticeably from one week to the next.

 

April: Perhaps My Favourite Month

If I had to choose one month to spend on the Goulburn, April would be very difficult to overlook. The weather is generally more comfortable than during the height of summer, the crowds begin thinning and the river often settles into levels that allow both drift boating and some wade fishing.

There is a softness to the valley during autumn that I particularly enjoy. The mornings are cooler, the light arrives at a lower angle and the first substantial leaves begin collecting along the edges of slower water. On suitable days, mist hangs over the river before gradually lifting as the sun reaches the valley floor. The surrounding paddocks begin losing some of their summer colour, and the long shadows across the water appear earlier each afternoon.

The fishing can be exceptionally varied. Terrestrial insects remain available during warmer periods, while mayfly and caddis hatches become increasingly important. Trout that have spent much of summer feeding along the flooded edges begin occupying more conventional river positions as flows recede. Runs and bubble lines reappear, and fish can often be located in water that is easier to read from the bank.

One of April’s great advantages is the opportunity to choose how you want to fish. There may be enough water to make a drift boat the best option, particularly through long sections with limited bank access, while other stretches become suitable for walking and stalking individual trout. Some days I am perfectly happy to spend hours working rising fish in a single pool. On others, covering several kilometres from a boat offers a better opportunity to locate fish and take advantage of changing hatches.

The trout are often in excellent condition after a summer of relatively abundant food. Fish that have spent months feeding on terrestrials and aquatic insects can be substantial, and there is something particularly satisfying about encountering them in the clearer, slower water of autumn. They are not necessarily easier to catch. In fact, as flows decline, the fishing can become increasingly demanding as fish get more time to carefully inspect things.

I have always liked the slower pace of April. There is less need to organise every hour around the possibility of oppressive afternoon heat, and the fishing often develops through the middle of the day rather than being concentrated entirely around dawn and dusk. Clients seem more willing to linger beside the river, and some of the best conversations occur during those quiet periods when we are waiting for an expected hatch to begin.

Perhaps that is why April has gradually become one of my favourite months. It offers much of the technical fishing I enjoy without requiring the same urgency that can accompany the more crowded parts of spring and summer.

 

May: Clear Water and Careful Presentation

May brings the trout season towards its close. The days are shorter, mornings can be bitterly cold and the river is often running at relatively modest levels. The heavier summer releases have usually subsided, exposing gravel bars and restoring the familiar pattern of riffles, runs and pools.

For anglers who enjoy sight-fishing, these conditions can be extremely attractive. Water clarity is often excellent, and fish may be visible holding beneath current seams or feeding in the slower sections of the river. There are fewer people around, particularly during the working week, and it is possible to spend long periods on sections that receive heavy attention during the warmer months.

The insect life is generally smaller and less conspicuous. Midges and small mayflies, particularly blue-winged olives, can become important during the middle of the day when conditions are suitable. The hatches may be brief, but trout can feed steadily when the insects appear. Occasionally larger mayflies surprise us very late in the season, including the odd Kossie dun at a time when most anglers have stopped expecting them.

The fishing demands a careful approach. Low, clear water exposes movement, and trout that have been disturbed repeatedly through the season may be reluctant to tolerate anything unnatural. A good presentation often begins well before the cast, with the angler choosing a position that avoids throwing a shadow across the water or allowing the leader to drag across several currents.

This is also a time when I become more conscious of the approaching spawning season. Larger brown trout may begin changing colour, and fish behaviour can alter as winter approaches. The closure is intended to protect trout during this period, and I have always regarded it as an important part of maintaining the fishery. There is no shortage of opportunity to enjoy the river before then without disturbing fish that are preparing to reproduce.

May is not necessarily the month for anglers hoping to catch large numbers of trout. Some days the fishing can be slow, and the best opportunities may be restricted to a relatively short period during the warmer part of the afternoon. But when a good fish begins rising steadily through a quiet pool and there is nobody else in sight, I find it difficult to imagine a much better place to spend a few hours.

 

Winter

June to August: The Closed Season

Winter brings a different set of priorities. Under Victoria’s trout regulations, the Goulburn tailrace from Eildon Pondage to Trawool Bridge, together with the designated tributary waters, is subject to the trout closed season. The restriction includes a prohibition on hook-and-line fishing in the tailrace during the closure, not merely a requirement to release trout. Eildon Pondage itself is managed separately and remains a year-round trout fishery. Anglers should always check the current regulations and exact boundaries before planning winter fishing.

For the river, the closure coincides with an important part of the trout’s annual cycle. Brown trout move towards suitable spawning areas, often travelling into tributaries where gravel, current and water quality provide conditions for reproduction. The success of those spawning movements can influence the fishing in later years, although recruitment is affected by many other factors as well, including water conditions, survival and the availability of suitable habitat.

For guides, winter provides a necessary break from the daily routine of being on the water. There are boats to maintain, trailers to service, equipment to repair and an enormous amount of preparation for the following season. Flies need replacing, rods and reels checking and the inevitable collection of minor problems accumulated over months of guiding finally receives some attention.

It is also a useful period for teaching. Beginner workshops and casting lessons can continue without the pressure of trying to locate fish during the same session. There is time to work properly on casting mechanics, fly tying and the other fundamentals that are easily overlooked once someone becomes distracted by rising trout. Some anglers make considerable progress during these quieter months precisely because they are not trying to catch fish at the same time.

Winter has also become the period when I often head to Montana. While the trout season is closed at home, the American summer is happening, and another collection of rivers is approaching its most productive period. It is a pleasant reversal, moving from cold Victorian mornings to the long daylight hours of the northern hemisphere, although returning home generally means discovering that winter has passed rather more quickly than expected.

By August, preparations for the Goulburn season are well underway again. We begin watching the weather and releases more closely, guides confirm their availability and clients start asking the familiar questions about opening week. After months away from regular guiding, I generally find myself looking forward to getting back into the boat.

The Best Time to Fish the Goulburn

Looking across the entire season, I can understand why anglers have such different preferences. The Goulburn in September bears little resemblance to the same river in January, and by April much of the water has changed character again. The trout are still responding to the same basic requirements for food, shelter and efficient use of current, but the places where those requirements are best met can shift considerably as water levels change.

For someone who enjoys walking and sight-fishing in low, clear water, September or May may be particularly appealing. An angler interested in heavy hatches and selective rising trout might prefer October or November. Those wanting to experience the Goulburn from a drift boat, working the banks and backwaters during higher releases, will often find December through February especially interesting. And for those who like a little of everything, April remains difficult to beat.

None of these preferences guarantees good fishing. Some of the strongest hatches I have witnessed occurred in seasons when the overall trout population was disappointing. Conversely, there have been years when fish were plentiful but the expected insect activity never developed properly. A river is influenced by considerably more than the month printed on the calendar.

That is one reason I hesitate when somebody rings months in advance wanting to know exactly when they should come. I can explain what usually happens, what sort of fishing they are most likely to encounter and which periods have historically suited their interests. What I cannot do is promise that the Goulburn will behave as expected. Weather, releases, insect activity and fish populations do not always arrive together in the combinations we would prefer.

The Goulburn has occupied much of my adult life, and I have spent enough days on it to recognise most of its familiar moods. There are bends I remember before floods changed them, stretches where once reliable hatches have become less predictable and pools that still bring particular clients or days to mind. Sometimes the changes occur gradually enough that they are barely noticeable from one season to the next. Occasionally a flood rearranges a section of river in a matter of hours.

One of the pleasures of returning to the same water over many years is that familiarity does not remove the need to pay attention. I can know exactly what a particular bend looked like last summer and still approach it carefully after the next substantial change in flow. The current may be occupying a different line, the gravel may have moved or the fish may have found a better position somewhere I would not previously have considered.

That is particularly true of the Goulburn. A regulated river may appear more predictable than a freestone stream, but in practice the changing releases, the extraordinary variety of insect life and the influence of the surrounding catchment make it a river that requires continuous observation.

If there were one particular period when the Goulburn consistently produced everything I wanted from a day’s fishing, I would probably spend considerably less time thinking about the rest of the season. Fortunately, that has never been the case.

Ask me in November, after an evening when large mayflies have brought trout rising all along a quiet stretch, and I may tell you November is the finest month of the year.

Ask me again on a clear April afternoon, when the river is running at a comfortable height and a good brown is rising steadily in an empty pool, and I suspect I will give you a different answer.

Ant