It’d been REALLY hot. Greymouth’s temperature reached the highest since records began in 1947, then strong winds were added to the mix. Followed by an earthquake.
Matey indicated he was on for a trip so, after an aborted attempt due to the winds, we fixed a new date, watched the forecasts and threw a six to start again. The pattern of very high temperatures continued, then it blew again. Durn it, we’ll go anyway.
On the way to the lake there was the usual banter and exchange of information from the murky vaults containing our vast knowledge of all things related to, well, anything! Some of it was true. The lake would be shallow and warm so we discussed creeks around Brunner, with cooler water flowing out. The creeks were thirsty, with little water, so we needed to find slightly deeper water without the weed close to the surface.
We drove on and slipped the Silver Frog into the water and pulled the starter rope; nothing, then nothing again, and yet again. Matey noticed the wee red clip under the rubber shut-off button had detached. Click, back on, pull, roar, off and away.
Luckily, the wind dropped as we tried various spots but no fish were sighted. Brunner was a metre below its usual level and some areas were quite dirty, possibly from waterfowl, while other places were too shallow, tangling flies in weed, which was much closer to the surface than usual. We moved to more promising deeper water with a rocky bottom. Yeah, nah. One fish appeared, enquired of the fly, but no take. We persevered, searching and casting into nooks and crannies.
When the lunch bell tolled, we took a break and it happened. The moment the sammies were broken out, a trout finned slowly past. With frantic fumbles I got the fly out, but it had gone, and the fly had gone as well…. into a sunken log.
After lunch, we worked our way further along until another fish had a nip at the fly, but it also decamped. Three fish seen, none taken, the heat was searing so time to go home.
Back at the ramp, some arrogant, self-entitled, ‘fizz boater,’ left his 4WD and boat on the ramp while he went away to yap with someone along the beach. He could see others waiting to use the ramp but chose to ignore them, perhaps to show how important he was, in his own mind anyway. They’re out there folks.
Back home, Matey kindly helped park up Silver Frog.
I’d been in good company as he’d spent some years as a guide. One thing I did learn from him, which he advised AFTER we’d finished fishing, was apparently fish go off the feed after an earthquake. This was corroborated by a fisherman mate who braves the Tasman. We’d been shaken but the fish hadn’t stirred.
