A fishing intermission

I paused for thought before writing this one, unsure of whether to amalgamate it into the report on the next leg of my trip or not. Then my mind wandered to the next conundrum—which category to include it in, or whether to make it a new post, or even a new page altogether! Okay, I didn’t go that far, but it is still a frightening aspect of this site for some of us, akin to entering a dark abyss from which we see no end in sight. Pretty sure I frittered away an entire winter in a forlorn attempt at establishing the entirety of the differences between a “post” and a “page”, and never cracked it! Anyways… here it is. A post with even less fishing action than usual, none in fact. Well apart from maybe a surfcaster I captured in the background of one of the photos, or was that actually a Chinese man clutching a tripod? Unsure. Enough babbling Troutophile! Here it is, my report about not doing any fishing at all.

For the next few days I decided to call an intermission on my marathon angling adventure. I had batteries  in need of charging—both metaphorically and literally—memory cards to clear, and footage to be saved to my laptop and external hard drive. And on top of all that, it was a lovely wee town that proved hard to leave. The library was most convenient, and the beach was really something special. There’d recently been a driftwood art competition there, and the sculptures had remained. I spent the nights wandering the beach—beer in hand—admiring them, but for me it was the dramatic, and very changeable, cloud formations, and dazzling sunsets which were the main draw cards.

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013Guess they didn’t get around to making the angler, but he’d obviously be furthest on the left!

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Due to the far more public nature of this place than what I’d become accustomed to, and in the interests of discretion, my Wilson this time was of a live nature. Good company, he was, appearing every night on dusk and hopping inquisitively around me. However, on my last night there he betrayed me, glancing up at me one final time, before turning, and hopping off into the sunset with a couple of new-found buddies. Judas! I mean, Wilsonnnn! Don’t worry, it was dark and most people had vacated the beach so I’m fairly certain no one witnessed that.

050Wilson on his nightly visit

049Wilson about to turn Judas and leave me, prompting the inevitable Wilsonnnn! cry.

Wandering dejectedly back to the car, I encountered some hippies, who generously pulled up, and offered, a seat for me—a log—beside their impressive bonfire. Highly skilled in the art of bonfire, they obviously were. I didn’t doubt they’d had plenty of practise. I stayed a while, until the conversation became a little too “heavy”, which soon began to ruin my “vibe”. Thanking them for their hospitality, I split back to the car, and off to the nearest DOC campsite. They were nice, genuine people, but I was done fretting over the worries of the world.

My time at the campsite was also a pleasant experience, as it’s probably the nicest one I’ve visited. For some reason the sandfly and rat numbers are few, and a couple of families of Weka roam it’s perimeters, waiting for any opportune “YOINK!” moments that inevitably arise. Always makes for good comic value. This oasis from sandflies was also hard to move on from, and I ended up spending three nights here, having many interesting conversations with a few of the site’s transient population. Finally, I had to give myself a good slapping, and a stern reminder of what this trip was about! After all, the fine weather window wouldn’t last forever, and was in fact threatening to close! With that in mind, I departed this cherished place. With food stocks replenished, and a treasure trove of pleasant memories, I headed for the next destination.

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