ROD AND GUN Competition And Tactics In Crowded Waters

Press, Volume CVI, Issue 31159, 8 September 1966, Page 20

ROD AND GUN Competition And Tactics In Crowded Waters

<Bv J. SIERS > Such is the nature of competition that inevitably some!one becomes a loser. Trout fishing, which is essentially a recreation, should be free of an undue competitive spirit. This may be so between fisher and fish, but it certainly isn’t between fisherman and fisherman.

Many of course, relish a chance to best an associate. During a pleasant day on the river the result need not be ! known til) the end of the day. but in the.peculiar nature of fishing at Rotorua-Taupo and the salmon rivers of South Island’s east coast, fishermen ■are wader to wader, shoulder to shoulder and baleful eye to eye. How it is that in such circumstances one man can consistently catch more than another, is beyond simple explanation. The effect of this remarkable success on the others is something that can be seen quite readily. Add to this snob appeal, pride, intense jealously and frustration, and the stage is set for a perfect day’s entertainment. For years Waitahanui river, which runs into Taupo has been the Mecca for some of the country’s “top rods.” They are men who have won their reputations with legendary feats, and who consequently fear nothing more than humiliation at the hands of a novice, or someone outside their “club.” Defeat at the hands of an acknowledged master has not the barbed sting, the pangs of shame, felt when some ignorant newcomer is hauling them in. Consequently, fishing Waitahanui is really a game of one-upsmanship. The expert, of course, has a real advantage in his favour. He knows from experience which way the current will run into the lake during a certain wind. He can sense the best position to take, the ideal placement of line, and generally the results are in his favour.

Yet on some days, the superior technique is a sure ticket to failure. The fish are not where they should be. The bumbling fool, standing out of the line of the current, casting no more than 30 -feet at the most, and doing everything wrong is catching the fish. 1 recall one such day about 10 years ago when I arrived late to find the choicest spots filled by a most formidable line of “professionals.” The current was running to the right, more or less parallel with the shore. About 20 “top rods” were working it with reasonable success. The last man in the line stood at a point where the stream moved out toward the lake. It was no use going there because it would be impossible to quarter a cast so far. The only place was to go to the extreme left and to fish the edge of the stream. No sooner had I taken position than I saw a number of fish lying on the edge of the lip about 20 feet from me and more surprisingly, as soon as the fly was brought across in front of them, one six-pounder took it with vigour. It was such a strong “take” that although I was watching the

fish, it gave me a terrific fright. After I had caught my sixth fish in quick succession i several of the veterans began I the inevitable sideways advance toward my spot. Returning from landing one fish, I I found the choice spot taken land had to bulldoze my way I between the two. By this time, the trout had dropped I back just out of sight, but jwere still close in. ■ The two worthies on each [side of me were casting well (out and picking up their lines about the point where the fish | should have been. Consei quently, in spite of their j frustration. I continued to ! catch fish and in no time had the limit (then still in force in Taupo and now considerably relaxed.) The more formidable the “rod” the more subtle the application of pressure. He’ll move toward your spot with imperceptible side steps. When you return from landing a fish, the exact position, often hard to mark, particularly at night, is occupied either by him, or by two worthies, should you have been fishing between them. If you force your way in the middle, they yield little room. Sometimes they will apply pressure in casting hard across your line. The mark of an amateur is his eagerness to chat with the champion of the day. He’ll break all the unspoken rules. He’ll force his way between the hostile ranks next to your side, and proceed to wheedle vital information. What sort

of fly? What sort of line’ Rod? Been fishing long? How many years? Where?—Oh! I’ve fished there too. Can you show me this fly? Have you got another like it? No I could not take it (grabbing it). How much?—wince. Then, yelling: “I’ve got one” at the top of his voice, and whooping with jubilation while the “top rods” cringe. This kind of nonsense usually goes on during the day. At night, the atmosphere is much grimmer, more “down to business.” This is where serious men seriously go after fish.

If you happen to be in a spot where you’re doing well, even though there’s plenty of I room and there may be only 1 two other fishermen present. It’s almost certain they’ll start casting across your line, and moving ever closer toward you. What to do when this happens is an individual problem. My father, who is an old man, prefers to leave the spot to catch fish in a new one, but a former boxing champion who lives along Taupo’s shores, takes more direct action. As soon as be feels a line across his, he quickly brings his in, secures the offending line and snaps it In the dark, it’s impossible to tell what happened. His competitor who first felt a solid tug (administered to the line after it had been snapped) thinks he’s lost a fish. As most fishermen don’t carry a spare drum, it puts paid to his fishing for the night.