Why do I fish the fly? Sometimes, I wonder. Is there a more frustrating sport? The constant tug of war between art and nature. That perfect cast that lies 60 feet straight and drifts like a mischievous angel across and down the very channel in which the quarry should lie. It tugs at the water, asks the trout to to indulge in battle. And more often that strikes a 'nobody home' sign.
And then there are all those other casts. The ones you don't want to remember. Stuck in the trees on the back cast. Stuck in the bushes on the front cast. Stuck in the blackberries, gorse, under whatever stone is lying around, wrapped around a log. Only a fly fisherman understands these and other travails which perch upon us all as we set out full of hope and dreams of the beautiful brown or rainbow fluorescing as it comes to hand in a gin clear stream, river or lake.
Often we trudge back beaten and bowed but not lost. A day in the midst of elemental nature sits at the very core of freedom, of life itself.
And on those days when these fair fish oblige, turn their attention to the wet or the dry proferred, engulf and run for their lives, not knowing that most often they will be returned safe to their river or lake haven, then there is a moment that transcends most. A moment when everything is at one and we embrace a myriad of possibilities and emotions in the to and fro of battle enjoined. We win, we lose, but we never walk away empty.
These are the adventures of The Fisherman and the Fisherwoman across Australia and New Zealand in search of those perfect days when nothing beats being On The Fly.