Last weekend it rained. And rained and rained. The Tongariro
River got up to a peak of 370 cumecs – it averages mid 30’s in normal flow, so
this would signal major runs of spawning trout. My mate Mike was making his first
serious visit to the river on what would be falling but nicely coloured water.
And his results were great, photo after photo arrived on my cell phone. I’d
almost made up my mind to join what would be a weekend crowd and do some combat
fishing but then I got a message from Craig – a working bee had been called to
get some pretty major work on the hut done. We needed to insulate and Gib the
interior walls, get holes for the plumbing done and a few other bits and
pieces. My job was to cut the roof tiles back as the overhang was too much. The
tiles are Decromastic – tin with grit embedded in the paint. I had to cut them
by hand with snips… and severely underestimated what was needed to get this
done. A couple hours later I was done; in the meantime the other lads had lined
60% of the interior. It’s starting to look like a habitable hut. Earlier in the
day Layla had taken a major shock from an electric fence and ran back to the
truck and cowered there. I brought her back and she spent the morning shivering
under the hut. After a while I got her out and kept her in the sunshine, played
some fetching games and she brightened up, but I’d hoped that we’d be able to
get a walk in for a pheasant, and that looked to play out.
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| Mud. Putting the diff locks to good use |
This has been one of
the hardest seasons for us as the wet cool summer had led to the birds being
smaller than usual at release time and they’d quite simply disappeared into the
bush rather than stay in the farm proper, so I wasn’t expecting too much other
than Layla having a decent run. We said farewell to the other guys (they’d be
staying on at Craig’s) and set off. Layla perked up and got back to her vibrant
self. We worked along the river towards an old bridge – Craig’s dad had given
me the lowdown on where he’d seen some bird hanging out so we were heading in
that direction. When Layla hit the scent she stopped and her nose hit the
ground. I closed up on her as she pushed into a blackberry patch immediately
above the river. A bird flushed and as it appeared I saw it was a cock flushing
directly away from me and across the river. The 1 oz load of #5 caught him
flush and he dropped into the paddock across the river. Layla swam across,
struggled up the steep bank, located and picked the bird and then breasted the strong
current back across to me. She delivered the bird to hand. I was really pleased
for her, it was solid work and she’s really come on nicely in her second season.
The rooster himself was interesting; with pale, almost white wing shoulders he
was quite a trophy and carried one of last year’s wing tags making him a
special bird.
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| White wings |
Ahead of us the resident pukekos made a dash for the bush line at
the base of the hills running along the northern edge of the farm. Pig rooting
told the story of wild porkers coming out of the bush at night. Layla was
working hard and covering territory searching for pheasant scent and I felt
that at any second a rooster may boost. The sun was dropping towards the brow
of the hills as we moved on. I’d decided to take a circuitous route that would
see me coming back towards the old bridge with enough daylight to get back to
the truck before night and the temperature fell. We worked through blackberry
thickets but I was now hunting in the shade and it didn’t feel like a place
where a rooster would tuck up so we moved down towards the river where the
evening sun still provided warmth. Immediately we began to find more game,
first a hare broke cover and I took him with my second barrel. We worked
further when Layla hit a big scent and broke away from me – the rooster hit the
air 30 m out from me with trees in the way and over the river so shooting would
have been futile. I knew that would be the last chance so we picked up the
pace. As the sun began to set the light was incredible with a pink tinge. We
are so blessed to be able to hunt on Craig’s farm that sometimes I just pinch
myself. Back at the vehicle I dried Layla down, fed her, ate some sandwiches, and
drank an energy drink. We drove into the dusk.
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| Dusk. Layla with her prize. |
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