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The tragedy of fishing mates.....

Discussion in 'Fishing' started by Poppa, Jul 19, 2017.

  1. Poppa

    Poppa Member

    I'm sitting at a computer casting my mind back through the years when I should be up in the hills on a high country lake casting for trout! This is my weather, cold, damp and a little uncomfortable but a warm fire at night, sensible clothes whilst in the boat, a couple of beers and more than a few laughs. A good fishing trip.
    But, as I'm sitting here reflecting I'm thinking - Damn, who in their right mind would want to be my fishing mate.
    Thirty years ago when I first moved to the area a workmate introduced me to the wonders of trout fishing. We walked the streams and being without a boat, fished the banks of many a highland lake. Then the bugger went and drank a few too many whilst driving up the mountains on a solo fishing trip, rolled the car and you get the rest.
    My sons began school and I struck up a friendship with another dad at a school working bee. This bloke had sons the same age so the fishing trips were big affairs and teaching five young lads camping, fishing and hunting skills made for some great times. The Vietnam War got him though, Agent Orange took a while but we saw him succumb to cancer.
    Change of jobs and would you believe there was a bloke there who happened to love fishing more than me. Best thing was our children were the same age and the wives enjoyed shopping and drinking wine on the weekends so they packed us off with the boys on most weekends. At an age much too young, my mate suffered a heart attack. His son and my son were there at the time but could not revive him. Total devastation.
    On many of our trips my mate's brother-in-law tagged along and that bloke and I continued to fish together for more years than I can count. We have fished the lakes for trout and the NT for barra, camped in some bloody good spots and camped in conditions that an Eskimo would bury himself in his igloo and declare it was too cold. No, if you reckon he too has gone to the fishing grounds in the sky you are wrong. A stroke has curtailed his desire to the rigours of camping out in the cold, sitting in a boat in the rain or even gathering firewood. The trips up north are becoming increasingly difficult.
    So I find myself sitting at a computer instead of being up in the mountains, setting up a camp for a few days and then catching a damn good rainbow trout. Let me tell you it is not much fun up there talking to oneself for more than a day (although sometimes I have an argument with myself but never seem to win) and I'm finding it bloody hard to convince anyone that it is not so bad camping in the middle of July up in high country. Probably something to do with being born before color TV, STD phone numbers and mid-strength beer. We get old and soft.
    But, I'm heading up there on Friday with the local fishing club! Even though I will be staying in a motel and enjoying a counter meal and a couple of beers in the pub each night, it just doesn't seem the same.
    There you go! It must be true about retired geezers - We know it all and we have the time to tell you all about it! And the purpose of this thread - well I don't know! It has something to do with fishing so it made me feel better and want to go down into the shed and get my gear packed.
     
  2. callmejoe

    callmejoe Active Member

    Arrr i miss that trout fishing.
    Small creeks, hrs of walking and stalking.
    Super light line, small as possible hook, an float it down stream with a worm or grub.

    Never anything huge but straight onto the smoker for tasty meal...
     
  3. Spooner

    Spooner Well-Known Member

    I never was any good at trout fishing mate, tried it for a couple of years , one day I bagged a big one and nearly within grasp and my line broke on the rocks :(
     
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  4. phs

    phs Well-Known Member

    The one that got away is another story........
     
  5. Spooner

    Spooner Well-Known Member

    still cuts like a knife through my heart lol
     
  6. rogerazz

    rogerazz 4x4 Earth Contributer

    @Poppa. Gday mate. I have been shooting, camping, whatever for over fifty years. Used to getting up in the dark, heading out in the swamps for duck season, later years for gun dog field trials and later years playing golf??:confused:. Did a trip to NZ when I was in my sixties hunting deer and walking through rivers at midnight fully clothed.:eek:
    The blokes I play golf with are fair weather golfers including most other retirees and there is only one other bloke that keeps up with me. He is older, an ex fly fisherman and suffers in health. But bloody hell he is first ( behind me ) in the car park and we hit of before dawn.
    I have a lot of respect for fly fisherman.
    I will not make comment about the newer generations.:D.
    Me, shooting rabbits with my boys and 17 y.o. grandson up Seymour in the hills. Slept up in the paddocks overnight and being August it was not that cold.:D
    IMAG0390.jpg
     
    Last edited: Jul 19, 2017
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  7. Poppa

    Poppa Member

    Hi Rogerazz, the mention of rabbiting certainly brings back memories - both good and bad. Used to spotlight them around Broken Hill after knocking off on afternoon shift.
    The new generations can't be all bad - gee, look at your 17 yr old grandson. Teach him well.
    Talking about "back in the day" just doesn't seem to cut it on the computer does it! Nothing like sitting around the campfire and telling the "real stories" - you know, the biggest trout ever, a 3000 yard shot that hit the rabbit between the eyes, storms so wild ............ I love it!!
    I would enjoy hearing about hunting trips in NZ though.
    Fair weather retirees! I guess there are some of us that refuse to grow-up, mature, whatever. We just go a little slower.
     
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  8. oldlux

    oldlux Well-Known Member

    A Song by Duke Tritton

    My shearing days are over, though I never was a gun
    I could always count my twenty at the end of every run
    I used the old Trade Union shears, and the blades were always full
    As I drove 'em to the knockers, and I clipped away the wool
    I shore at Goorianawa and didn't get the sack
    From Breeza out to Compadore, I always could go back
    And though I am a truthful man, I find when in a bar
    My tallies seem to double, but I never call for tar

    Shearing on the western plains where the fleece is full of sand
    And the clover burr and corkscrew grass, is the place to try your hand
    For the sheep are tall and wiry where they feed on the Mitchell grass
    And every second one of them is close to the cobbler class
    And a pen chock full of cobblers is a shearers dream of hell
    So loud and lurid are their words when they catch one on the bell
    But when we're pouring down the grog, you'll have no call for tar
    For a shearer never cuts 'em, when shearing in a bar

    At Louth I caught the bell sheep, a wrinkled, tough wooled brute
    Who never stopped his kicking till I tossed him down the chute
    My wrist was aching badly, but I fought him all the way
    Couldn't afford to miss a blow, I must earn my pound a day
    So when I'd take a strip of skin, I'd hide it with my knee
    Turn the sheep around a bit where the right bower couldn't see
    Then try and catch the rousie's eye and softly whisper "tar"
    But it never seems to happen when I'm shearing in the bar

    I shore away the belly wool and trimmed the crutch and hocks
    Opened up along the neck while the rousie swept the locks
    Then smartly swung the sheep around and dumped him on his rear
    Two blows to clip away the wig - I also took an ear
    Then down around the shoulder and the blades were open wide
    As I drove 'em on the long blow and down the whipping side
    And when the fleece fell on the board, he was nearly black with tar
    But this is never mentioned when I'm shearing in a bar

    Now when the seasons ended and my grandsons all come back
    In their buggies and their sulkies -I was always on the track
    They come and take me into town to fill me up with beer
    And I sit on a corner stool and listen to them shear
    There's not a bit of difference - it must make the angels weep
    To hear a mob of shearers in a barroom shearing sheep
    For the sheep go rattling down the race with never a call for tar
    For a shearer never cuts 'em when he's shearing in a bar

    Then memories come a crowding and they wipe away the years
    And my hand begins to tighten and I seem to feel the shears
    I want to tell them of the sheds, the sheds where I have shorn
    Full fifty years and sometimes more, before these boys were born
    I want to speak of yarragin, Dunlop or Wingadee
    But the beer has started working and I'm wobbling at the knees
    So I'd better not start shearing, I'd be bound to call for tar
    Then be treated as a blackleg when I'm shearing in a bar
     
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  9. rogerazz

    rogerazz 4x4 Earth Contributer

    Yeah, Guess you are right. If kids grow up experiencing the bush they never forget. I made an effort to take all of my ten grandkids camping for their first time and they loved it. many good stories.
    First is a pic of Jimmy with his first two bunnies, only young but got them off a warren at around 100 meters.
    Second pic is of the fire that night kept us warm that night.:).
    The Video is of our trip into the Mountains at Hokatika South Island NZ. Beautiful scenery and the venison was great. The helicopter was hired from a farmer next door to where we stayed on a property. If anyone was to go I would suggest if they come across Rangers working through the mountains, for a couple of hundred dollars they would take you out for a quick shoot. About four or five hundred they will take you in a mates helicopter. Much cheaper than paying thousands of dollars to do it with the Trophy Hunters over there.:).
    I don't post pics or vids of gory stuff ( to some people), however enjoy filming the occasions.
    DSCF0202.JPG
    DSCF0189.JPG
     
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  10. dno67

    dno67 Well-Known Member

    Seen a sticker once, (Kids that hunt and shoot don't deal and steal.)
    I love a good session of flicking lures, only ever kept a trout for someone else if they
    asked otherwise catch and release. Now with the closed season on trout in rivers, I don't
    go much now.
     
  11. oldlux

    oldlux Well-Known Member

    Real or should that be reel nice stories @Poppa and @rogerazz. I hope that pilot didn't do a barrel roll in the chopper:) It's been done but helicopters don't work reel well upside down. One of my grand sons when asked 'what he liked about camping so much' answered 'Pa', we first took him when he was 2 weeks old.
    IMGP2443.JPG
    He is an old hand at it now being nearly 5 and probably camped about 30 or 40 times. His little sister has taken to it with much gusto as well.
    It's great to hears stories like this from you old fellas except for the fact our mates seem to keep thinning out or getting soft.
     
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  12. Poppa

    Poppa Member

    Bloody hell, when I posted the first bit I didn't expect the yarns that have come out of it! I'm not a sentimental bloke but these trips down memory lane and talk of taking our "Poppa's Little Mates" fishing and hunting has really given me a lift when I've been packing for the trip to Dartmouth this weekend. Even got a song out of it.

    But, like I said, I'm not a sentimental bloke so don't feel too special about yourselves!

    Hey Rogerazz got to love the picture of the dog. I've got a red/blue cross but red or blue you just have to love them don't you! Was going to the States next year but the helicopter trip over that country chucks a spanner in the works. Just don't know if the Cranky One would like a couple of weeks in that hut.

    Oldlux that is what Pa, Poppa or whatever, are for. Just being there for our little mates - I reckon you know what I mean when I say "just being there".

    There seems to be a common thread going on here regarding the liking for trout fishing although a few might find it hard. It's not. Then again, I don't bait fish and I want to but have no idea re: float rigs etc. I'm all about casting and trolling. Now trolling, a lot of blokes reckon it is boring and it is. If, and a big IF, if you just drive the boat around the lake with a line out the back.

    I reckon I might just eventually make a deal with someone - show me bait fishing and I'll return the favour on casting and trolling.
    Damn, I've just admitted that an old codger doesn't know it all!!!!!!
     
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  13. bricat

    bricat New Member

    I used to go fishing on days ending in "Y". Now I can't remember which days end in "Y". Trout fishing around Omeo to offshore out of Narooma or good old snapper fishing in Port Phillip Bay. The best part was sharing the moment with your mates Everyone looked after each other. And now as we get a bit older things don't work as they should. Even the better half complains because I'm home ALL the time. About time she bought me another boat,,,,,,,!
     
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  14. rogerazz

    rogerazz 4x4 Earth Contributer

    I am heading off to Mt Beauty next week. Brrr. I will be stopping a couple of nights at the park that backs onto the Kiewa River.
    I usually park down the back, about twenty meters away from the river. This reminds me of my visit in May of last year. Heaps of people were bait fishing, fly fishing , etc. including visitors and many locals. They caught nothing. Then one day this old local codger comes down with his dog and some gear. Yep, you guessed it. He was there nearly five minutes, caught his trout and went home :eek:.
    20160515_075152.jpg Us campers fished this side, the old codger walked in the other side.
    20160515_075545.jpg
     
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  15. Bomber2012

    Bomber2012 Well-Known Member

    Only a few weeks til trout opening in victoria , ill try and get a week end trip in to the head waters of the king river . Its a great spot , med-hard 4wding to get in there (depending on the weather) a beautiful trout stream with a high country hut right next to it ................luxury.
     
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  16. Poppa

    Poppa Member

    Azz, a truly great spot Mt Beauty. Love those photos. How about the bloke in the background behind the Troopy - hope he got one!
    In the '80s we used to knock off work about 2am at the Border Morning Mail and head on up to Rocky Valley dam. The trout were small but it is great fun and it is hard to beat the location.
    I'm heading to Geraldton for "Poppa duties" and will miss the trout opening - between a rock and a hard place - can hardly complain about being with my "little mates" for a few weeks but then again ....... it is trout opening! Although these days I don't walk the streams too often - knees - and I don't think I have to explain that.
     
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