Shane Atze with a nice squid caught on fly.

You’ve got to applaud the conviction of the dedicated fly angler as they push their chosen sport to the bounds. Dare not tell them it can’t be done as no fish known to angler cannot be tamed by fur and feather and nor will there ever be for that matter.  Their enthusiasm to manipulate the simple sport of angling into an aeronautical nightmare thwart with a thousand and one variables is at times questionable. And something to be pondered especially when many of us struggle to outwit our quarry on conventional tackle using simple methods. Still, they toddle on in their own world with all the determination of a madman, the obsession realised only with the cry of ‘yes’ as the hook is set.  Never mind the same fish could have been caught for a pittance and tenfold on worm and hook.  It’s about the hunt, a package if you like, where numbers are nothing and costs are the burden of those who fail to realise the challenge.
 In this case the target species is a saltwater hunter that’s adept with the ability to blend and change colour at a moment’s notice.  An ocean born chameleon, the squid is a fearsome predator that appears from seemingly nowhere, thrusting forward two long hook clad tentacles that entwine and draw the struggling prey towards a parrot like beak. Embraced in its grip, there is no escape and its prey is killed and torn into manageable bite sized pieces before being devoured.  This time the hunter becomes the hunted in a match where the final move hinges on fur and feathers.
Drifting the weed beds in the quiet ocean bay, the cumbersome fly, a hand crafted creation that resembled a small baitfish takes to the air. It dances gracefully above the water before gaining the distance required, touching down near a weed encrusted pylon where it slowly sinks in the clear blue waters. With a short, sharp strip of the line, the mass of fur and feathers springs to life looking all the more real as it jerks its way just above the sea grass. A few more strips and a taunting shadow to the right slowly rises from the sea floor and ghosts the fly with a cautious eye. Not fully convinced, it pauses briefly before locking onto its prey and spearing forth its two long tentacles. The spur clad harpoons find their mark and encircle the fly in their deadly grip. In that instant the hunter knows its mistake, recoiling under a jettison of water it desperately tries to release its prey. But just like the barbs on its tentacles the fly too holds a shaft of finely tipped spins that now hold fast to the sucker clad limbs.  A cloud of black ink, a last means of defence will do little to help as the squid is drawn towards its captor.  A wry smile says it all and adds fuel to the obsession that is fly fishing. Just notch this catch up as one more victory for the fluff chucker’s as they tick their way through a seemingly unlimited list of what can be taken on fur and feather.