Trout Fishing Tasmania in Grandfather's Day

An article by our friend Alan Shepherd and the late Don Gilmour

This is a tale set in Grandfather’s era—a time when tackle shops did not exist and fishing gear was either imported from overseas or homemade. It involves big fish and old fishing tackle as well as events that occurred leading to the eventual development of Tasmania’s world-class trout fishery.  It all began in the fourteenth century when a French monk, Dom Pinchon, using Chinese carp spawning techniques, discovered the art of artificially fertilizing trout eggs and then hatching them by burying them underwater in wooden boxes filled with sand. This precious knowledge was never utilized until 1840 when in northern France, two fishermen named Remy and Gehin, rediscovered that the impregnation of the trout egg took place after its exclusion from the hen. These gentlemen found that the natural spawning process could be mimicked artificially.

Using this method, it wasn’t long before salmon and trout were being reared in European hatcheries for the purpose of stocking rivers and lakes. With fertilized eggs readily available from hatcheries, the introduction of salmon into Tasmania seemed possible. The truth is that the Tasmanian Government wanted to establish a salmon cannery. Mr. Alexander Black, a consultant, claimed, ‘Once the salmon were established, the revenue from salmon sales at the end of six years would be ₤74,000.’ After much expense and many unsuccessful attempts, viable eggs were successfully shipped to Australia in 1864. Luckily, due to difficulties obtaining enough Atlantic salmon eggs, at the last minute, Mr. Frank Buchland and Mr. Francis Francis supplied some trout eggs with the shipment. On the 4th of May, in the newly built Salmon Ponds hatchery at Plenty, the first trout made its appearance in the Southern Hemisphere and the following day, the first salmon hatched.

Once the fish were established it wasn’t long before men filled billy cans with trout fry and carried the little fish by horseback or carefully walked them to rivers and lakes all over the island. These were men of vision who desperately wanted trout to become established as a sport fish, so they might enjoy the sport they knew in mother England. Let loose in a new land of ideal conditions, the trout spawned readily and, through the process of natural migration, populations dispersed rapidly. Having few aggressive competitors, plus an abundant food supply, the trout grew to record sizes. In the north of the state a good head of trout had become established in most of the rivers, the South Esk River in particular being a favored fishing spot.

In the southern part of the island, the Derwent and Huon estuaries had sea-run trout and anglers were hopeful of catching the non-appearing salmon. When salmon reach a length of 12 to 24 centimeters they become smolts and migrate to the rich feeding grounds of the sea. After a few years of growing rapidly in the sea, they return to spawn in the stream where they originally hatched. Despite repeated introductions, sadly the Atlantic salmon that were released from Tasmania never returned. So swam away all hopes and aspirations of the Government’s plan for a salmon cannery. To make matters even more exasperating, it was suggested that the ocean current that runs south down Tasmania’s East Coast in a horseshoe shape, probably carried the salmon to New Zealand.

It is significant that in 1870 Sergeant Jas. Wilson of the Steppes and Constable Ryan from Longford received orders to meet gentlemen from the Salmon Ponds and take delivery of trout fry in billy cans. Whilst receiving the billy cans they were given specific instructions concerning changing the water whenever possible. Returning to Great Lake the troopers released 119 small brown trout fry at the eastern end of what was to become known as Beckett’s Bay. Some years thereafter, Sergeant Wilson and one of his constables were on the Shannon Bridge when they spotted something in the water. ‘Platypus’, exclaimed the constable, ‘No, a trout’, replied a delighted Sergeant Wilson who was familiar with the characteristic swirl of the fish, having seen them in Scotland in his youth.

A considerable time later, reports were filtering down from the shepherds on the highlands that Great Lake had some huge trout. Dick Beckett a highland shepherd was an expert with a spear. His hut at Barren Plain was close to the bay now known as Beckett’s Bay. This was the scene of Dick’s trout spearing activities and where, in the clear water, huge trout could be seen all along the shore about 10 yards out. On one particular day, Dick speared a 32-pounder. His boss Mr. Syd Burbury was visiting Barren Plain at the time and upon seeing the fish, he told Dick to take it to Bothwell, with instructions to send it by coach to Mr. Morton, the curator of the Hobart Museum. Arriving at the Bothwell pub and after a few, Dick raffled the fish and had a merry old spree! After all, it was his fish - he’d speared it!  

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