And the worst part is I can never try before I buy, because the number of female fly fishers in Australia is not large enough for retailers to justify holding stock (and I completely understand this on their part). So, if you want anything, you have to order it - which is how I ended up with a pair of wading boots that don’t suit me at all.

So here’s my plea to fishing gear manufacturers - really think about whether your ‘women’s’ range offers values and addresses your customers’ needs. Because it is true that women talk - and while they may be a small proprtion of your customer base, they are nonetheless disproportionally vocal.

Oh, and if anybody has a pair of wading boots they’d like to recommend, I’m all ears (or should I say, feet).

I am very keen to try it out as soon as possible. Here’s the fly part-way through:

A partially finished bead-head soft hackle

And this is the result.

The finished product

If you are a beginner to fly tying, I recommend the Orvis Fly-Tying Manual - How to Tie Eight Popular Flies by Tom Rosenbauer. It runs you through each step without assuming knowledge like so many fly tying books and the patterns (such as the soft hackle nymph pictured here) are simple enough that you aren’t likely to become discouraged.

The other brilliant thing for the novice is the enormous number of ‘how to’ videos on YouTube. Sometimes, just seeing something makes all the difference. I mastered the whip finish in minutes thanks to this one:

(As an aside, have you ever checked out the Australian Museum website? I thoroughly recommend it. It’s simply awesome - http://australianmuseum.net.au)

Anyway, the only reason I found out was thanks to the fabbo people in the Australia group at Saltwater Index. Big thanks to E-Rik and Paul. I have been wondering about this one for almost three years now!

OK, here’s a curly one. About two years ago I caught this fish off a jetty at the mouth of the Hinchenbrook Channel in Queensland, Australia. For two years, we’ve been trying to identify it. I have given up - for the life of me, I don’t know what it is. It’s not a hair tail, because it has a forked tail. When I caught it, I thought it might have been a barracuda, but it’s clearly not; the markings don’t seem right, it lacks that elongated nose and, in any case, look at that low-slung jaw. It did have sharp teeth though. It’s long and ribbon-like, which further adds to the confusion. The bloke at the fish shop didn’t have any idea and I’ve been unable to find a similar looking fish in any texts or internet images.

I am at a complete loss. So, if anybody can shed some light on the one, I’d be forever grateful!

For the record, it was caught using live herring (I think they were herring, but not 100%…some nice fishermen pulled in at the jetty at one point and gave us their leftover livies). And it went back in the water.

Australia is better-known for its outback wilderness and, with a sea-girt coastline, it’s not surprising that salt water fishing dominates. But the story of the introduction of trout and salmon to the waters of the southern hemisphere is, like so many of the really interesting aspects of our history, largely unknown to most Australians.

Fortunately, Tasmanians and the good folk at Gin Clear Media have told the tale in a way that is guaranteed to have any fly fisherman drooling at the prospect of fishing in Tasmania. The Source - Tasmania is the feature at this year’s RISE Fly Fishing Film Festival. It begins at the beginning - in 1864 when Sir James Youl successfully orchestrated the introduction of more than 100,000 salmon and trout to the River Plenty. No mean feat in the days when refrigeration was practically non existant. The third time’s a charm, as they say; Youl had two unsuccessful attempts before he hit on the magic formula - packing ova in moss in the ship’s ice-house. The trip took 91 days but the surviving eggs went on to become the source of the trout population in Australia and New Zealand.

Fast forward 145 years and recreational trout fishing in Australia is big business. In the Snowy Mountains region of New South Wales alone, it is estimated to inject $70 million a year into the local economy and support 700 jobs.

But it’s Tasmania that literally shines in this film. If you weren’t planning a fishing trip before seeing the movie, you will afterwards. Corny as it sounds, it makes you realise what an incredible country we live in and fishing lets us see it at its most beautiful.

Film maker Nick Reygaert hosted the evening at the Palace Cinema in Leichhardt. His perspectives on filming and fishing were fabulous. And it wasn’t hard to tell the film festival goers from the ordinary film buffs - as we walked up the stairs, snatches of conversation swirled through the room like flies caught in a back eddy. They were all about fishing; when, where, how big, the rig, the fly, the fight. Just thinking about it makes me long for those clear mountain streams. But if your motto is along the lines of Work to Live, Live to Fish, then hopefully the clip below will help tide you over until the next outing.

Easter Show trout, originally uploaded by Swandives.

So what does the Sydney Royal Easter Show have to do with fishing? Well, generally not a lot. This year, however, there were more than a few links. Firstly, I was able to buy a Rapala lure and a new fishing jacket, an oilskin with loads of pockets.

But my favourite part was the Central District produce display (which was awarded second prize in the competition - nice one). The area takes in, among other places, Barrington Tops, where I’ve caught some lovely little trout. The streams there aren’t very wide, but don’t let that fool you. Another tip if you’re fishing up in those parts: watch out for the leeches! Take a salt shaker with you because they’re relentless little bloodsuckers and you know about it if they get in your waders…hehe.

Speaking of which, the rats (that’s fisherman speak for young kingfish) are still running in Sydney Harbour. My husband and I watched a marauding kingie only two metres off the shoreline from Kurraba Wharf in Neutral Bay a few days ago. And one sliced through my line while I was reeling in on Sunday. I was after bream so wasn’t geared up for a kingfish. Minimal lead, long shank hook and some frozen squid were the order of the day. Of course, I immediately whacked on a wire trace and live yellowtail (a type of baitfish that kingfish love) but by then he was long gone. The day I land that elusive kingie will be a very proud moment.

The only other time I’ve actually hooked a kingfish was when I was 10. My sister and I had been allowed out by ourselves in the tinny for the very first time. That in itself was very exciting! We anchored off Smedley’s Point in Manly Cove and dropped over our handlines. About halfway down … bang! It was as if a whale had taken off with my line. Of course, I pulled too hard, snapped the line and the fish got away. But the fish then swam around underneath our tiny tinny for what seemed like hours but in reality was probably only 10-15 minutes. I have a vivid memory of peering over the side to come eye to eye with a giant kingfish! It looked giant to my 10-year-old self anyway. In the end we upped anchor rushed home to tell mum and dad, who weren’t half as excited about it all as we were. I suspect dad was a bit upset that we’d hooked this fish when he wasn’t there to help us.

We didn’t have a landing net in the boat, otherwise I’d have given it a red-hot go, but I still lie awake at night and think about whether I’d have been able to wrestle that fish into the boat. A real one-that-got-away moment.

i am listening to joy division … and once again realise that possibly no other band will ever come close to their greatest moments … and they make me want to write .. because they make me realise art can be transcendent and stories - pain, beauty, joy, love and all those other emotions - somehow need to be fitted to pages … so people can breathe …

Plus, it’s a good excuse to change my theme again…hehehe.