Mid-Week Run to Wingspan and Fish & Game Hatchery 15 th March Text by Alastair Jones. Photo’s by Deidre Rennie The nudge to my ribs woke me up and the question “know what today is” really got me going. “Special day dear I responded?” “Yeah right, get with it, it’s the run to Wingspan and the hatchery, are we going?” The hatchery sounded good and bought back memories of family holidays spent freedom camping at Mission Bay Taupo with trout caught from the hastily constructed collection of bits of wood that passed as a boat. The British Seagull must have caused the invention of “Start ya Bastard” and all the trout I ever caught casting a fly could be counted on the finger of one hand. Even though we did the last visit to Wingspan, I remembered the odd pukeko and hawk my mate and I had knocked off to get feathers to trade for flies from old Bruno Kemball at the “Red Spinner” at Hatepe. Clearly this was a chance to continue my redemption to all the abused raptors, so The Trout hatchery tanks create interest lunch was hurriedly put together and the “Elf” loaded to the plimsoll line cruised up to the high point of the Direct Rd where the lovely Singer Gazelle belonging to Trish and Tony Burgess caught us up. Arriving at the hatchery we were confronted by a solitary Murray Burt looking as concerned as we felt by the absence of other vehicles. They gradually arrived and at the suggestion of Barry Utting that a cup of coffee might warm up the proceedings, the smoko gear was broken out. Thus revived, the occupants of about 15 vehicles strolled up the gravel paths through the bush which offered protection to the elements very effectively judging by the lack of damage from the preceding days of record rainfall. The trout in the streams were friendly little chaps who delighted in providing an escort for us by darting back and forth. The first stop was a large building which housed the trout equivalent of a Used Car lot with every model of trout I’d never heard of, cruising tantalising close behind a piece of glass. One that caught my eye was the Brook Trout which are to be found in the Hinemaia Dam which supplies power to Taupo town. Bruno in his rich English brogue honed on the chalk streams of England, reckoned all you had to do was “wade out up to your tits in the water and Trout being clipped before release cast out heaps of line, and any mugs can catch them”. Well, I didn’t and this one was the first I’d been close to. There was also a sort of albino one which was blue with envy at the normal ones because it didn’t have any reproductive organs and was doomed to a very dull life. Someone said they were fin clipping up the track a bit, so with a bit of a spurt on I found most of the group hanging around two chaps in waders flashing little clippers in the sunlight. The shallow containers had hundreds of beautiful little trout that were having two fins removed in accordance with some arrangement that identified which year they were released.
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