Philip Weigall revels in a summer stream highlight.

Some time in January each year, I catch my first trout of the season on a hopper pattern. If I’m canny or patient, it will be the first time I’ve tried the hopper all summer. But usually it’s on the second or third go, having already been tempted to a premature cast by the appearance of swarming juveniles in the wet December grass, or the hop and plop of one or two early adults.

So why haven’t I learned to wait until the time is right? Is it partly the temptation to fish such a large fly? There are few other times of the season when one can legitimately present an inch-long dry, in broad daylight, to stream trout. Not for the sake of variety, not to prove a point, but because a fly bigger than a cigarette butt is the best fly to use. For all the challenges posed by size 18 blue-winged olives and ant patterns, there is something very satisfying about fishing a fly which actually makes a noise when it hits the water.

HOPPER ACTION
I used to think that good grasshopper fishing was simply a function of a good grasshopper summer. Now I believe the relationship is not so straightforward. The years 2000 and 2001 provided magnificent hopper fishing, and yet neither were exceptional for hopper numbers. General abundance of grasshoppers may not be as important as densities along stream verges; there can certainly be one without the other. For example, sparse grass cover in the paddocks can really concentrate the insects in the narrow strip of green or taller dry grass bordering the water.

The relative mix of species is also significant. An abundance of strong flyers—like the yellow-winged locust—may not guarantee action on a narrow river. But find plenty like Rick Keam’s beloved ‘trouser brace’ hoppers—the flightless Praxibulus—on the banks, and hopes will be high.

Assuming there are enough hoppers available, consider whether conditions favour hopper feeding. Warm, dry and windy weather makes for active, careless hoppers; cool, damp and still means hardly any on the water. Trends are important too: a long period conducive to hoppers falling in, will leave the trout still looking for them during short periods when conditions are temporarily wrong.

Finally, stream levels need to be assessed. This is one element of dry fly fishing which, given its importance, gets surprisingly little coverage. On natural streams, the higher and faster the water rises above average summer flows, the harder it is to persuade trout to take off the top—hoppers included. Potential prey floats by too quickly, and is probably difficult to identify in the first place. It doesn’t make sense for a trout to fight its way up through the current for something that may not be food, and which it may not catch. Yes, trout will rise through very strong flows if there is a heavy hatch or fall, but almost never for bits and pieces.

So a high river—tailwater or natural—is not ideal for dry fly fishing with hopper patterns. Some fish may be interested in the slacker water very close to the bank (see ‘The Edge’, FlyLife #13), or persuaded to take a sub-surface offering (see ‘Grasshopper Alternatives’, FlyLife #2), but I much prefer modest levels.

All these permutations and combinations are a lot to consider. However, if it’s any time between January and April, the hopper equation can probably be simplified to this: if there are enough hoppers streamside not to actually have to search for them, and the stream is low enough for a trout to cheerfully swim up through the current, then it is worth giving the hopper a really good go.

HOPPER WATERS
I have caught trout on grasshopper patterns from slower lowland rivers like Victoria’s Barwon and Hopkins. In Tasmania, the edges of some meadow streams—particularly the lower Macquarie—produce worthwhile summer results to hoppers. But for me, hopper fishing is never better than on the mountain streams of eastern Victoria and south-eastern New South Wales. Find any sort of grassy verge along these waterways from vast Monaro plain to a half-hectare clearing in the trees, and you have found potential hopper water. I well remember a tennis-court sized patch of grass that brother Mark and I camped on in the middle of the Geehi Gorge forests. Along that solitary 50 metres of grassed frontage, the river produced nearly two dozen hopper feeders in two days.

Rare is the stream in this part of the country which fails to offer at least some hopper action. Among the natural streams, particular favourites of mine include the upper Murrumbidgee, Moonbah, Delegate, Indi, Kiewa, Nariel, Delatite, lower Jamieson, and of course the Geehi and Cudgewa. The ‘big-name’ tailwaters—the Mitta, Goulburn, Swampy Plains and Murray proper—all have their moments, with their lack of predictability partly offset by some very large hopper feeders.

HOPPER TACTICS
On good days, a hopper pattern can be fished just as you would any other dry fly, and a fair share of the trout will take it. However, there are other occasions when the trout, as my five year old niece would say, “act funny.” Let me give you an example.

Late last summer, the Cudgewa Creek (near the upper Murray) was unusually clear after a succession of rainless weeks. I can rarely polaroid trout in this stream, so I was delighted to spot a nice brown of 700 grams or so, finning in a sunlit patch about half a metre out from the overhanging sword-grass of the left bank. The fish was right where you would expect it to be: just at the point where the pool begins to shelve to the tail, and directly under the bubble-line.

I’d taken a couple of smaller trout earlier, prospecting with a red-legged foam/deer-hair hopper, and was confident I had this one cold. The first cast was good, if I do say so, plopping the hopper into the bubble-line about a metre above the fish. Well, the trout shot towards the offering, swirled around it a couple of times, then followed the fly downstream until it was snatched over the tail. Baffled by this behaviour, I cast once again to the same spot. The trout hovered under the fly with more subdued interest, then left it to drift away.

Time to try a more radical tactic. I gently reversed down the stream and crossed to the right bank. Fortunately, the fish stayed where it was on the left, obviously unalarmed. The shallows on the right were virtually flowless, and a good 4 metres from my target on the left. Yet it was here I cast the hopper, smacking it down almost parallel to the trout’s position. I very much doubt that the fish saw the fly land, but it came over at once to investigate the plop. When the trout was about a metre from the hopper—which floated motionless on the surface—it accelerated over and sucked the fly off the top with barely a pause. The best trout of the day then turned confidently back toward its lie. It would have been nearly impossible to muff the strike, and I didn’t.

This deliberate ‘mis-presentation’ has worked for me before, particularly in situations where the most likely spots for hoppers to hit the water are a fair way from the nearest cover for the fish.

Another adjustment to regular thinking must be made when deciding which water to prospect (the majority of my hopper fishing involves blind searching) and which to pass over. The classic runs, riffles and drop-offs which I would normally kill for, can be quite disappointing with a hopper on the end. I’m not saying they should be ignored altogether, but don’t make judgements about the quality of the overall fishing based simply on how well these spots perform.

To put it another way, one of the attractive aspects of hopper fishing is how it opens up water that is usually better ignored. Suddenly the dark, still pools become prospecting targets. Look particularly for steep, open banks dropping straight into the water. These spots become more cast-worthy the fewer they are: a single five metre break in a hundred metres of bankside willows or tea-tree, is sure to have a good fish lurking nearby.

The hardest part about searching the pools is having the patience and confidence to let the fly just sit there in near-flowless conditions. It seems unlikely such lifeless water will produce a rise from nowhere, to a stationary dry fly. But it happens a lot, and often these pool dwellers are good fish. If it makes you feel better, twitch the fly a tiny bit while you wait (and wait at least thirty seconds; a minute if you can stand it).

Whether fishing the pools, runs, riffles or rapids, put the fly as close as you can to any overhanging grass. Thirty centimetres isn’t close enough —the hopper must literally brush the fronds (or even disappear beneath them) to stand the best chance of getting a take.

Finally—and I know this may be stating the bleeding obvious—keep an eagle-eye out for solitary rises. Regardless of what you think the trout rose for, if you have the hopper on, offer it to them. ‘Oncers’ in the shade are especially easy to overlook, but every year at hopper time I catch many of these fish, often from otherwise unremarkable spots.

HOPPER PATTERNS
Many years ago, the discovery of Rick Keam’s various hopper patterns, combining foam and deer hair, completely revised my expectations at ‘hopper time’. His original patterns are now very hard to come by, but variations—either tied professionally or tied by fly fishers for personal use—have multiplied. These flies are not easy to get right. Some are good, some are terrible, and it is really up to the individual to tie or locate a quality supply. In my opinion, the key features of the Keam patterns are the foam body (which must puncture the surface film) and the streamlined yet bulky deer-hair head. The waterproof raffia-like material which Rick favours for the outstretched legs also doubles as a stabiliser.

What about colours? Motley brown or fawn is universally suitable for the wing and upper body, with perhaps a tinge of red in the former. Sometimes, a lemon-coloured abdomen can be deadly, but as an all-rounder, it’s hard to beat cream/off-white. For legs, a tinge of red is again my preference. Don’t be afraid of using a large fly—a body 2 or even 2.5 cm long is not excessive. Eager locust feeders may want something bigger still. Obviously, a real plague of one particular species may warrant a match-the-hatch approach, but usually, hopper feeders are eating a range of species.

Do patterns without foam work? Certainly. Muddler hoppers are a good second choice, and I seem to recall Mike Spry suggesting that a Royal Wulff was as good a fly as any for hopper feeders. However, I have to say that I have become more convinced of the merits of foam/deer-hair hoppers with each passing season, and feel quite destitute without some good examples in my box.