The magic hour . . . Just like back home, the big browns moved and fed at night. This photo was taken at around 10 p.m., as Alex and I sat on the riverbank, waiting for the first telltale splashes in the runs downstream. We tied on a large black articulated leach, and within minutes hooked five large trout (landing three). It was as if the big browns had heard the dinner bell. Runs where we had hooked nothing earlier produced big fish. We wound up losing all light by 11 p.m., but still cast by sound. Wait . . . listen . . . big splash, loop a cast in the direction you hear the fish . . . and wait for the thunder-take. Then try to remember where all those stumps are, as you fumble, splash, and fight the fish in near blackness, with only the light of the moon and the Southern Cross glowing dimly through a layer of fog overhead.