THE CLOSED SEASON

A few years back I stopped fishing for a whole year. It’s a long story and maybe there’s a book in there somewhere so I won’t tell it now. The end result is that I came to realise that fishing is my “sanity saver.” I need to get away and do it to keep my balance, it’s on doctors orders.
So every winter, when the rivers are closed, I still have to get out and wet my line. Now there are fishermen who will tell you that this is the best fishing of the year. The fish are bigger, and more selective, and harder to hook-up. I nod and let them talk, not sure if they are trying to convince me or themselves. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the wind and the rain I object to, or the sporadic hatches, and yes the fishing while challenging can be very good, it’s the whole thing. Somehow it doesn’t quite fit into my picture of the perfect fishing day, I’ll do, because I can, and well there isn’t an alternative available. I’ll even enjoy myself, but at the back of my mind there’s a little voice that’s always telling me to wait until the rivers open again.
For me though there are two closed seasons, the official one and the Christmas break with my family. A seasonal self imposed cessation of all fishing related activity, other than the odd blog posting of course, and maybe I might get a few flies tied. In this age of instant "on credit" gratification and 24 hour Christmas shopping I think it’s good to have some self discipline. At Christmas you should just sit back with the kids, bake mince pies and do a jigsaw puzzle. Of course it’s only for a couple of weeks and I do have the luxury as a teacher of having all of January off so if you want to fish on Christmas day itself – well that’s your business isn’t it. I don’t take the same laid back approach in the actual closed season. If you want to fish there are designated lakes where you can – stay out of the rivers period.
So what was the best days fishing I have every had? Well that’s an impossible question to answer but there was this day I felt really low during the closed season and I knew if I didn’t get out I’d blow something up so I drove up to Eildon. One of the typical fly fishing trips in winter here is to Eildon pondage, the drainage lake below the main dam wall. It’s stocked regularly and fishes well during the closed season with woolly buggers, mudeyes and green nymphs. In fact it can fish so well that dozens of fly flickers will line up along the best spots. The main dam (which when full holds more water than Sydney harbour) on the other hand can produce if trolled from a boat but isn’t considered a fly fishing option, certainly not from the bank. I was after fishing, not fish, so headed past the pondage and up to the main lake, where I would be guaranteed some piece and quiet on the grounds than nobody ever catches anything there.
As I wandered down to the shoreline I saw something big in the water, nosing around on some newly flooded ground, then another movement, and then a third and a fourth. Everywhere I looked there were trout, some of then real bruisers, cruising tucked up to the banks in water so shallow that their backs were sometimes out of the water.
I crouched down to avoid spooking the fish, and while I was down there looked at the ground I was  squatting on. There was the odd snail, a beetle, and even a spiders web complete with it’s harvest of tiny midges. I decided to go with a foam backed beetle. Not enough foam to float it but enough to slow it’s sink down so that it effectively just hovers below the surface. Not a masterpiece of fly tying but they have worked for me in the past. A quick flick and the fly and leader were lying in the path of one of the better fish with the fly line itself on the dry ground where it couldn’t be seen. Refusal. I tried a second fish in range. Refusal. Moved the fly, Refusal. Let it sink a bit lower, Refusal. Tried a slow twitchy retrieve, Nothing. Changed down a size with my fly. Same Result. Changed the pattern of fly to a more classic dry beetle. No effect, however I presented or moved it. What was really amazing was that by this stage with all my clumsy casting errors and splashing about the fish remained unmoved, at one point I glanced around the bank suspecting it was an elaborate practical joke and they were really plastic fish being radio controlled from the bushes. During the day I all but threw my fly box at them, snails, midges, a smelt pattern called a “Mick’s Scruffy” nothing made any difference. I don’t think they weren’t actually eating anything anyway, just swimming around with their friends.
Sure I got a few to show some interest, even landed one but I think only when I’d annoyed it, not because it was feeding. I could be wrong, maybe it bit because it felt sorry for me. The point is I didn’t need action anyway, the pace was slow, in the way only a closed season lake can be slow, and somehow that was just right, and before I finally packed up to go home I felt back in balance again.
Sanity Saved