TROUT- FISHING IN TARANAKI.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 11686, 22 June 1901, Page 1 (Supplement)

TROUT- FISHING IN TARANAKI.

[BY T. J. XICHOLLS.] A REMINISCENCE.

As I stand, rod in hand, beside the Mongonui River, my memory carries me back a quarter of a century to a certain Devonshire trout stream. The intervening years, with all their golden dreams and aspirations, many, alas, unfulfilled, are as if they had never existed. Again I see myself a merry schoolboy, rejoicing in the midsummer holidays, with no thought for the future, excepting; what the weather will be like on the morrow, and none for the present, save the chances of lauding that enormous halfpounder that I have just seen rising in the " stickle" above me.

Ruin has fallen during the previous night, and with a gentle sou'-west breeze at my back, and a brownish tinge of peat in the slightly-swollen water at my feet, the prospects of filling the light creel suspended over my shoulder are of the brightest. On either side of the stream tower the everlasting hills of Dartmoor, grim granite-strewn Tors. keeping silent watch and ward over the narrow valley below. So stand they to-day, and so have they stood since our Druidical forefathers offered up their sacrifices on their cloud-capped summits, and erected those rude circles of roughly-hewn rock to the worship of the "unknown God."

Time and circumstances obliterate many of life's incidents, which at the time of happening seem written across the pages of our individual history with an indelible ink, but where is the West Countryman whose memory is not faithful to the familiar scenes of his boyhoodV

That glorious run with Squire Fortescue's hounds—w'uon the most cunning of old dog foxes led the pack such a merry chase straight away to Tavy Cleave, to he lost at last in the rocky fastnesses of Yes Tor—and that other day. this time on foot, waging; war against the otters on the Dart, when the sun went down on five "kills," and man and dog were as wet as the proverbial ".-hag!" Are they not chronicled among the red-letter days of our existence, and shall I, or any of the lads then present, ever forget them? When we do, then let Charon row us gently across our last river, to the happy hunting grounds of some fairer Devon.

PROVIDING SPORT IN NEW ZEALAND

But a truce to recollections! We are living in the present now, and in a land which, although, as yet lacking in the associations that still link us to the Old Country, offers many and varied attractions to the devotee of rod or gun. Nature, it is true, did not dispense her gifts of birds, beasts and fishes to New Zealand with a very prodigal hand, but our various acclimatisation societies have stepped in and supplied the deficiency, although it must be admitted, not always with discretion. And yet we can almost forgive tho depredations of the omnivorous spa row, the fruit-destroying proclivities of tho minah and blackbird, or even the ravages of " bunny" himself, when we catch a glimpse of that noble stag, standing on the skyline of yonder range, or listen to the whirring of the. pheasant's wings, as he rises from the bracken at our feet, to find a sanctuary in the nearest white pine bush. Nor have our rivers been forgotten. Both the Old ami the New World have been laid under contribution, and tho New Zealand angler of to-day is indeed unfortunately situated who cannot, in his own immediate neighbourhood, cast a fly upon a wellstocked trout stream.

EGMONT AS A CENTRE FOR TROUT FISHING.

Looked at from a piscatorial point of view, no province in the North Island stir- | passes in 'its natural advantages and possibilities that of Taranaki. Let the reader place before himself a survey map of hie •county, and taking Mount h'gmont as a centre" base, cast his eyes in an ever-widen-ing circle around it. What sees he? A network of rivers, some taking their rise in the deep gullies that scar the upper ridges of the peak itself—gullies where the snow still lingers through the hot summer days—others bom in the stunted, fantastically-twisted bush lying immediately below the moss line, and ail hurrying with eager impetuosity to reach the rich pasture lands below. Discarding the map. and visiting the locality in person, lie will see these same rivers, now cutting their way between high fern and bush-clad banks, and anon threading their quieter course past thriving homesteads. But they are never humdrum or lazy, nor do they sleep away their existence like some of their Australian cousin,. Their bod is not a bod of roses, but one of huge boulders, waterworn pebbles, and clean hard shingle. Pool succeeds pool and rapid follows rapid as far as the eye can reach. Where a fringe of bush has been left, on either side— this is the rule rather than the exception—the trees interlace overhead, and in such a place is the home of the melodious tin", and the inquisitive, companyloving fantail. Here, too, in the breeding season, the grey duck loves to make her nest, and when'her family is hatched, and safely launched upon the river, she becomes tho bete noir of the fisherman. Uttering loud cries of distress, and with an apparently broken wing, she will splash and flutter in advance of the approaching angler, evidently regarding the innocent rod as some new and deadly engine of destruction to the whole world of duckdom, and utterly spoiling all chances of a rising fish. Sometimes she will leave tho water when the first bend has taken the intruder out of sight of her family, and return to them bv a wide, circuitous flight: at other.?, the only way to outwit her is to unit the stream, and, cutting across country to the next turn of the river, leave her behind you. This, however, is only one of the many little difficulties that boset the enthusiastic sportsman, teaching him, if such can possibly ; be required, an additional lesson in patience. : And this same virtue of patience is demanded in a high degree of the Taranaki angler. In j spite of constant watchfulness, his oast will occasionally seek a. loving embrace with an | overhanging branch, or his "stretcher" fly i chum up with an invisible snag, which has with seemingly "malice aforethought" taken up an immovable position just, beneath the surface of that, innocent-looking ripple. A PIECE OF INSTRUCTION. T think if some of my brother anglers in the South Island, accustomed as fiiey are to long stretches of open water and a clear background, where 15yds or 20yds of line can easily be- cast without fear of obstruction, were to visit our waters they would find they not only wanted their own stock of patience and good temper, but a big slice of Job's thrown in as well. Rough travelling you would find it, gentlemen, for with crystal water that reflects every passing shadow, and a clear sky and bright, sunshine overhead, upstream fishing must be resorted to, and "fine and far off" at that. Ah ! here's a stranger on the river ahead of us, and, unless I am mistaken, a Canterbury man at that. Yes, that's he; met him at the hotel last evening, and advised him to try the Mongonui to-day. Let us go up and see what sport he's had! "Good morning, sir; any luck? None? Ah, I'm sorry for that: but if you'll pardon my saying so, 1 think you had belter get off that bank, and take to the water. Let me have a look at, your flies first, though. What! do you expect to deceive a Taranaki trout with that huge monstrosity? Off with if at once, sir! Smallest you have, you say! Then take this one of mine—a neat redtipped "Governor," dressed on a No. 13 hook. Now, pick one of those small green beetles off that tutu bush- that's'what the. fish are feeding on to-day—and tip your fly with if. Wait a mo in : just break back its outer wings with your nail—so !—he looks more natural now, doesn't la-? Yes. you're right this time; that's a fish feeding at the tail of the, pool above you. Now' then, into the water! Get right behind him as quietly as possible, and. wait for the next pull' of wind to help your cast and ripple the surface. Cut your fly about 2ft, above him, and let it fall as lightly as a thistledown. That's il ! ' Capital ! By •love, you have him! Sle-dy, now, and get him down stream as quickly as possible. Look on'! Whirr--whirr—snap!—and back comes the line in your face, minus half the cast. Gone, is he? I should think so! Didn't you see that pile of logs and brushWood under the far bank V Well, it's there, as you can see now, and your fish is underneath it, with an uncomfortable feeling in Ins jaw and a new experience to ponder upon. What else could you have done under the circumstances? Why, taken stock of your surroundings before making your cast, and when ho made that frantic rush for (-over held to him like grim death., and trusted v to I'iovideuce and your tackle. Yes, per-

haps he might have broken your cast all the same, but you should never have allowed him to get under that timber. The chances are that if you could investigate that tangled mass yon would find one end of your cast twisted around a tawa branch, and your fish still at the other. Oh! 1 daresay he'll work himself free of it in time, but he'll look with suspicion on every green beetle in future. You find tins very different fishing to the Waitaki or Rangitata, don't you, my friend': So when you pay your next visit to Taranaki leave your double-handed salmon rod, your twisted gut traces, and your artificial fly and bait monstrosities at home. Bring a light rod. light (but good) tackle, and a light hand to your work, and, although you will not get any 121b or 151b fresh water sharks, neither will you require to fish for them at night, as f am fold is your custom down South. But if you are- satisfied with pure mountain air. ever-changing scenery, and a creel.well filled with salmo fentanalis, averaging from '2ilb to 3A!b each, I think I can promise you an enjoyable holiday, and a hearty welcome from all genuine Taranaki anglers." WHERE GOOIT TROUT-FISHING CAN BE HAD. Before concluding this somewhat discursive article, perhaps a little definite data regarding our rivers, such as where and how to get a day or two's fair sport, may be of use and interest to some of my readers.

To an intending visitor I would say take up your quarters in lngievvood. Stratford, or Hawera, distant respectively 17, 30. and ''8 miles by rail from New Plymouth. Between, or adjacent to, the two former towns the iron road crosses no less than 15 fishablc streams. Of these, the Waiongona, too two Ngntoros, and the Piakau are the best and easiest reached from Inglevrood, and the Patea, Kahori, and Moneanui from Stratford. The township of Tariki, situated about midway between these two places, is really the fishing centre of this part of the district, and, being on the main line of railway, and possessing a comfortable hotel, is also a good place to make your headquarters. The principal rivers near Hawera are the Waingongoro, Mangatoki, and Kapuni. These can also be reached as easily from Eltham. The coach road from Hawera to Opunake crosses several fine streams, the Otakeho and Kaupokonui, near Mantua, being about the best.

Owing probably to proximity to the mountain, and a consequently increased altitude, the rivers about Jnglewood and Stratford give the. best sport late in the season, whilst those near Ilawera and Manaia will yield good baskets from the opening day. The enormous amount of insect life that. finds its birth in the large area of native bush, and its last resting-place in the maws of our tinny friends, seriously affects their appetite for less dainty fare, and the orthodox fly-fisher will at times, like Othello, " find his occupation gone." " When I can't kill fish to the fly, sir. I'll give up fishing, - ' ms the irate remark once made to me by a gentleman to whom T had acknowledged that the demise of a, four-pounder in my basket was due to an excessive fondness for the "creeper;" and yet not many days had elapsed before I found the same gentleman sedulously turning over every stone on the bank in search of the self-same grub. He had profited by experience. Then, too, when the green beetle, or " ladybird" comes floating down in countless thousandsnot unlike the flight of the May fly in England—then l is no chance for the artificial, unless tipped with the genuine article. But between these abnormal —first the creeper, then the beetle, and finally the grasshopper—between these feasts, 1 say, good fish can be taken with the fly. Head and shoulders above all others stands the redtipped Governor. T have killed to this fly in clear water, under a blazing midsummer sun, and from thence right on to tho last day of the season. Earlier in the season the March brown, February red, and Blue Dun are my favourites, whilst during the hot summer days Bradshaw's Fancy and the Coch'-y-Bondhu have brought many a good fish to my net. Just after sunset, when the shadows are deepening, and the young moon shines faintly overhead, there is generally a "rise" for about half-an-hour, and at such a time a Black Gnat or Coachman, well displayed, will often add two or" throe good fish to the day's take.

T hope I have not painted my Taranaki picture in too glowing colours, for it has its reverse side also. Blank days will be experienced—unaccountably blank days some of Them—and unlucky days—days when everything seems to go wrong, when our tackle will get hung up. when we lose tho biggest fish we ever hooked, and when, thanks to a slippery boulder or rotten log, wo take an unpremeditated cold bath in the deepest hole of the river. Even then, with drenched clothing, sodden tobacco, and a broken pipe, we take, comfort in the fact that our rod at any rate lias escaped injury, and wend our way toward home and dry garments with the consoling hope for "Better luck next time!"