Going fishing with Kotare

Press, Volume CXIII, Issue 33189, 31 March 1973, Page 9

Going fishing with Kotare

A sentimental occasion

The appointment was [for 9.30 a.m. I walked out two hours later having gone back 100 years in time and feeling unashamedly sentimental over the treasured fishing books and angling gear I had been shown. Rods, reels, lines and flies had come out to New Zealand with the present owner’s father in the 1880 s. A fascinating collection of angling books had come with him also, half of which was in the possession of my host, half in the possession of his brother in Taranaki. There were four fly-books, leather bound, in different sizes, all of them divided into many pockets made of parchment. One wallet was large, undoubtedly for salmon flies. The others were smaller, perhaps for more modest-sized I salmon flies, certainly for trout flies.

The custom of those far-off days of the 1800 s was for anglers interested in tying flies to carry materials as well as flies in their wallets. And indeed the glossy neck feathers and broad soft breast feathers of the fly-tying angler, as fresh as the day they had been first inserted, were stored in several parchment pockets.

In good condition I Packets of japanned Limerick hooks, and other kinds, were also tucked into various partitions, bearing the decorative labels of old English companies long forgotten. A few pockets of the large wallet held salmon flies, enormous lures, even by New Zealand standards. Their colours were still bright, but they were dressed rather too full for present-day salmon fishermen, I suspect. But the same patterns would still take fish. Trout flies came to light in the smaller fly-books; wet flies, looking quite familiar even at this distance of 100: years. Many of the patterns, you can be sure, would catch brown and rainbow trout here now, anywhere you cared to fish. All the flies were in excellent condition. More than onei wallet had been carefully protected against the depredations of insects by pieces of tobacco leaf, strategically placed. Only one characteristic of those trout flies marred the chance of modern-day successes. They were all dressed on gut. That is, the links of gut on which they were mounted were tied directly into the flies themselves. Eyeless hooks If you know your angling literature you will know that gut casts were very brittle in the dry state. If you happened to be around in the nineteenth century, and met an agler on his way to the river to fish for trout or salmon, you would probably have found him somewhat uncommunicative—until he had emptied his mouth of the coiled gut cast softening there. But, if the owner’s permission is forthcoming one of these days, I would dearly like to try one or two of his father’s trout flies of the 1800 s. It’s just possible that, having been so carefully stored in the dark for all these years, the gut links might still have strength, when thoroughly soaked for some hours, to hold a New Zealand trout.

In those days the tackle trade forged fly hooks without eyes. The shank was finished off flat, sometimes rigid to provide a grip for the end of the gut link that was the first item to be tied in.

Better than knots Old flies like the ones 1 handled would unquestionably catch fish—if only there was a way of removing the gut and replacing it with nylon. Incidentally, that old method of attaching hook to gut was far superior to most of the knots we tie today. Not from the point of view of security, but because the old flies would always “work” and hook more efficiently than modern flies attached with knots that slip round the eye. My host of the morning showed me a 17ft fly rod, reputedly of hickory, with three spare tops, all of which had been broken at least twice and carefully spliced together again. Im those days rod rings were purely rings, hinged to lie flat against the rod when not in use. With the hickory rod, the fittings of which were beautifully made, and engraved with the name of the English maker, went a salmon reel jand a smaller trout reel, both |in excellent condition, and [similarly engraved with the [name of the rod-maker.

Braided line And with the salmon reel went a tapered and braided fly line which, I was assured, was at least 100 years old. To my surprise it wasn’t of horsehair. It stood a heavy pull with ease. The material appeared to be a grass ori reed, but it may have been silk, for in one or two places tiny tufts were teased out which revealed the finest of fine fibres. It was a sentimental occasion, that morning of February, 1973. More than that, it was an eye-opener. I could only wonder at the craftsmanship of those faroff days, and try to visualise the tackle our greatgrandsons and their sons will be using in the year 2073. Our rods, reels, lines, and fly boxes, to say nothing of our dress, will be as outmoded to that generation as that old collection of tackle 1 saw the other day. What won’t have changed, though, in 2073, is the glorious uncertainty of angling, no matter what so-called infallible lures and methods, and what wonder materials, are introduced.