SUMMER TROUT.

Otago Witness, Issue 3339, 13 March 1918, Page 40

SUMMER TROUT.

THE CALL TO THE OPEN. By I. A. M. The winding* track is ahead, bathed in the sunshine of a perfect spring morning. It leaves, the road in the valley with abruptness, winds past a tumbledown woolehed that is almost pathetic in its weatherworn appearance, and thence around a iitree clothed hillock —out of sight and sound of the haunts of man. The modern disciple of Walton knocks the ashes from his pipe, adjusts the straps of his serviceable pack in a manner that will ensure the greatest comfort during the moderately-long climb that lies before him. But even with the discomfort —due to that extra pair of boots and tattered overcoat that might easily have been left behind. Think of it! The sufferer is obeying the call to the open that comes strongly to the great majority in this green isle of ours. The outing has been the upermost consideration in his thoughts for a week past—a week of toil and trial in the hoavily-laden atmosphere peculiar to a large and over-staffed Government office. Neither discomfort not inconvenience is dreamt of in his philosophy. His very soul, for the moment, is not far above trout-fishing and its attendant delights. So is the- call of the wild, in the form of a sporting instinct, planted deep In the human breast. In many it is latent. The cultivation of the angler's art is a practical auxiliary towards the requisite touch .of self-discovery. Environment a Charm.— Dame Nature- 10 to-day a charmer to whom the most inartistic would pay willing homage. The track leaves the clearing

that the fire-stick has made in days gone by to provide for inroads ot settlement, reaches tho highest point in the dividing range, and makes a steep, winding descent; along the edge of the bush on the othor side, towards the angler's longdesired goal. Away down below a little stream wends it way, invisible except where a furtive beam of sunlight penetrates tho tall trees overhead. A typical bush_ stream ill many mocds —now dashing in miniature cascades over a boulder-strewn stretch, to fall into a deep basin; now held a close prisoner between rocky ramparts, faced with luxuriant undergrowth; now exercising its own caprice as it spreads fan-wise ever a wide shallow and the current swings in towards the bank, babbling noisily in complete freedom, playing with the fern growth, singing all the while a song to stir happy memories and bring joyousness to the passing hours. Here Nature reigns supreme in tho little dominion that man has lefi her, and bush an d stream combine to form one of jjer most magnificent creations —a New Zealand gorge. For years it has preserved its tangled flora in primitive luxuriance, the prido of tho farseeing settler, and the joy of the naturelover. —rPi-eparations.— • Such is the scenery en route to the favourite trout stream, and a lovo of the rod and a iove of' nature is therefore a combination that is good to have. The environment is half the charm. The track leads out of the hills, through paddocks generously dotted with grazing sheep; and the best of the fishing wat-er is before the angler—a mile or more of open country, with few trees to interfere with the long, overhead cast that is his forte. Here, a tunny day such as this requires a goodly length of line and a gossamer cast. .The water in the reaches is almost crystal clear, and acts like a mirror. The fish have grown wise in their age and generation, and combine timidity with cunning. An incautious advance may bring the fisherman (the term seems to be less stilted than the one more generally used) to where he can sec a nkw trout feeding. But, despite all his care and skill in casting, the chances are that the fish has seen him first. Wlhen a trout is frightened a'.mountain of most tempting flies will be refused. Delivery well in advance is the only terms on which profitable business can be done. A careful selection of the flies to be used is made after the angler ha 4 carefully gone over his' assortment two or three times. This is where a proper acquaintance with the conditions to be studied and a comprehensive local knowledge of _ the stream are invaluable assets. Experience will (live both, and experience long and varied has more than anything else to do with the making of a successful fisherman. A few trial casts, the creel and landiiig net are placed in a position least likely to interfere with the angler's freedom of movement, and the clay's sport commences. The First Fish.—

—" Missed him!" A fat two-pounder rises in no half-hearted fashion, but the man with the •rod "strikes" too late. There is only one thing to- be done. Be patient for a second, and try him again. A careful calculation is made, the angler sets his teeth, and sends the line forward once more. A puff of wind takes it over the eddy where the fish is feeding. The flies settle gently on the water—a perfect cast. "Got him!" The hook strikes home, and what a commotion I A pause, a frantic dash, and then a clean leap right out of the water—two or three of these. The screaming of the reel is the sweetest of music. Well found is the light, clear-water tackle that stands the shock of a leaping fish. Whir-r-r! The line flies out as he makes for the far bank, where the snags and submerged gorse are. Now comes the test. A risk must be taken to eteer him back to safe water. The chances are he will yield. If not, something else will. The short, rushing stage is followed by a period of sullenness during which the fish must be kept on the move. His native cunning asserts itself. Using his weight, down he goes with the current, narrowly missing the angler's legs, rolling over, an occasional stone, and coming with a sweep into the pool below. The play of the light cane rod is a joy to behold. Now commences another battle. But the angler is getting the best of it. Brawirig out the net, ho approaches the quarry warily. A last mad dash for freedom. What a pang at the heart of the fisherman if he now escapes! (And what a pang at the heart of the fish if he does not!) But the wily one is gathered in. A good start, and a '' game fish! So soliloquises the man with the rod, ae he lights his pipe and prepares for the next victim of his skill. A fish well below the regulation size is drawn from his lair, and is contemptuously thown back—to tell a wondrous tale, perhaps, to the remainder of- the hapu. _ Overeagernes on the anglers' part loses him the next fish, which, almost jerked out of the water with a badly calculated strike, escapes with one of the flies- and a fair portion of the cast. (And casts run away with money these stormy days.) Fortune, it will be seen, is not always with the fisherman. In compensation for this mishap, a. big trout is hooked soon_ afterwards. But, in proportion to his ■ size, he is lazy, and i 3 drawn into the waiting net without making any real fight of it. These and similar catches until the pangs of hunger assert themselves, and the 'fisherman finds, to his surprise, that it is long past 2 o'clock. How the time has slipped by ! What would be the fate of the employer who kept him waiting for lunch until that hour on an ordinary working day? So he calls a halt, and inspects the contents of the creel—a dozen beauties. The Evening Rise. — And what of the stream in the late afternoon, when the sun sinks behind the far-off Rimutakas, and the heat of the day is lost in the sweet cool of evening. _ A solemn stillness broods over all. A. light mist rises from the water. Rea!eh upon reach stretches ahead, the current barely perceptible, with not a ripple to disturb the placid surface of the pools. Then the "rise," the best of the day, commences. Far ahead a largo trout throws himself completely out of the water in an effort to secure an unsuspecting nigh't fly Other- fish follow, and improve upon his example. A slight splash, and a circle of ripplee by the far bank. A "Black Gnat" should get him, and, if not, he can hardly pass over the virtues of the "Ruby Drake," which represents the " droppei\" fly. A steady- cast, a well-timed strike, and all the thrills of the earlier part of the day again course through the angler as a fine threepounder dashes across the pool, battling furiously. A 10 minutes' fight this time, for the" fish is a "game" one and full of life. The man with the rod pursues his victorious way, losing a fish there, but mak-

ing good his bad fortune in the next two qr three casta, as another speckled beauty is added to the basket. The light rain of the previous day has put a little colour in the water, and the fish are "taking" almost anything. So on until dark, with the run of luck that started with the first cast or two still holding good, antil a hasty calculation reveals the fact that the day's limit of 20 fish has been reached. The line is wound in and the rod dismantled. The end of the day's sport discloses a happy and well-satisfied fisherman wending his way along the homeward trail. The Bush Whare. — Near at hand is the inevitable "whare," which he shares with his bosom friend, the pig-hunter. The billy is boiled, and the work of the day gone over and over again, and yarns exchanged. A nearby bunk is inviting, and the activities of the morning and evening bring bweet repose, despite the deficiencies of the fern mattress, the multitudinous fleas, and the persistent smel] of the head of the old billy goat, which the pig-hunter has insisted in bringing homo as a trophy. In the whare of which I write, it has been my good fortune to hear some of the tallest yarns that human ingenuity could invent. Time was when the writer took a lead in the good-natured banter that invariably followed the telling of a " fish story" or a "pig yarn" (the latter, by the way, being of far more unsavoury reputation than the older-established institution), but nowadays he preserves an almost respectful silence. Thereby naturally hangs a tale. Late last season, in a fairly deep rapid, I "rose" and hooked a trout weighing oerhaps a pound and a-half—certainly not less. I was about to gather him into the net, when what I took to be a log' moved from the bottom of the stream. The next instant an enormous eel (I dare not make a guess at the weight) appeared on _ the surface and swallowed the fish, taking away cast, flies, and all. I watched, thunderstruck. Then—well, I just moved out of 'that ripple as fast as my clumsy waders would allow me. I- thought the performer might start on the audience, you know. I told the etory in the hut that night. I was solemny presented at the conclusion with a much-aged biscuit that even the weevils had scorned during its long sojourn in the whare larder! Such is life.