First day of Spring.

Ever have the feeling you're being watched? That happened to me on the opening day of the season. I'd just climbed over a stile and was walking along the riverbank with a field full of sheep on my right. Some ways along I got that odd feeling and turned around. The sheep had slipped under the fence and were standing right behind me - All of them.

"Shoo"- No response.

"What am I? - Some sort of shepherd?"

The look on the face of the lead sheep said - "Well actually mate, you sort of look like one. We might have been fooled by the wellies and that stick thing in your hand."

With that, and realising that I had nothing edible to offer, the flock began to ignore me, and I started to fish, but with one eye on the sheep to make sure they didn't follow me into the river. You see, I was reminded of a surreal experience from years ago.

There had been a big storm, and my brother Jim and I decided to visit the coast at Bushfoot for a bit of beachcombing. As an old surfer, I was well acquainted with this beach and its idiosyncrasies. As we crossed the bridge near the mouth of the Bush I mentioned that it wasn't unusual, after a flood, to find the odd sheep washed up on the shore. Sure enough, as soon as we set foot on the beach, there was a white mound on the sand. A few yards on another. And another. We turned our gaze to the far end of the bay. White mounds as far as the eye could see! I was aware of mass strandings of Pilot whales and the like, but until that moment had been unaware that sheep also went to sea in pods.

But I digress. As it turned out it wasn't an epic start to the season, with just a handful of small trout falling to a black beadhead nymph. But that was OK. It was nice to see some of the old hands out and about again, and for a couple of hours I could forget about the horrors of the pandemic. For a couple of hours it was all about a rod, a line, a fly, a river. And that's enough.