Random reminder

Press, 20 April 1981, Page 17

Random reminder

WAIT FOR IT . . .

High country fishing is the only way to go; none of this flinging a bit of bright metal haphazardly back and- forward across some ugly great lowland river, rarely catching anything other than jet boats’ sunken logs, or particularly choice pieces of sewage. No, the real stuff, drvfly fishing, with perhaps a bit of wet fly — lure — for variety. Expensive, though, but worth it, surely?

Up to the upper stretches of the Hurunui to a lovely side stream. An authentic local was sitting in shade by the stream smoking a pipe. A proper authentic local’s pipe, too, not one of those twisty aluminium pipes you might find down country where the spinners go. And a creel, a real basketware creel, to match an enormous split-cane rod. This was the man to .ask for advice.

’Get many out of here?” ‘Plenty, son. Never gone home after a day here without the limit bag.” : Look, I’m really just a beginner at this fly-fishing business. Would you mind giving me a few tips?”

The authentic local obliged. .He showed the tyro how to attach the leader to the line and which fly to use, and then proceeded to give a demonstration of expert and silky smooth casting. ' ; • The beginner tried to imitate and spent some more time thrashing the water to foam until he got something of the hang of it. Meanwhile, the authentic local sat in the shade and watched, occasionally shouting encouragement and wetting his throat from time to time with the contents of the creel, which was serving as a chillybin.-

The long afternoon dragged on, with changes'of types of fly and changes of position, but no fish. Filially, and reluctantly, the beginner decided it was time to pack up. ‘lt's strange,” he said to the authentic local, ’you’ve had so much success in this stretch, and I haven’t even taken one fish.”

‘lt’s not strange, really, son.” came the reply. ‘I never fish it till after dark, and I always use a worm.”