That’s what my Stetson wearing friend from Canada tells me – “a secret stream has few friends“.
I don’t know many secret streams, truth be told. In fact, I know none. Every stream that I fish is well-known to, well, everyone.
This particular stream is as much a secret as an Oscar winner’s latest cosmetic surgery – and has been for a very, very long time.
I don’t think that there are many true secret streams left out there. Sure, in Lesotho and even the old Transkei there are a few, but they’re not really secret – they’re just forgotten or out of the way for most fishers.
In my case I don’t travel very far to fish. I’m not adventurous or drawn to blue lines on a map. I just fish rivers that everyone else drives by in search of their own stretch of piscatorial nirvana.
Do I do this out of preference? I don’t know. I don’t have much by way of comparison. I just fish what’s accessible and tend to return to the same place consistently.
There are no more secret streams. But some of the most fished streams have forgotten sections that are pure bliss. The Doc and I fished one again this weekend.
The fishing was nigh-impossible as we made our way into a steady head-wind with bamboo sticks and flicked flies over unbelievably clear water.
The sightseeing, on the other hand, was heavenly.
(Please may I ask that if you recognize the area you don’t shout it out. It’s fragile up there. Call me selfish, but it can do with as little traffic as possible.)