The earliest and fondest memories I have of fishing are the creeks and rivers of the Whitsunday region. My Uncle Greg and Aunt Joyce lived by the banks of the O’Connell River and it was my constant quest to fish it. Every time I when to the Banana Pocket (a location south of Proserpine known by that name in yester year) I’d be pestering my older cousins to set a net, wet a line, or take a boat out to the mouth somewhere. I’d do whatever it took to get myself down that river on high tide to catch some silver brim. I guess the natural progression in fishing that area would be to target barramundi. As early as 11 years old I was on my bike, and as soon as school finish I would grab the fishing gear, catch some live bait and head off and try to catch the then elusive barramundi. So my love for fishing was more the hook line and sinker scene of creeks, rivers and estuaries, latter I adopted the bait caster and popper approach for barramundi, so my fishing became mainly confined to the brackish and fresh water. All this early bucko type success in fishing laid a foundation of a fishing style that didn't consider the observational skills of the trout I targeted when I was much older.
My early fishing days left me with a misconception that collided with the world of stealth and transparent streams that fly-fishing offers. With the angling approach I used up in North Queensland there was no concept of the timid fish or that you would have to use the tactics of stealth to hook them. When I started fly-fishing I was an absolute cluts, crashing my way up and downstream even from the banks I was casting shadows and presenting myself larger then life and the trout obliged by staying away in the multitudes.
My early fishing days left me with a misconception that collided with the world of stealth and transparent streams that fly-fishing offers. With the angling approach I used up in North Queensland there was no concept of the timid fish or that you would have to use the tactics of stealth to hook them. When I started fly-fishing I was an absolute cluts, crashing my way up and downstream even from the banks I was casting shadows and presenting myself larger then life and the trout obliged by staying away in the multitudes.
My preconceived ideas of fish and their world kept trout and I apart for a long while, although the odd few committed suicide keeping my hopes of fly-fishing success trickling. But for me to say it is an advantage not to have fished before learning to fly- fishing would cut me to deep, it denies me the synchronize pleasures that are common in most hunting conclusions. Never the less duck shooting and estuary fishing (hook line and sinker style) are as much alike to each other as are estuary fishing to fly-fishing for trout in the highlands. In trout fishing scenery is the more serene; the rod sleeker, the reel baser, the line graceful through the air, the bait false and deceptive, the mind set is stealth and the catch most timid.
