ANGLING Old Styles and New

Dominion, Volume 30, Issue 45, 17 November 1936, Page 13

ANGLING Old Styles and New

“Red Governor” (the name covers the identity of one of the most experienced and enthusiastic fly fishermen in New Zealand) will contribute a weekly article to 'The Dominion” for the next ten weeks. (By Red Govebnoe.) VVHAT a difference the motor-car has ‘ made to fishing! In the old days we used to drive out to the nearest stream in a gig or spring-cart, and later on the bicycle had its turn. Then came the motor-bicycle, and now we have the motor-car, which makes any stream within 50 miles a matter of a little over an hour. Under the old conditions any stream 10 miles or so from a centre was a place of solitude and, except on weekends, when one might meet an occasional fellow-angler, and be glad to see him, one had the whole place to oneself, and if the day happened to be hot there was no necessity for a neck-to-knee costume. The fish didn’t mind, and no one else knew about it.

In those days another enthusiast and I used to cycle out to a stream about 20 miles from town practically every fine Saturday afternoon during the season and fish till dark.

After boiling the billy, which with tea and sugar we cached in a hole in an old willow, and enjoying a steak grilled on the embers, we burrowed into an old stack and slept till daylight. Then at it again till it was time to load up and go back to town. What bags we used to get in those days! Some of the water we fished would not have a rod on it between our visits, and by the way the fish used to “take” one would almost imagine they were pleased to see us again. Between the pair of us we often had somewhere round a hundred pounds’ weight to carry back, which meant, if we struck a head wind, a rest every mile or so. Nowadays, as we whizz past these old stopping-places, I often point out to the future anglers in the back of the car the various places where we were Id the habit of resting for a drink at a creek, or some old trees where we lay down in the shade to recuperate aud change shoulders on account of the strap cutting in. Nowadays the town angler just hops into the car; no waders, rods, or gear to get ready—everying is already at the bach, and in half an hour he is on the spot. He changes into flannels and puts the afternoon in on the tennis court or boating on the river; then after tea he goes out to fish the evening rise, returning to hear the sporting news on the wireless.

After a couple of years roughing it in haystacks some 30 years ago, five of us joined forces and built a rough shack at what I still consider one of the best fishing spots I know. There, for a few seasons, we had an ideal time. Each had his special duties, and as there was not a growler in the team, everything went swimmingly; when we left that bach after a weekend it was as shiny as any Scots lassie’s kitchen. When not actually fishing we spent the spare time in and out of the water, sometimes attired in an old pair of pants, and sometimes minus even the pants.

After an absence of nearly 20 years from that district I returned and, meeting one of the old brigade who had still stuck to the game, I was invited out for a week-end. My friend drove me out in his car, and the nearer I got to the river the more I felt the old thrill returning. What a shock on turning the last corner I When last I had seen it there were about 10 old shacks, but now it resembled a town suburb rather than a camp. Beautiful bungalows with lawns and flowers everywhere, two tennis courts goins, and at least 50 people in flannels wandering about. Vainly I looked for someone clad in a pair of dungarees and a singlet. I was informed that that sort of thing was not done nowadays.

After tea, prepared on an electric stove, I took my rod and slipped away to an old favourite spot in a bend of the river some half-mile from the camp, intending to try a little fishing with a dry fly. There was a party of mixed bathers there, Still further upstream to another old haunt I went, with the same result Disgusted, lat last gave It up and returned to the camp to listen to the radio.

On the following day, Sunday, the

whole stretch of water was crowded with motor-boats and bathers, and it ■would have been futile to attempt any sort of fishing, so I waited till nearly midnight before going out. I was astonished to find that there were still plenty of good fish there, and got quite a good bag after all; but I missed the old faces and the old thrill of it all. Perhaps I am growing old, and like the old footballers who think the present All Blacks are not as good as the 1905 team; but fishing for one thing is not the strenuous game it used to be.