The Fishing Paper & Hunting News April 2019 Issue 163

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THE FISHING PAPER & HUNTING NEWS - APRIL 2019

Snapper tugs at heart strings Maurice Keats

In early January, my wife and I spent a week fishing out of Havelock.

The first few days did not go well, with hot sunny days, gusty north westerlies, and little tide flow. We have been fishing this area for around 20 years and this did not come as a surprise, with lots of boats on the water and conditions not ideal for catching snapper. Finally, on the third day, the morning was overcast and the tide running in our favour. We anchored in the Kenepuru at Spot X, set up a nice berley trial, and cast out several stray line rigs. After an hour or so, we hooked up and landed a nice 10lb

snapper, an excellent fish and dinner for that night.

Ten minutes later we had a massive run and, bang, a hook up. This time the fish was really strong and made several big runs. Given that I always fish with 20lb mono and lighter gear (a Penn 965 on an ABU Garcia Veritas rod), my heart was pumping—the fight began. I handed the rod to my wife but, with no gimbal, she struggled to manage the strength of the fish, so reluctantly (not really) I took over. After a few more runs and the typical nodding, we saw a large fish close to the boat and it was now at the critical stage—netting it…But it had other plans.

A few more powerful runs… and then it was finally in the net. I kid you not, but my wife struggled to lift the net into the boat. The joy was soon passed when we noticed the fish had swallowed both hooks and bleeding a lot. I cut the line and put it back in the net and water, but it was still bleeding and showing no response. It would never have survived, so back into the boat (bugger). The snapper weighed in at 23lb a beautiful fish but I would have enjoyed the experience more if the fish was released in good condition.

Maurice would have liked to release this big one

Another good snapper followed and that was enough for the day.

Mouthing trout a luring moment A small bee plummeted into the water only a few metres in front of us—the perfect trout snack . For sure something would take it. We stood under the towering shade of a willow tree, fixated on the vibrating bee. Then out of nowhere we heard a massive splash 40 metres upstream. We glanced at each other and without talking, knew exactly what to do. Three idiots shot upstream to discover a huge hole. I was quick to fling a lure across the hole, which landed with a quiet splash under a willow on the other side.

Daymon and Daniel's trout on display

The three of us lay there on the banks of the Pelorus River around a half-out pile of glowing embers, giving us just enough light to make out each others faces, all of which were gazing up at the stars in awe. Brimming with excitement for what the next day had in store, we struggled to sleep but eventually got there, each dreaming of massive trout.

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DIRECT

We wasted no time in rolling up our mats and sleeping bags, and set off upstream to start our adventure. The morning was slow to

I woke to the calming

FACTORY

sound of nature; a light breeze rustling through the trees, not enough to irritate me but enough to notice, combined with the choir of birds, who were singing to their hearts content and we had a perfect song.

start and, after Daymon and I only managed to land two tiny rainbow trout in the first three hours, we packed it in and popped into Havelock for some much needed grub. We returned to the river, well fed and ready to fish. The sun was in full swing and had no problem burning our backs to the bone. We knew there would be no trout feeding in this heat, or so we thought.

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“Perfect cast, beat that!” I bragged. I turned to Daymon, only to see his rod doubled over and his reel screaming, but he stood no chance, as the fish managed to find a sharp underwater rock ledge… ping… “Bugger!” Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of something darting through the water—five trout were competing for my lure, all following it curiously.

Daniel Crimp

I noticed a school of ten others in the background; this was heaven. By the time I had hooked and lost two, Daymon had rigged up a new lure and hooked another beast, only to be smoked on the same rock. I could see the frustration boiling in the group as we still went without a fish. About ten minutes passed with no takes but plenty of follows, when one silly trout decided to lash out at Daymon’s lure. Unfortunately, it headed straight for the sharp rocky ledge. “Here we go agai…” Before I could finish my sentence, Daymon launched himself off the rock, frantically winding the slack line as he plummeted into the water. Chad and I watched in amazement as he fought the fish while treading water, but what amazed us most was, he managed to get it close enough to grab the trace!

However, the best part was yet to come. While making his way back to the bank, the fish made one last ditch attempted to spit the hook— and it succeeded. The trout flapped on the surface for a second, about to bolt, then, without hesitation, Daymon shot forward and bit down on the fish! What a sight to behold, rod in one hand and a fish in his mouth—high fives all round. After that the flood gates opened, trout after trout, including all three of us hooking up at the same time and frantically running over and under each others’ lines, trying to avoid a tangle. We ended the trip with a total of 10 rainbows and two browns landed, and too many lost to count, as well as a lovely burnt pink back, which Mum and Dad were not too happy about. (Ed’s replies: Leave me out of it son, your mother did all the squealing. I just thought, ‘Chip off the old block.’)

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