The second Taupo Tale is "Dry Fly Success" about Alistair and Murdoch having a very wet weekend fishing on the Tongariro.
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"NIPPED IN THE BUD"
Alistair stopped in the middle of the swing footbridge and peered down into the depths of crystal clear water flowing powerfully below. Murdoch came alongside and they searched out the bouldery bottom for resting trout in New Zealand's famed Tongariro River.
"There were two here yesterday morning," informed Alistair, "lying beside that triangular-shaped boulder. It seems a favourite holding spot, but they don't stay long."
"Yeah, it's too exposed," replied Murdoch. "Either they'll be in the Breakfast Pool below the bridge or in the Hydro above. This pool is just a corridor between the two pools."
"I've yet to see anyone catch a fish under the bridge. Lots of people try, mainly new chums. Yesterday two guys were here complete with fancy landing nets.""That proves they're beginners. They think they're fishing some bloody chalk stream."
The morning air was crisp and invigorating. Frost lay on the bridge decking. The sun was yet to show its head. A perfect winter's day was in the making.
"Well, where shall we go?"
"I can see five rods in the Major Jones," replied Murdoch, as their attention was drawn downstream.
"I don't feel like barging in there. We need some exercise. Let's head upriver and find a pool to ourselves."
They made their way across the bridge and followed the track through the bush alongside the river to pass the Hydro Pool. This pool is conventionally fished from the other side, but it is always tempting to dangle a line from the steep, rocky bank. The tricky part is landing the fish having hooked it. Murdoch clambered down the bank to the mouth of the little stream that flows into the Hydro Pool and began to roll cast his line into deep water.
Alistair approached the pool from the top end. Already there were three anglers fishing from the other side, which is gently sloping and allows for deep wading. Alistair grimaced at the black submariner who was hogging the pool. Alistair, by habit was a thigh boot wader (gym boots in summer), and considered anglers using chest-waders often to be a nuisance on the river. Locally, called submariners, always they seemed to tiptoe precariously to the middle of the river, with water lapping the gunwales, making it difficult for anglers of other persuasion to achieve a strategic position on popular pools.
Suddenly the scream of a reel rent the crisp morning air. Murdoch leapt into action as his rod arched gracefully to the water and the taught line moved steadily down towards the tail of the pool about fifty yards distant. Alistair was quickly close by and reeled in to watch the battle.
"I think it's a brownie and a big one," spluttered Murdoch, who was clasping his reel to prevent any further run. "The bastard won't come up. He's a dead weight. What'll I do?""Just take your time." encouraged Alistair, now sitting on a large boulder in the warm rays of the early morning sun. "You're really in a bit of a fix, y'know Murdoch."
On this side of the Hydro Pool it is impossible to move down the bank to follow a fish as it is cliffy with deep water. If a big fish is hooked all you can do is to try and crank it in once it has tired out a bit. This is often successful with hen rainbows which tire relatively quickly from their aerobatic antics. With the brownie it is a different story. When hooked they usually dive for the bottom and often wind the line around a boulder and so escape capture. Murdoch was having no luck. After fifteen minutes the fish was still on the move but deep down. Every inch of line it took was into faster water and closer to the rapids.
"If he goes any further I'll lose my line," cried Murdoch, "I can't crank him in cos I've only got a six pound leader, it's hopeless!"
"You silly bugger, I've told you always to use at least a ten pound leader. No wonder you keep losing fish." bawled out Alistair.
Murdoch's predicament had not gone unnoticed on the other side of the pool. The wading anglers were taking a professional interest mingled with amusement. Suddenly, from nowhere, two more anglers burst upon the scene at the tail of the pool and began wading out. Alistair watched in amazement as these obviously new chum anglers, with landing nets bristling, began to cast out near where Murdoch's fish was engaged in a desperate tug-of-war."Get the hell out of it you silly buggers!" roared Murdoch, "can't you see I've got a fish on down there!"
"Get stuffed mate ---- Erh --- Erh --- I've got one too." came wafting across the water.
"Stop it you thieving bugger!" roared Murdoch, who boggled with amazement as he watched his big brownie succumb to the fancy landing net and be taken ashore. The interloper held up the huge fish for all to see and then hightailed it off through the lupins to their car parked at the end of the road.
Murdoch was exploding like a Catherine Wheel. Then it was all over. His rage dissipated.
"Well I'll be buggered --- that was probably the biggest trout I've ever hooked and I've had it pinched!"
Alistair had recovered from his bellyache laughter.It's your own silly fault, you know. If you had used a stronger leader you'd have got him in sooner."
"I guess you're right," admitted Murdoch. "What really hurts me is to see that fine fish being scooped up in that stupid landing net. They should be banned from the river!"
"Together with chest-waders," added Alistair for good measure. "Well, that's what you call a good dose of experience. Let's get on upriver and find some pools to ourselves, far from the madding crowd".
El Fin