I rounded a bend on the Thredbo River to find my mate Scott, hunched over, completely dialled in, casting to about a 1.5 pound brown trout. Passing him by, I rather brashly remarked, "What are you casting to that fish for Scotty?’ "There’s not enough meat on it to fill the holes between your teeth.”
We had been away together on a weekend trip, fishing the spawning run in the Snowy Mountains of NSW, many years ago. Although Scott didn’t reply much at the time, other than a half-murmured "Bloody Kiwis!”, the conversation resurfaced as we were driving home that afternoon through the Kosciuszko National Park. Scott naturally wanted to know what my preferences were for fly fishing. I had no hesitation when admitting, I had become fixated on the annual brown trout spawning run. The idea of catching trophy browns had rapidly become an obsession, ever consuming my everyday thoughts.
At the time, we were both living
