National News & Information >October 2007 Features

The idle thoughts of an idle editor by Jerry Flay

One of those days........

Sometimes, when you go fishing, you are cursed by foul luck. In fact, more often than not I am able to lay the blame for a blank day (and there have been a few), squarely at the door of malign fate.

The fish are, and I know this because I see everyone else catching them, in the river. My selection of flies is no less wise than normal. Having spent the equivalent of the annual defence budget of NZ on gear, I can find no fault with it, yet on these days, those damned days, I remain obdurately biteless.

Then there are, of course the days when the bites come aplenty, yet every fish, and on this type of day they are all without exception monsters of 10lbs plus, spits the hook – usually just as you think this one is ready to come in, there is a musical ping and you are left limp. Those around you try hard to hide their grinning faces. There is no-one so friendless as the man who keeps losing trout.

Another frequent day of mine is the Tangle Snag day – you find a likely spot on the river, spot a fish or two and just as you are about to catch them, a small yet invasive tornado whips up, brings down a few trees and results in your every cast hooking to branch, bank or worse still yourself. It may be a cheap way of piercing your ear, but it is unsatisfactory. Sometimes on a Tangle Snag day you hook up late in the retrieve. In this situation you will, without fail, tread on my pool of line at entirely the worst possible moment, leading to a sharp burst of tension and sight of a healthy trout being catapulted through the air as the line snaps. Again, for some reason, onlookers seem to find this rather amusing.

And then finally, as rare as Hen’s Teeth, are the great days – the ones that live on in our memories, eclipsing all others, the ones that legend are made of.

The sun shines. There is scarce a ripple on the water. Great beast are observed lurking just below the surface, hungrily chasing the smallest scrap of food, their silvery flanks flashing in the sunlight as they twist and turn. Nearby the Tui and Woodpigeon call gently and swoop playfully from bough to bough.

The lawn is mowed, and the good lady wife sits at home purring contentedly over the new dress you have purchased for her. The children are at summer camp.

The river bank is deserted save for yourself. The day is warm and soft and the sky clear and blue. Pellucid waters flow slowly past. A fish jumps, another follows it – they are biting and no mistake, and you know exactly what it is they wish to gorge themselves on, and, as luck would have it, you have just finished tying a new batch of them – the best imitations you have ever produced.

Oh what a day you have in prospect. If only you had brought your rod!

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