“Bugger it I said , lets go anyway” We packed up and were in the wagon heading for the coast. A pall of thin cumulus spilled over the rugged Remutaka rampart. A stiff NW harried the tree tops and hedge rows as we gunned through the countryside.
At the beach a soapy murk was close in and waves slapped the gravel shore.. Out in the blue water rows of white caps danced their crazy jig. The lake mouth was choked.. The suffocating breeze whipped sand at us.
The beach was deserted save the gulls wheeling in the gale and few hapless tourists hunched against the onslaught.
After a few minutes we packed up our rods and tackle and were soon having a beer and fizzy at the Ferry hotel. A few travellers lunched on fish and chips and antipastos.
On the wall hung a yellowed topo of the valley depicting ridge and river, fen and hill.
I said looking at the zigzags of river “lets try the flood gates” It was stark and vacant at the barrages. Angus went to inspect the waterway. Returning quickly he pressed his index finger to lips. He whispered feverishly “there’s fish Dad loads” Soon we were casting and retrieving through the shoals. But alas none of the trout lures piqued their interest at all. We tried bars,grim reapers, black and gold tobies, Mepps winged lures.
In desperation I discovered a single sabaki with about five centimetres of line. By rigging this to an old trout spoon i was fishing with what can only be described as jury rig. I was ecstatic as my rod curved and drag whined. This frankenbeast wasn’t pretty but by jove it worked .
We were soon driving up the scenic route home with a few mullet and perch to have for tea. A perfect turn of events.
