Mark Cloutier writes in praise of small alpine streams and their wild and wary little trout.

I think it was the fourth hard fighting little rainbow that made my mind up for me. They were all in perfect nick, all the same size and colour, and all made the same energetic leaping runs-not that there is anything wrong with that, except that the fishing session was turning into what could be described as fly fishing's 'Ground Hog Day.' These solid fighters were all hatchery fish released into Lake Eucumbene and were really offering nothing of a challenge as the inky darkness of night took over. I called it quits and sat on the tail-gate of the ute, lit a cigar and waited for Dave who was still enthralled in the search for something more substantial than what was on offer.

As I sat and waited I couldn't help but think of what a contrast this was to the fishing we had both enjoyed the previous day on one of the most delicate, pristine and unique little alpine meadow creeks I have fished. The trout that inhabit this creek are all wild, lively and wary fish, something that the fly fisher should deliberately seek out, for it is the difficult and not the easy fish that makes for memorable fishing.

Picture: The setting: a small stream in Kosciusko National Park

I will confess right here and now that I am a small-stream devotee, having spent most of my early fly fishing years seeking out such intimate waters-a great influence which has taught me the most precious of fly fishing values.

We were lucky in that there was a fire-trail that basically followed the downstream route of the creek as it meandered through snowgrass plains and heath, guarded by gnarled and twisted snow gums on the hilltops. Bleached white skeletons stretched back along the ridges where a fire had passed more than a decade earlier, the new growth crowding the remnants which created a ghostly beauty in the morning mist. This creek was like a precious little jewel glistening in the soft morning light with every rock and pebble jumping out at us, such was its clarity. This was a place of delicacy, intimacy and serenity; quite remarkably, a water over-looked by those attracted by the glitter of the bigger gems, namely the Snowy Mountains lakes.

Forty minutes walk downstream gave us around five hours of fly fishing bliss back upstream as the tiny creek threaded its way along the valley floor, twisting and turning in a seemingly endless procession of arcs and loops. I started with a Royal Wulff, size 16, and Dave had on a small nondescript - I think it was the ubiquitous Red Tag. It didn't really matter all that much as the trout were not fussy about what they decided to eat, provided you paid them the respect you would a fat five pounder! No shadows, no drag, no splashy casting or clumsy wading-better still, wherever possible, no wading at all.

If a scared little trout was sent darting off upstream then it would set panic amongst brothers and sisters alike and no trout would be caught; at best you'd get a drowning or a shudder beneath the fly. When this happened (as it often did), we had to bypass a pool and run to start afresh where the fish were none the wiser.

Dave and I both put a few restrictions on ourselves which were really born out of necessity and common sense rather than any extra form of competition. One was to fish dry fly only, which was the only practical way of fishing as a wet would be prone to snagging on the debris which littered parts of the creek. The second was size; the fly had to be #16 or smaller and barbless, or at least the barb crimped. This seemed to enhance what this little creek was all about, namely, delicacy and definitely catch and release.

The last restriction was to use the finest tippets we had, again because the creek demanded it and so too did the trout! No oafish behaviour would be tolerated by these fastidious little fish. Oh yes, there was one other proviso; the person to catch the first brook trout was to be waited on that night-dinner and drinks to be provided!

It's one thing when you're turned down by a large fish, you can say that the fish was smart and well educated and all that, but when a small rainbow rejects your fly and then flees upstream like it has just seen a barracuda then it puts you back in your place. This was the third time I had been put back in my place in four casts and drag was the culprit! I shortened the taper of the leader but increased the length of the tippet so the overall length remained unaltered at around seven and a half feet. I felt that the longer tippet would help alleviate drag by delaying the inevitable long enough for the trout to accept the fraudulent offering. It was also important to keep the length of the leader quite short because a long leader would make life very difficult on such a tight alpine meadow creek. Should the breeze get up, then it becomes a challenge simply to land the fly on the water!

This approach worked better. On the next little pool I had a take and a hook-up with a chubby rainbow darting and leaping about. The 3weight rod bowed with the strain as the fish made lunge after lunge to make it to the undercut bank where refuge would come by way of protruding roots. This was the first fish of dozens for the afternoon as Dave and I came under the spell of all that was on offer. This was to turn into one of those memorable days so valued by the fly fisher.

We took it turn about, coaching and cheering each other along the way, one fishing, the other taking photos and getting as much pleasure out of simply watching an accurate cast, a good drift and a solid hookup. The fish were little rippers too, mainly rainbows that snatched the fly voraciously, leapt once or twice, then raced straight at our feet. With rods often bent double, on light tippets it was an effort to keep them out of the undercuts and snags. Sometimes we won, sometimes we lost, but always we had fun.

When fishing waters that you can almost step across it's like being in the 'Land of the Giants' where everything you do is greatly magnified. Because these alpine creeks are so small, any error that the angler makes is compounded by the shyness of the trout, the lack of cover and the clarity of the water. Small mistakes become big mistakes and the trout will simply shut down.

Rod and line flash see trout suspicious and ignoring a seemingly perfect presentation. Poor presentation gets the same treatment, or worse, and fly-line splash sees them positively fleeing! Though these trout are seldom selective they more than make up for this by their heightened awareness of danger in such confines. There is a real need to crawl around on all fours and to use the lightest tackle available and the smallest of flies to try to compensate for these difficulties. Small, lightweight outfits are mandatory with 2 and 3 weights allowing small flies to be presented accurately and delicately. These outfits are also more forgiving on ultralight tippets, they reduce line splash dramatically and allow greater sensitivity in all aspects of presentation. These specialist fly outfits are not made to turn a fat pounder into a trophy, but rather to make your presentation more authentic and acceptable to the wary trout.

With the morning mist well and truly gone, the cloudless sky created great sight-fishing conditions in the crystal clear water. The fish were eager takers, sitting in the current waiting for the next hapless 'hopper, beetle or dun to drift into their feeding lane. In one small run I was able to extract five trout as I carefully prospected with the fly. The temptation is to cast the fly so that the entire run is covered in one drift - this will get you a trout, but it will frighten off the rest. It is better to make short exploratory casts, gradually lengthening line to cover the water from its downstream extremity to where the water dumps in-half a dozen drifts instead of one or two.

There was nothing special about the next run, nothing appreciably different from any of the others that I had previously fished, except that the water pushed up hard against a wonderful overhanging tussocky lip as the creek gently changed course. The Royal was soon bobbing the wavelets and was pushed into the clay bank where it momentarily snagged on a trailing blade of grass before continuing its downstream journey. I was worried that this small hesitation in drift would cause drag but the fly was gone in a gentle rise-form and I soon had a good rainbow slogging it out where the fly had disappeared. The fish leapt and headed upstream only to turn tail and charge straight at me before burying under the overhanging tussock - all this in a matter of seconds.

A small gravel beach and granite boulder made the perfect place for a light snack and a chat about the fishing. We were amazed at the trout's fighting abilities and the difficulties involved in staying out of sight and not spooking any fish.

It hadn't been easy, crawling and squatting to avoid shadows and silhouettes against the skyline, and my thighs and knees were feeling just a little tight. The very nature of these streams sees them flowing through open plains with undercut banks so that you are often a metre above the water's surface when simply sitting on the bank.

I stood up, my knees popped, and I headed off for the last fishing session of the day. My Royal Wulff no longer had a tail and I clipped off some protruding peacock herl from a rather battle-scarred little fly. As I say, the trout were not very fussy and the fly was soon taken greedily by a fat rainbow that I had spotted through the polaroids in a deep riffle.

The majority of fish had been rainbows and it wasn't until I had nearly reached the main road that I hooked my first ever brook trout on a dry fly. Alas it was very small but strikingly beautiful and as I admired the tiny fish in my hand with all its wonderful yellows, blues and white haloes, I couldn't help but think what a wonderful brooch it would make, and what a wonderful dinner I was going to enjoy! Dave was also to have success witha brook trout and if the 'dinner deal' had been on size rather than who caught the first fish, then I would have been donning the apron for sure!

To this point I have avoided the size argument, and deliberately so, for this is more about the fly fishing experience, for those who enjoy the skills of tight casting and the subtleties of fishing for wild trout in alpine meadow creeks and streams. It would simply diminish the quality of these waters if I had to try to justify or qualify them by entering into the size debate.

Fish them for what they are, and I can guarantee a memorable day of fly fishing ... provided you're up to it!