....Fly fishing was not developed to catch Australian native fish. After spears, poisoning and fish traps; set lines, dynamite and nets became the preferred methods for removing cod, bass and yellowbelly from the water. Casting lures has become fashionable only relatively recently with flyfishing techniques imported even later....

This is the sort of country in which our native fish still thrive.

HE was only one of many. The pool contained several of his kind. He lived at one end, with two others. They had all been here since the last flood, since their lives began, five seasons ago.

They all knew not to spend too much time in the middle of the pool. Even though the water was deeper, safer, darker, and slower they knew not to go there. They would be chased and beaten as they had before. The big fish of the pool was not their mother. Even if she was, she wouldn’t tolerate their presence at this time - not for another eight or nine moons. She lived there, in the darkness where the log met the towering boulder. Out of sight but never out of mind.

She had lived in the pool for the same number of years but had hatched more than twenty springs ago. After the last flood she had stopped here. Since then she had survived on the pickings that the pool had to offer. Small silver herrings teased during the day but were easy pickings at night. Sharp, summer storms brought food from the land and she had feasted in the past on small marsupials and slithering snakes. Cicadas and ducks had also met their end in her cavernous mouth. Lately she had fed well. Her territory was secure and the water lazily warm.

From his position, he could see a lot. The water in which he lived was crystal clear and there were not many creatures that passed through it that escaped his attention. He was particularly interested in the current intruder that splashed down and floated near the bank. Curious, he eyed the potential meal, himself under the watchful eye of his brethren. It pulsed, rhythmically across the surface of the entire width of the pool and then mysteriously disappeared.

Another of its ilk noisily landed on the water’s surface, this time on the border of his territory. Hesitating, he again approached, one eye on the morsel and another scanning the shadows. He didn’t want to incur her wrath.

The foam popper chugged and gurgled back towards the angler.

Charging back to his territory he could see that she had emerged. Her presence supercharged his efforts, but his progress was curtailed by the tension in his jaw. Powerful tail beats consistently propelled him towards the bank. He was terrified by the threat from behind and the unknown threat somewhere ahead. His surges lessened and he was dragged into the shallows.

“Nice fish, but did you see the one that was following it!”

“Must’ve been thirty pounds”

He spent the next day cowering under his log. After his escape from the mysterious pull and the bright flashes of light, more of the morsels beckoned in full view. He could see them from his home in the crack between two rocks. Mostly they swam through her territory, and he was happy to leave them alone.

“Ready to try the next pool?”

Yeah, we’ll try for that big fish again on the way back.”