WITH ROD AND LINE

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 17, 26 October 1910, Page 9

WITH ROD AND LINE

• THE OPENING SEASON

(By

Major Boyd-Wilson.)

Off S winter gradually merges into g I spring, and the tender green J shoots on the willows and hawthorns begin to clothe the bare branches with their summer garb, and the song of birds rises more and more insistent from the bushes, «s if thev, too, were rejoicing in the new birth "that is stealing over the coun-try-side, there arises in the angler's breast a desire for babbling brooks and running waters, and a longing for the time once more to arrive when he may ply his craft, and pit his skill and watercraft against the shyness and cunning of the trout. With the ardent fisherman this longing is ever present, but, by a beneficent arrangement of Nature, it lies dormant during the winter months, and requires some trivial incident to awaken it to its full vigour. Anything may do this, a chance sight of an old fly book when rummaging through a drawer, the accidental meeting of an old waterside ■crony; even the sweet spring smell of newly-turned land wiH serve to send .our thoughts straying to bygone springs When, with rod and line, we hurried to ■the waterside, intent upon the capture of the first fish. This year it suddenly leapt Into virile life, summoned by the clicking of a reel, upon which a mischievous small boy had laid sacrilegious hands, and in a flash it was borne in on the angler’s mind that for months and months he had not east a line or listened to the music of the waters as they tinkled over their pebbly bed, filling the air with melody, and the ever-optimistio heart of the fisherman with hopes of sportin an instant it was realised that the season was upon us, and that there were a hundred and one tasks to be performed ere the riverside eould be visited with all the gear complete, and ready for the undoing of Salmo fario. A searching kit inspection was at once ordered, and the whole paraphernalia of miscellaneous items which goes to form the angler s equipment, and which is so dear to the 'heart of the enthusiast, was passed in review. Rods were taken out of their cases, and carefully scanned, and the head solemnly shaken over the broken ring, the tying that had worked loose, and all the little mishaps which had, at the end of last season, been consigned to the winter evenings for repair. Years ago, we struggled to express, in the best copperplate that our unready pen eould form, the admirable sentiment that “Procrastination is the thief of time”: but the lesson has been forgotten, and nowall the minor repairs are simply shouting for attention. It is always thus. At the end of every season the' rods, etc., are put away with the firm intention of attending to them in the leisure of the close season; but the good resolutions are invariably forgotten, or, at least, our conscience is salved with the assurance that plenty of time yet remains, and the work is still undone. There may be, doubtless there are, methodical souls who never put off till tomorrow what may be done to-day; but it is feared that the majority of poor humanity must plead guilty to an occasional lapse into the fatal Spanish habit of manana. All, however, is now bustle and hurry; silk and wax are hunted up, and the wear-and-tear of last season, as far as possible, made good. New casts are knotted together, and old ones tested to see if the gut still remains sound. One old cast is discovered tueked away in a forgotten pocket of the fly-book, •which looks as if it had just returned from an exciting tussle with all the powers of earth, air, and water, in which it had come off decidedly second best. It is tangled and ravelled to nn extent that would hardly be believed possible, and the sight of it recalls a melancholy episode of the past Season. The monarch of the stream, a veritable Triton, had been observed, apparently on the look-out for tit-bits, In some thin water just above a pool where he undoubtedly had hia lair. The noonday sun was high in the heavens, the sky waa azure, the water like cry* stal, and the trout wary. With excessive care, the fisherman had stalked hia

quarry, and had at last edged himself into a position whence with a long line, if all went well, he might delicately drop hia fly on the water, and perchance beguile that mighty form into rising at the tiny black gnat with which the end of the cast was garnished. Vain hope! a false east was made in the air to judge if the distance had been cor|reetly and now came the supreme moment. Then it was that the line elected to play a merry game of “here we go round the mulberry bush,” only it was a blackberry of uncompromising thorniness that was chosen as the pivot round which the game should be played. The angler groaned in spirit, said something that the “Weekly Graphic” would certainly refuse to print, ineffectually tried the pull persuasive and the jerk judicious, and, finding that the east still stuck to that base-born blackberry as if it loved it, began to try and creep back without rousing the suspicions of his would-be victim. Alas! a badly-judged step, a slip, a splash, and the leviathan had detected the plot that was being weaved about him. Sending a wave from his bows that would not have disgraced an ocean-liner, washing to either shore, he hurried through the shallow water and sought sanctuary in the depths beyond. Eight pounds if he was an ounce! The irony of it! Reminiscences come thick and fast as we turn the pages of the fly-book; some have a satisfactory ending for the angler, others for the adversary, but all are pleasant, even the defeats, for the kindly hand of Time has effaced the chagrin we felt at the moment when some sockdollager escaped, after all the science at our command had been ignominiously baffled. The lapse of months has broadened our horizon, and made us more dangerous in giving that word of praise to a doughty opponent, which, when smarting from defeat, we had grudgingly withheld. And the triumphs! they are still with us; and may the coming season bring to all good fishermen many of them!