(A short story of guide/client interaction)
FlyLife, Issue 20 - Neil Grose

There are a lot of things you see when you are a trout guide. Huge hatches, cruising trout in the western lakes, tailing trout in the evening, windlanes in open waters to salivate over. These are the more common experiences that as a guide you become accustomed to.

Rarer though, are the people experiences. People are far more fascinating than any trout can be, each person has a different approach to their fishing; from those who can tell you each daily tally from ten years ago to others who rate a days fishing in far more eclectic terms, preferring to relish the essence of fly fishing, rather than quantifying the day in numbers caught or lost. As guides we often get caught up in the numbers game, so it is indeed refreshing to witness something other than the quest for the biggest bag. There is of course much more to fly fishing than simply catching fish.

Many of the people we take fishing come as groups of mates, husbands and wives, or single anglers after an individual fly fishing experience. Less often we have father and son combinations, and while each angling alliance has it's own particular attraction, the relationship between father and son in a fishing situation is often very special indeed. One of these remarkable days was with Peter Dixon and his son James during late September 1999.

Peter and James hail from Melbourne, and as most Victorians seem to do, they come to Tasmania for their trout fishing. We had already had a few days together, one at Arthurs Lake fishing wets in a big northerly blow, another at Bronte Lagoon after tailing trout. On this fifth day, the last for the trip, James and Peter were keen to catch more fish, and so on to Arthurs Lake we ventured. It began as any spring day on Arthurs seems to, afresh wind, a few fish to the wet fly, and then a good brew of coffee in the late morning.

Whilst we were having coffee the topic changed from the wet fly to the possibility of sight fishing; tailers at that time of year. Now Arthurs is not widely known for its tailing fish, but given the right conditions, and a little local knowledge, they're not so hard to find. Big bags set aside for the moment, the search for tails was on. And it is here that the real development in the father son bond begins, from a fishing trip to father son mateship.

It wasn't long before we found the fish, and as most fathers are, Peter was very keen for James to get into some of the trout that were obviously feeding well. So many of them were there that we didn't know where to cast first. At first the trout guide instinct takes over, "cast there near that stick", or wait till he turns before you strike", or "go over there near those sags". James is a very patient character, still a teenager, but with maturity beyond his years, exemplified by his dogged persistence to catch these fish. But as the first few fish were caught and then released something more subtle and important than a mere guided fishing experience began to take over.

I had positioned Peter about sixty metres along the bay, to give each angler a good spread of shore to fish. But as James began to catch a few Peter gradually came closer, not to catch fish, but to witness his son undoing some difficult trout, the smile of fatherly pride shining like a beacon. As the afternoon progressed, so they became the guides for each other, standing side by side, taking turns to cast and catch, each spotting for each other, then each being the fishing mate, rather than the guide, or the father, or the son. And as the banter and the friendly competition increased, so did the bond between father and son; a life experience, rather than a fishing experience.

There is something undefinable about these rare days, it is certainly an experience money simply cannot buy. Ultimately it speaks volumes for the way that fishing, and fly fishing in particular provides the rich rites of passage from generation to generation, a fundamental bond that spans the years, irrespective of age, position or title.