Unlocking the lake

I'm not really a still water angler. I mean, I've caught plenty of lake fish on lakes from boat or shore but I can't say I've built up a knowledge base of deep dark secrets. I can hold my own in river mouths that tip into lakes and in fact, when I think of 'lake fishing' I sort of mentally conjure up images of casting across or along a rip where a stream or river enters a lake and where fish arrive either on a mission to spawn, to seek shelter in the invariably cooler water of the stream, or to hunt prey where the current focuses food.

Where I'm not so good is the winter shoreline stuff in Rotorua, when fish return to their original release point to spawn. I've spent an inordinate amount of time casting into the darkness, retrieving slowly or sometimes incredibly s-l-o-w-l-y as prescribed by Milo, a master of the sport. One form of this sport involves casting out a "heave and leave" floating glo bug on a 20cm short leader following a DI7 shooting head. When in Rome.

A gathering

In 1996, The All Blacks won their first ever series over South Africa, in South Africa. Brian, Andre, Al, Milo and I watched that match in a small bach on the shoreline of Lake Rotoiti. We'd fished hard and I remember that (true to form) Milo had caught 2 large fish, one at Rotoiti and the other from the shoreline of Lake Okataina. I'd got nothing. As usual. We'd hired the house and I only remember vague bits and pieces of the weekened.

Time travel forward to 2018. 22 years, a lot of waistline pounds, much international living and heaps of grey hair later, we'd managed to conjure up a weekend where we all could shake off family duties and reconvene. We'd made various iterations of the trip before but all of us in one place? Not for 22 WHOLE YEARS.

As it happened, I couldn't get down on the Friday night. I was tired and had too much going on at work. I love driving but felt it wasn't worth the risk of getting there to be on the road as late as I would be. I left @ 06.30 on Saturday and by 10.20 was at the hut. Andre and Milo were in residence. Dre looked wretched; he was unwell and needed sleep. Milo filled me on on happenings. He, Brian (2) and guest Stu had all taken a fish the night before.

BJ

Milo had another early in the morning. I unpacked, and went to grab my #8.... in the tube was my 11 weight! I'd made an error at some stage. A Bad one too. Milo had a spare #8 so eventually I got my crap together and went down to the pipe where Al was set up. I got sorted out and settled in for a day's fishing. 5 hours went by and I thoroughly enjoyed the social aspect of the spot with lots of coming and going, even if nary a fish showed itself. Al and I stayed in place while anglers came and went. I felt like a change of pace so went back to the hut to rig up a floating line for the evening session. The guys all had plans. I went along for the ride; hardly as if I knew what I was doing.

With a Super New Moon, wind and showers I expected a good evening. We fished mostly together a tiny stream mouth and I fished with confidence over the change of light. Then back to the hut for a meal and a recharge, I left my last push until 9pm then went out. The guys mostly retired before 11.30 but I stuck at it. Nothing.

When I left at 05.30 the next morning, everyone else was comatose. I was home as a huge weather front proceeded to flood the Coromandel region. Al, who stayed late to fish (and was rewarded) too an agonising 6 hours to get home. I was done in just over 3....

Al scores

Thanks lads. Good times.