ANGLING

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLIII, Issue 20930, 8 January 1938, Page 6

ANGLING

JOY OF THE SPORT AROUND THE LAKES AND RIVERS By ''Steel'' Tents and caravans lined the rivers and lakes during the holidays, and anglers were more numerous than ever. The weather and river conditions were against the angler and practically no good bags were taken. Rain and dull days marred the pleasures of camping and many parties returned home earlier than their intended date. At Lake Clearwater the browns proved capricious. When caught, their stomachs were full of the small spiral shell fish, and though they appeared to rise freely, they proved very particular as to their choice of flies. In many cases a small black gnat was to their liking. Lake Camp, after its promise of good sport earlier in the season, failed to yield good results. It is reported that a carp was caught in Lake Roundabout. At Emma the weed is growing apace. Alexandrina and Ohau both provided a few good fish. Omarama was reminiscent of Trentham In the early part of the Great War. A fisherman is stated to have seen a salmon at Milford—and it wasn’t New Year’s Eve either. Whilst the Temuka was up, many good bags were taken on the worm. An odd big fish or two is working up the Opihi. One 12 pounder and another of 61 pounds were caught at Pleasant Point. Wanted —Someone to form a company for the purpose of running a tramway from Rangitata Huts to the

Rangitata Mouth. A Find Nimrod, with the dark suspicious attitude of a conspirator, took me aside and produced a map. With my thoughts turning to Treasure Island and buried treasure I perused it. It was identical with the maps, tom and slightly blood stained—though in this case I have a suspicion that the blood was Meek’s—that led the eager adventurers to the pirates’ lair. At the end of a longtrail was marked “hotel” from there a line with “2 miles” over it ended in a cross. “That’s the spot,” said Nimrod, “A virgin river. So and so discovered it last week and got his limit in a couple of hours.” “Big ’uns,” I enquired. Nimrod’s arms were not long enough to stretch the distance that he wished to indicate the size of those trout that so-and-so caught. “Let’s go and see,’ said Nimrod. “Why not,” I replied. The morrow saw us speeding over miles of tussock and miles from anywhere there was a squeal of brakes and a wild yell from Nimrod who was driving. "Come on, quick! quick!’

Anyone traversing that barren plateau would have been overwhelmed with surprise at the spectacle of a derlict car, of two panting, yelling and laughing figures careering wildly in circles apparently just for the fun of the thing. But presently a wildly flung hat ended the chase, and a fledgling ground-lark was borne carefully to the car and its dappled softness duly admired before being released within sight of its wildly hovering parents. Tussocks unending, one hill surmounted only to disclose another hill until presently our hotel came in sight. Nimrod and I sat relaxed in the lounge laying some of the accumulation of dust that our throats had gathered on the way. Outside came an agitated female voice: “Will someone please kill it for me? I have never killed a trout before.” Amused, we went to the door. Outside was a very small woman holding a wildly flapping rainbow trout of about 41b. "It’s the first that I haVe ever caught.’ The trout, which was the best conditioned “bow' I have ever seen was quickly dispatched. “I caught it just down behind the hotel,” said the woman. “Dinner,” said I.

“Quick as you like,” said Nimrod. We were hastily swallowing an early dinner when the waitress came in. “Mrs has caught another fish and wants someone to kill it for her..” Out in the passage was our small angler with another “bow” larger than the last. “I caught it in the same place and it took me 20 minutes to land it.” A Busy Afternoon Dinner went by the board and soon Nimrod and I were standing at the river bank putting up our rods. Just above us a series of widening rings on the water denoted a rising trout.

I tied on my favourite quill cock-y--bondhu and next minute it hit the water just over that ring. A wave seemed to engulf the fly, and I tightened—but alas too quickly. “They are slow takers. Time, time, time.” Nimrod was exploring further up and he gave his time. There was a splash and the wild screech of a reel. Up out of the water came a brown of about three pounds. A short but violent fight by a well conditioned fish and it was ®ut on the grass. At the head of the next pool was a willow and below it a gentle ripple. “What a place for a fish.” I dropped a confident fly lightly off the willow leaves. There was a flash of white as a large trout came down, turned and confidently gulped the fly. This time I let him take it down and then struck gently but firmly. Then things began to happen. That trout knew exactly where he wanted to go and that was in under the roots of that willow. In spite of firmly applied side-strain that was where he went and I was left looking ruefully at the end of a tapered 2x Hardy’s cast that was flyless. Nimrod was landing his fourth to a fly of his own making—a cross between a Coachman and a Surrey Fowl. It looked like nothing that is in the air above or the earth beneath, or the waters between, but those poor unsophisticated trout seemed to like it. They must have had a strongly experimental turn of mind. Anyhow he was soon fast in a trout that bolted determindly down stream. After it went Nimrod, charging through gorse and stumbling over stones. In 10 minutes he arrived back with a brown trout that turned the scales at 41b 6oz and nearly as deep as it was long. “What did I tell you? Is this a fishing spot or is it not?” “You have said it,” I replied. The evening rise ended early, but we

managed to collect six trout averaging well over two pounds in weight. Next morning we were on the job early and soon began to think that our experience of last night had been a dream. There did not seem to be a fish in the stream. However about 10 o’clock the trout began to take up their feeding positions and look for what the waters might bring to them. Quite often it brought my Coch-y-Condhu or Nimrod’s Surrey Fowl. In most cases these were accepted with gratitude. The way they gulped down that Surrey Fowl was an education in the extraordinary taste of trout. When we met for lunch Nimrod had beaten me by three trout and I had made two trips to the car to ease the weight on my shoulder.. In the afternoon Nimrod, who is a descendant of Dr. Livingstone, said: “Let’s go exploring further up.” So further up we went—but that is another story. A Fascinating Sport One of the fascinations of trout fishing is that no two seasons are ex- | actly the same. Trout feed when the ; fly is hatching, and the hatch of flies 1 is regulated to the weather conditions ! prevailing. When he is not surface i feeding the trout is of little interest to the fly fisherman, and each season ! as well as each day. the time at which ; the fly is hatching as well as the type I of fly that hatches, varies. Last season, with its lack of pro- i longed warmth and its succession of ! that fisherman’s bug-bear—the cold ' Easterly winds, the hatch of dun’s was • very sparse. This caused the fish to confine themselves almost exclusively i to bottom-feeding. One would search | whole sections of the river with the | Greenwell’s Glory (that useful approximation of any of the duns) and the t uprights without a fish showing the least interest in the fisherman’s offering. Only under overhanging willows and gorsy banks where an occasional fish was on the look-out for beetles or any of the “occasional flies” would a Cock-a-bundu, Hardy’s Favourite, or

Governor be accepted with gratitude. Except for the occasions when one was lucky enough to strike the rare and usually sparse hatch of duns, I think that this was the usual experience. And rather a peculiarity was that the following season in England was exactly the same. A prevalence of cold Easterlies and sparse hatches made the season on the other side of the world a poor one. On the other hand this season in South Canterbury with its prolonged warmth in October and November brought with it excellent hatches of Blue Uprights and the various duns, the fish were busy and the angler’s baskets were large. Not only this but the trout right at the beginning of the season were in splendid condition and fought like tigers. The Opihi has again proved its worth and although the average size has not been large, it has yielded a multitude of well conditioned fish. The smaller creeks and rivers have suffered from the prolonged dry spell and have been a bit low for successful fishing, though the Waihi has given up good bags of larger trout than usual to a well-placed Greenwell’s. The Orari has received considerably more attention than in past years from those in the know and the Ohapi has more than lived up to its reputation as a fish-producer. The exceptional clearness of the Rangitata this season has resulted in a greatly increased use of the dry-fly and the size of the trout hooked has proved to be a harvest to the sellers of casts. Lake Fishing Each year sees fishermen more numerous on the lakes and with the increasing numbers of cars, caravans and camping outfits it is only to be expected that their numbers will increase enormously.

Clearwater has again lived up to the reputation that it obtained last year and the average size of the brown trout taken seems to be on the increase. A well-oiled “Peverill of the Peak” fished dry usually brings good results. Lake Camp adjoining, has delivered up more of its large rainbow this year than ever before, a small salmon fly fished well sunk proving an acceptable offering.

Lake Emma is well worth a visit and Lake Heron, now that its reputation in regard to the uncatchability of its big browns is waning, is receiving more attention. Those lucky enough to locate a shoal of its land-locked salmon are assured of fun that is fast and furious. These salmon will take the fly freely but the casting rod with minnow attached is the usual lure. Lake Alexandrina has been rather a disappointment to a good many this season. Some good bags of both rainbow and browns have been grassed, but as a rule their condition is still not of the best. Each year Lake Ohau and the rivers and streams of the McKenzie are being further explored and in many cases the explorer reaps a rich reward from his fishy Eldorado before the inevitable rush sets in and the fish decrease in inverse proportion to the increase of the fishermen. And this is the problem that those interested in the conservation of our trout are going to be up against in the years to come. Increased hours of leisure and the increasing speed of communication are going to make it ever harder to keep the supply of fish up to the ever increasing number of anglers, and it behoves us all, as catchers of trout, to take an intelligent interest in. and give every assistance to those responsible for the upkeep of the numbers and size of the trout in our rivers. The freedom of the rivers is our heritage. Let us guard it well.