Fly Fishing with John Black

posted by John Black on Apr 28

At ADS last year we were head down and tail up with statistical profiling of churches, finance companies, the 2010 Australian election, the ABS monthly unemployment survey and several private schools.

By last November (or Movember as you may be able to detect from my dreadful moustache at right) I finally escaped to Anglers Rest in Victoria, for a spot of fly fishing for trout.  Sort of.

You see, my beloved spouse had been expecting our number two son in January (see Lumix review in I love gadgets), so I was being allowed out for the last fishing trip before parental duties interceded.

We’re talking babies, bodily fluids and poo here. Not to mention a displaced three year old mewling for attention and my visiting in laws begging for the keys to my cellar. Or was it the other way around?

On the work front, I had been overdue to talk business development, statistics, web pages, databases, browser technology and demographic mapping with three colleagues from around the country and the only way I could do any fly fishing for trout was to blend the two.

The blending part was not so hard, really. As I try to explain to my Australian Financial Review editors regularly, there’s a lot of overlap between statistics, election profiles, good journalism and fly fishing.

Think greedy, slippery, libidinous creatures with brains the size of peas and of course you’ll know that I’m writing about trout rather than politicians.

It’s the same with the stats – you do a profile, you get an obvious result, you dig down deeper, find another layer of meaning and hopefully causality and then … and then …  your tired old brain runs out of puff.

But after a day flicking a fly line over the magic trout waters meandering past Anglers Rest, I rediscover the synapses linking politics, economics demographics, attitudes and behaviour.

This is the theory at least.

For our ADS statistical summer summit, we all stayed at Donald Beveridge’s Bundara Cabins, cooking with Helen Packers’ borrowed wok from The Willows and getting politely liquored up at the Blue Duck Inn, a short zig zag of a walk home from just down the road.

But anyone thinking I downplay the very serious role of work in the hectic ADS schedule should think again.

We actually managed to work out out the statistical and mapping details of our new profile package for the Financial Review, starting with the New South Wales profile then a few months away.

The whole process was so productive work wise, we decided to get together again in March to finalise our unemployment and education modelling and put the finishing touches to the New South Wales maps and statistical analysis. 

The trip was also about mateship and bonding and talking through the normal communications problems you get when four blokes in four different locations exchange some pretty big files and somewhat related ideas through the web. ‘Oh, is that what you meant?’ was the general thrust of more than one conversation.

But the natural environment and the fishing was sublime. And the trout were bigger and more aggressive than they’d ever been.

I landed four nice sized trout from one pool on four different flies, both on the surface and under it.

On the second trip, we found the bigger fish were already moving upstream on their spawning run, in sizable pods or schools and they tended to have loving on their minds. It was like a high school prom night, with the little buggers not in the spot they were supposed to be, but pairing up and moving fast to get away from teacher’s prying eyes.

We’d walk for an hour or more sometimes, without spotting a trout where you’d expect to find them, and then, around the corner, in a quieter pool, there they’d be – 20 of them – looking for a sexy spot of gravel, or finding it and afterwards quickly grabbing a bite to eat in the form of a floating grasshopper, while bumping away competitors. Like I said, a bit like our old high school dances.

To be honest, I felt a bit of an intruder interrupting their lovemaking. But I did.

Forty years working in politics, statistical profiling and in the media has inured me to finer feelings like respect for privacy or any semblance of sensitivity to the needs of others.

There has to be some upside.

posted by John Black on Apr 10

When it comes to electronic thingies, I’m an old boomer. This means I am midly technophobic when it comes to computers, software and digital cameras.

I used to handle the cameras with film pretty well 30 years ago when I worked as a journalist. But then my intellectual development in these matters was pretty much frozen when I was elected to the Australian Senate and found all these helpful people around whose major mission in life was to ensure that they were indispensable. This meant I became totally useless with things like travel bookings, computers, finding a decent restaurant and of course digital cameras.

After losing my Senate spot and all those helpful staff, I solved the problem by marrying a younger woman. Jeanine is generation X and loves all things technical. I just need to look old and marginally needy and she grimaces, grabs the computer and fixes it. When it’s to do with iPhones  and more recent technology I call on the generation Y daughter, but that’s another story. Best not to mix the two.

Moving on, I was planning my next fly fishing trip when I saw the television advertisement for the Lumix waterproof camera, featuring a couple of outdoorsy types doing the Bear Grylls’ routine, skimming a waterproof camera across a stream to take pictures from the other side. I had to get one.

So I did. But then found myself eventually, after a fishing trip without Jeanine, having to download pictures and save them. I knew I’d taken a lot over Christmas … what with a new baby, a visit from the in laws, a fishing trip or two, but I didn’t know how many or what to do with them.

I tried to read the printed manual, but found it was mainly about how you kept the camera drained and dry. There was a CD which explained everything, but I apparently only had a DVD player in my computer, so that didn’t work. Then I remembered Jeanine saying these things could be downloaded directly, I think words “… even an idiot …” were used, so I dug out the connecting cord for the camera to the USB and … it worked.

It turns out I had up to 500 shots loaded on the Lumix hard drive, which took up about 10 gigabytes  out of the 15 held in the camera. There’s no real need for flash cards at all and the battery had lasted for the full week of a trip to the Victorian High country without being charged once. Basically, I just shoved the camera into one of my fly fishing shirt top pockets, pressed down the Velcro seal on the pocket and wandered off.

I don’t know what more to say about this little beauty. You can shove it in your pocket for a week, use it daily, above and under the water, fall into the water, drop it a few times while taking shots of fish underwater, fall off a small cliff, shove it in a travel bag, pull it out at the end of the trip and download 500 shots, given extremely limited software skills. I’m not sure what else a digital camera is supposed to do.

But the real reason I wanted to be able to download the shots myself was that I’d taken the Lumix into the birthing suite for the arrival of our second child and I wanted to see if they’d worked before consulting Jeanine in case I’d mucked it up.

Judge for yourself. Below is the love of my life and new son John, aka Jack.

posted by John Black on Apr 10

Lightload Towels

When I’m fishing, personal hygiene is not normally my major concern.

Wild trout don’t like the scent of fancy soaps, insect repellents, anti-itch creams or sunburn lotions, so washing of hands is out. No need for towels here.

When I’m staying at a lodge, I get the sulks when there are no clean soft towels and lots of fancy soaps and moisturisers after a day in the sun. Again, no need for a lightweight towel.

So I wasn’t quite sure how to evaluate this little sample of two Lightload (viscose) towels sent to me from the USA. Being an Aussie bloke and a grub: when would I use them?

My mother in law on the other hand, had no trouble at all. She nicked one I had drying near the sink and used it for a tea towel and it came in handy there for a week or two. Held together nicely. So, as a substitute for linen tea towels, they work fine.

But after a couple of months of fishing trips, I still had the remaining sample in my vet back pack.

So I stuck it in my swimming bag. You see, I go training two or three times a week in the local Olympic pool and, being stupid, I sometimes forget things: like togs or a towel.

You can always buy a pair of togs at the pool shop, but they don’t run to towels. So, after a month or so, I found myself, wet and cold, after a shower, but with no towel.

Out came the Lightload towel … which was when I found I only had the little 12-inch square model, not the bigger one. Oops. Still, I opened it and dried my aged, plump torso as well as I could; then wrung it out and wiped a bit more … then wiped and dried … you get the picture.

It worked. I was dry and warm and the little towel was tucked away, for the next emergency, in a side pocket.

These towels work. If you don’t need one for your fishing trips, stick one in your swim bag. Or leave them near the sink for your mother in law. They’re available on line from the link below.

www.ultralighttowels.com