THE HUTT RIVER.

Otago Witness, Issue 3442, 2 March 1920, Page 61

THE HUTT RIVER.

AN" ANGLER'S PARADISE. "LIVE" AND "DEAD" BAIT. By I. A. M. The difficulties make it all tie more alluring; the "sousings" thorough and frequent that the enterprising Waltonian receives—the term though coined Is somewhat less stilted than the orthodox "angler" —give it, in some queer -way, an added charm. Here I am reminded of an erstwhile friend who carried his coldblooded method—he was a commercial traveller—into the gentle art, with undaunted enthusiasm, hut with questionable success. (Briefly, his main principlewas to literally "tumble in" at the outset —get properly and completely wet. He explained that if 'he did this right at the start he wore an easy conscience for the remainder of the day, in that he was pretty sure to get a sousing in any event before the trip was out, and it wouldn't worry him half" so much. In theory, sound enough. He is married now and his wife won't let him. That was his punishment perhaps. Nowadays, when I lean over the 'back fence, and hear him breathing dark threats concerning the snails and slugs which have played havoc with his cabbages, I remind him of the time he used the common garden worm—a distant cousin of the others —on the Aftatarawa in open defiance of the strong and sustained efforts of a far-seeing Acclimatisation Society. _ His "method," however, doesn't allow either for retribution or a sense of humour. It does for the heaving of his spare sods of earth into my garden by way of a friendly exchange. I have a garden, too, you see. Nothing grows there, though. I still go fishing. —An Erratic River.— This by way of introduction. I speak of the Hutt, and it is not an easy river to fish. In my younger days, I was wont to spend hours on the bridge that connects the two ends* of that consequential little 'hamlet, look down on the speckled beauties below, and wonder if it was {>ossible to catch them. • But, it was abelled "Dangerous" in the immediate vicinity, and the parental mind was proof against all argument. Now I know, that in the main they are much the same as any other fish—more cunning than usual, perhaps, and a little bit livelier, but trout for all that, and good fish to boot. Lively! Can you imagine a trout, a bare half' pound in weight which pulls out your line in much the same way as a fish three times the size? Which makes the old reel scream for the first . few minutes like a chaff-cutter out of hand? And which, after Jumping and splashing and generally taking you all over the river, is still kicking and full of fight when the net comes out? You cannot, of course. That represents the average performance of a fish of small size in this big stream. But it is the river with its ever changing moods that I must first tell of, for it is queerly erratic. Every flood that comes means a slight change in course. In a night a fine little shingle bank, where one may wade without fear, bordering a ripple where the big fellows_ always lie, gives place to a pot-hole, just sufficiently deep to cause a stumble, an unsuccessful recovery, and a thorough wetting. Such a happening generally precedes a cold bone-chilling southerly, which spoils the rise completely and sends the shivering and generally unhappy angler homewards. —a telling example of "Fisherman's Luck." But it has its compensations. Popular Misconceptions.— To look at the water in the stretch of which I write, the prospect is far from inspiring. It is deep and sluggish for the most part, with few if any ripples to disturb its surface. "Not worth a cast" would be the pronouncement of nine out of ■ ten angling men. I do not blame them; but I am one of the few who has profited by experience, and I am content to remain in the hopeless minority. The fish are there right enough. I venture to suggest, in fact, that there is 'no stream . better stocked in the whole of the Wellington district They are erratic, of course, in keeping perhaps with the general nature of the river, extremely wary, and inclined to be short-rising; but they can be caught. A light line, a favourable breeze just ruffling the water, a small fly, and if you find them at the "taking" stage, you will bring fish right from the bottom of the stream; fisjh that will delight you from every standpoint and give you food for an inexhaustible run of fish yarns—which nobody will believe. (As a true "sport," however, you will not wager on a certainty, and with that you must be content.) Firstly, as I have'indicated, local knowledge of the river is essentia], and even then you cannot be sure that it- will keep you dry. Then comes the question of tackle, and it 7 is a big one. I have never yet been able to discover why the average fisherman labours under the delusion that his fly should be something in proportion to the size of the stream; that if he uses a No. 14 in a day's outing on the South Karori, and does well, nothing better than a salmon fly will do business at the Hutt. Many a time in the late evening- have I been flshinrc a small reach when I have heard a swishing reminding me of early efforts with a stockwhip, and there has passed me a fellow-angler—fishing etiquette is not a strong point at the Hutt—• waving a salmon rod with a heavy line and cast, and a fly that would put an angry scorpion to flight. On his return journey, when experience of the night are exchanged, he has been astounded at the size of my modest little basket, and has refused to believe that a No. 14 did the fell work. But what is it? The small fly must be cultivated. To support it should fcpme a gossamer cast —a 4x for preference

—then & long line. The water for the most part is crystal clear, and acts like a mirror. A careful advance will bring the wading angler to where he can just see a nice fish feeding. A bad cast, an incautious move on his part, and the fish has seen him first and is off. Delivery well in advance should be the motto. —The Catch of the Season.—

A fish there was that gave me really good fun for half a season. His haunt was a deep rapid near a willow bank, some distance below the bridge—a hard place to fish, with the only prospect of success a down-stream cast. I saw him by accident one day after I had placed the fly all over and about him. He was nearly out of the water at the side, his tail and back fins plainly showing, a sight to gladden the heart of any man. I nicknamed him "Old Glory" in memory of a big trout in the South Karori, which half the anglers of Wellington tried for in their time, and which nefas dictu, eventually fell a prey to the lime bottle. Well, I tried that trout for months in every 'way. I used perhaps a dozen flies at different parts of the day and evening, wasting hours of good fishing elsewhere in the process. He was proof against everything. I looked on that fish as my own special property. I dreamed of him, and he was my first waking thought. Still he lived, in apparently complete security. It became a feud, a sort of never-ending vendetta, and I grew into something approaching a land-mark on that particular part of the river. My family derided me; my friends "fishy" and otherwise were openly sarcastic. I persisted. One night, _at an unusually late hour, I was just giving up (with an inward vow to give up for good) when I heard a "plop" that bespoke something big. A few minutes later it was repeated. Then clear out of the water he came in a rush for an unsuspecting night fly. With an arm that trembled, I cast over the spot An incovenient willow obligingly took charge of the tail fly. I worked it out and tried again. A third cast, and what a commotion. A pause, a swerving rush and a leap two feet out of the water; two or three of these. The reel screamed the sweetest of music. A further short period of quietness, while I did my best to keep him on the move. Off went the line again, down stream this time} and I feared for my light cast. After him I went stumbling over stones and clumsily splashing through the rapid. Over the top of my waders a little cold 'trickle made its way, but I cared not. I brought him up in the deep Eool below, and thought I had held him, ut off he made for the next ripple, using his weight to advantage with the current. I wound in desperately, but without avail. Out went the line again, almost to the end of its 35 yards of length. Another rush and he made for the bank where snags and submerged willows abounded. Providentially, I held him off. Bit by bit I felt him giving. Another five minutes and he made his last run. What a pang was at my heart if he should then escape (and what a pang at the heart of the fish. if he shouldn't). But I got him into the net, and by the aid of a torch examined him. A fine jack-fish— at the least—but I had foul-hooked him. Had a certain well-known English author, whose denouments are painfully impossible, handled the yarn from this on, he would have" had me put him back. Well, what would you have done?

—The Inevitable Worm.— The Hutt is becoming one of the beet fly streams in the North Island. I make this assertion without any reservations whatsoever. But, cannot it be kept as such? The average man interested in acclimatisation work knows full well the tremendous handicap the society is under. It is safe to assume that of the 800 licenses that are issued yearly, hardly 200 represent men who confine themselves to artifical baits only. To extend the prohibition 'placed on the 'South Karon, the Porirua, the Akatarawa, and the other recognised fly streams to the Hutt, would mean a severe drop in revenue. Thus, it is easy to call an attention to a growing evil, but infinitely harder to suggest a remedy for it. It is harder still to convince the great majority of fishing men that live bait fishing of any sort should be confined to the open ocean. But, I predict that worm-fishing will just as effectively kill the other class of fishing in the Hutt as it has done elsewhere. T need hardly mention, as a practical example, one or two Christchurch rivers, which southern anglers were wont to boast of, and the fate that befell them through the self-same cause. Southern anglers come northwards for good fishing in these days. Any Sunday morning, when a fresh is on, the worm fisherman may be jjgen. He selects a suitable spot near the*head of a pool, gets out his murderous tackle and sets his rod. Other necessary ingredients are a book, a pipe, plenty of tobacco, and light or heavy refreshment—to suit individual taste. The pipe is smoked, the book read, and the light (or heavy) refreshment consumed in easy stages. Perhaps a auiet snooze follows. When the reel sinfjs he knows a trout i 6 on, pulls it out, and repeats the whole-performance. Sounds inoffensive enough, does it not? But, remember this, that "sport" will kill half-a-dozen trout while you perhaps have caught a single one. Furthermore, a few more of his visitations to the same pool and that locality will be useless so far as fly-fishing goes for the remainder of the season. However, I can go no further than say that it "ought to be stopped," and there, I suppose, the matter will rest for all time. —Congratulatory.— This would not be complete without a reference to the good work the society has done., and is doing, and the present high standard of-the Hutt fishing is a fitting reward to the efforts of this live institution. Year by year the river has been systematically stocked with fry and yearlings, making a total of so many thousands that one wonders how the fish have room to move round at all. It has

taken time, but the last few years have seen the trout increase and multiply to an unprecendented extent. Look down from the Butt bridge on a fine clear day, and you will see then all sizes up to four and five pounds lying like a shoal of herrings In the still water below. Happily, poaching is a seldom thing on the stream, or at any rate the lower part of it. It is too open to public view for one thing, and for another the occasional ranger who visits the locality is both keen and vigilant. In time to come the river must prove a sure "draw" to the angling fraternity far and wide. It is strangely unknown as a fly stream at present. It requires advertising, just as the Wellington Acclimatisation Society itself would be in a much happier position to-day, financially and otherwise, had it gone in more for publicity as' a means to enlisting the warm sympathy of a somewhat apathetic Government, and of the public generally.