Reconnecting with nature and community in the inner city.
We stalked fish, hiking further up and up the river for our prize. We caught glimpses but the trout waited until our lunch break to come out in force, slipping sinuously under rocks when we gathered up rods again. But the chase is almost as much fun as the capture for the fly fisherman and despite going home with a bag lighter than we came with five flies lost to the river it was one of the most simply enjoyable days we’d had in a while.
We’re back from a beautiful spring holiday in Tasmania and there is so much to tell you, I’m quite overwhelmed by how many posts I have planned and how many photos I have to wade through! I have so much to tell you!
We worked to a deadline, and then in a flurry of papers bid a cheery sayonara to our colleagues and took off to meet the Spirit of Tasmania. As we hummed and whirred across the Strait the nautical novelty began wore off and we bundled ourselves upstairs with the ghosts. We just had to escape the layer of modern tackiness of poker machines and overpriced, greasy food. The way up to the top deck is hidden away and only a dozen people out of hundreds found their way up there. The little empty stage and wooden benches were from another era, the flickering soundless TVs adding to the forsaken feel.
The water raged against the ship, cold, dark and scary until morning.
The sun rose behind grey skies and we drove and drove, away from the city, past farms and tree stumps, to a wild and windswept campsite by Lake St Clair, walking distance from a not so wild cultural centre with all the amenities one could wish. Darling Paddymelons were our neighbours, so fat and furry, and cute cute cute. A baby quoll ran across our path by torch light as the fire in the hut crackled. Tomorrow would be an epic bush walk…
On whim we packed a picnic and hit the highway to get to the Organ Pipes National Park before the sunset. Once we had descended down to the valley floor, we were careful not to walk too far in any direction lest the fantasy of being miles away from the city be broken.
As I sat daydreaming on a fallen log, dangling legs over rushing water, hours passed and the warm light faded and cooled. Little did I know that somewhere upstream those same rippling waters were casting a spell on my boyfriend and from that day onwards he would be a fly fisherman.