The season before, Mr and Mrs Mudeye (let’s keep their real names a secret) were new members to our club. They had heard all the great stories about halcyon days of trout fishing, particularly the renowned mudeye hatches. It was October and the Grampians, Fyans Fly-In Competition was over. The trout on this lake seem to have degrees and just know when the competitions are on. The weekend fished O.K. but many of the fly fishermen were finding the going difficult and drove home empty handed. When the fishermen were all gone Mr and Mrs M. had the lake all to themselves. It was Sunday night, and the dead drowned gums formed an eerie shadow on the clouded backdrop of the Grampians ranges. The air was eerily still and the lake felt surreal, exuding the sense that something was about to happen. Evening approached, and the gums formed long shadows on the still water. Two solitary anglers were waist- deep, surrounded by weed and the shadows of the gums. First there was a swirl, then a splash and then the water became alive with a feeding frenzy rarely witnessed on this great lake.

Mr M had heard stories – stories he’d always considered mythological but here it was playing out in front of his eye. He laid out a perfect cast, despite his trembling hands to catch a trophy that would prove the moment was not just a fancy or mirage. His wife was a full cast away distracted by a bit of an itch, oblivious of her husband’s situation. Mrs M felt a "creepy" on her head, then another over her arms. Despite her beautiful body hugging breathable waders recently purchased from Pro Angler, something was in there with her! By this stage, there were beasties crawling up her arms, along the nape of her neck and then crawling down the front of her Columbia blouse. The hatch was full on and her husband was too absorbed in his own frantic scenario to help her in her frantic attempts to dislodge the Mudeyes crawling over her body that they had confused for a hatching platform from which they would emerge as dragonflies. As a new member, poor Mrs M had heard about Mudeyes but had not seen them – she still couldn’t see them – only feel them and they were driving her nuts. Despite her screams, Mr M was in his element, casting to the phenomenal rises in front of him. "Wow, a full on mudeye hatch and we have the lake to ourselves! He thought to himself. " Such peace and solitude. Where else would you rather be?"

By this stage, the silence was shattered by his wife’s screams and her arms thrashing on the waters surface. "Don’t worry dear, they’re only Mudeyes", he replied in a sympathetic tone. This was not sufficiently reassuring for Mrs M, her shrieking becoming louder and her impatience at his lack of empathy well beyond the point of no return. Despite his desperate attempts not to hear her, he finally succumbed to his wife’s frantic cries of help. Or was it her rod belting him on the head? "Get me back to the cabin immediately!", she demanded. Reluctantly, he returned to the car. Well , there were Mudeyes on the car seat, Mudeyes crawling on the floor and for days later, Mudeyes hatching from the ceiling of the family Truckster.

The waders and clothes were wrenched off and Mrs M dived into the shower. The taps were turned full on. Mudeyes filled the shower base, dislodged from every conceivable nook and cranny and they swirled round and round until they were finally sucked out the waste pipe. It was a horrible experience for Mrs M. It was even more horrible for Mr M. He had just missed out on the best hatch for the season.