Crowds - heralds of good fishing

Back in the '80s when I was a 'young fella', I remember seeing the pools of the Tongariro bristling with anglers and it was common to see most hooked up at once when the fish were running. Of recent times the river has undergone a sort of renaissance in that fish size and quality is returning on a more consistent basis and as a result there are more people fishing. And judging by some of the 'casting' on display, it looks as though a fair number of beginners are getting into it. This sort of pressure leads to some interesting behaviour and the old 'upstream vs downstream' arguments arise from time to time. There are well published etiquette rules so I'll leave that alone, needless to say if I want to fish a pool already occupied, I always ask first just to get the other angler's intentions sorted. And anyway, its not really 'combat fishing' of the sort you see photos of from overseas, where you might have anglers shoulder to shoulder flailing at any particular stretch. That would be worse than awful.

A couple of rules still hold true - if you want to fish clean water, get your ass out of bed early, rug up, brave the frost and be first on the pool of your choice. Not always easy when the other early birds share those habits. I'm lucky enough to have a labrador who has breakfast around 5am 5 days a week, and she happily reminds me of the time on those other 2 days. A paw in the face is better than any array of ringtones that the crew use as wake up alarms on trout and duck adventures. The faithful piranha clocked me in the chops around 5am. The crew arose. By sunup I sat aside the run I wanted to fish, fumbling in the low light to tie on a fly. Doh. I swung the first bucket with high anticipation, the little Trout Spey HD #3 sending the payload again and again. Such a great little rod, firing a 270gr head, 10' of T-8 (SA TC Tip) and a 4.6mm tungsten bead fly with ease. I kinda showed off to myself by rolling out (after a fashion) single spey casts - very efficient but not really recommended with Skagit gear. You wouldn't be doing that with 12' of T-14 on a #6 anytime soon. Layla told me another angler was approaching, just as I'd finished the top bucket. Not even a hit. 

I made the short walk to the next section as another 2 anglers came in above . One peeled off and approached, he carried a single hander and told me he'd hooked and lost a couple of fish here the day before. It's heavy water, so if the fish makes a break for the lower rapid you're in trouble. The other guy moved downstream as I began my journey through the pool. The first hit jogged trough the line but didn't secure a hookup. A few casts later and midstream the fly was intercepted. The fish behaved by swimming up the swift current rather than dragging me downstream. I bent the rod into him - the fly was tied on a Kamasan B175 - that hook will not bend under any pressure a fly rod can exert. Netted and with the fly twisted out, the coloured up jack darted out into the current.

Round about then, a guy approached on the far bank and waded in.... right where I was landing my fly. Even better, he waved to his 3 compadres  in alongside him. One carried a very dark dead fish, and that combined with their inability to cast revealed the truth - newbs. Even though my blood pressure was elevated, that revelation made me re-evaluate my initial instinct to tear them a new one. My fly landed between 2 of them when the line came tight in the shallows at their feet. Damn snag. I pulled hard. It felt more like I was dragging a log... I'd been here before... fish on! A cast perpendicular to the current if taken early by a fish, is subject to bellying in the system so it may not feel like a fish per a more direct downstream contact. The earlier chap was walking back upstream when the fish woke up and bolted to the heavy tailout above the rapid. I leaned hard on what felt like a hefty specimen, and the fish came upstream before turning and lighting the afterburner. Over the rapid. The hook pulled. I vacated the run to give the other guy a shot. 200m downsteam I jumped into a run that we have named a terrible unmentionable word... originally named before this run had reshaped into a very decent holding lie, its now first class water. I'd barely started when the 4 amigios tromped downstream and entered the water opposite... walking straight into fish holding water. I soon hooked up, netted and released another dark jack. Enough. Anglers were everywhere. Time to move.

A drive. Cars parked everywhere. A 20 minute walk. Fresh footprints. Layla bumped a hen pheasant. A cool breeze blew off the mountains. I was glad for my woolly hat, gloves and puffer jacket. Even the brisk walked wasn't causing undue overheating. I arrived at the run and it looked good, a right hand crescent with deeper water on the TLB, a broad shingle bar, and most importantly, peace and quiet. In deep contemplation I began to swing the run. What a beautiful day. A skein of Canada geese passed overhead. A slight downstream breeze dictated that the cast would be a double Spey. Sometimes I struggle with this cast due to blowing the anchor so that gave me a focal point. At the point where normally a fish crops up the line came tight and a tail boiled on the surface. The #3 bent like a noodle as the fish porpoised throwing spray. A cool little fight ensued and I'd barely netted the fish when Layla sparked up - walking upstream came Greig! He'd already fished the run through, taking fish on a more or less regular basis. Damn. Fishing behind the master is akin to following a Labrador Retriever while looking for tidbits of food. He'd seen my fish splash on the surface so had come to investigate. We swapped stories for a while, snacked on duck beirstick and then he was off. I continued to cast and swing, cast and swing and by the end of the run had hooked and landed no less than 5 fish.

It was nearing lunchtime and the water deepened - by the time I was hip deep I knew I had a leak in my waders - it was cold! My left leg and foot were saturated. Walking back upstream I poked my head into a pool that looks simply uninviting. A huge back eddy deflects a swung line and if you lack confidence the inclination would to be to strip back and cast again. Here's the thing; that very same back eddy moves the fly backwards and forward through the lie and you can be fooled into thinking nothings going on when BOOM the fly is hit. I should mention that the far bank is covered in fly eating overhanging bush, and that the head of the lie is protected by a gnarly snag. I made a long cast, drooping the fly in 45 degrees downstream and right on the far bank. The head swung across the current and had only merged with the back eddy when line simply tore from the reel. the first run was a 50m sprint ending well down the slack tail out with a launch and splashy return. I struggled mightily to bring that fish upstream.. through the tailout, through the back eddy and into the pool proper where she flashed in the sun as again and again she darted over the gravel lip into the depths of the pool. Landed, she shone in the sun, a fat egg bearing hen, a truly stunning fish. A few casts later and I hung up on the snag. Disaster struck... rather than pinging the leader, the spey swivel between running line and head broke, taking with it ~ $150 of gear. That's the third time I've broken a head off on a snag but only the first time I've not been able to retrieve the gear. Luckily I'd thrown a 270g SA intermediate head in and always carry a range of tips so I was back in the game shortly after.

I messed around a bit longer, then called Jase to see how he was going. I wandered back to the truck and brewed a coffee in the jetboil then headed up to find him. At the car park Pete's car was parked right by Jase's so I was surprised to not see Pete standing on the bank. Jase boomed out casts on his Sage One 3110 with ease. I sat on the bank, watching before we decided to grab a coffee at the coffee cart and head up to the Mill Race. We'd barely parked up when Greig rolled in. We rigged up and headed off down to the run. A nympher worked the very middle of the run, intersecting the juicy lie at the top, and the sometimes productive tail out. He invited us to get in, so I headed to the tail and began to swing it. The sun dipped towards the hills and the air temp dropped. I needed to marinate the fallow venison back at base so soon after pulled out and headed home. Fire lit, waders and wet gear hung to dry, hot shower. Mike rolled in soon after. I got the meat into a mix of soy, brown sugar, garlic, salt, pepper and chilli flake. We downed a beer or 2 each then I headed to the shop for wader repair glue, which Pete had waiting. A bit of smack talk. I remember: a great meal (veni, kumara chips, fresh salad), a few beers, a bottle of red, turning in relatively early, a pit stop pre midnite (splitting headache) and next thing, a paw in the mush. 

At least she'd waited until 05.45. Waders - dry. Porridge eaten. 4110 Sage One set up. Been a while between drinks for this rod. Karl and I teamed up to hit a run we affectionately call the Pest Pit. Its sweet swinging water. I was parked in by Jase so Karl took off which turned out to be a good thing, as another local guy (guide) was waiting beside the river. Karl and I linked up, crossed, and he let me go first. Guide and partner soon crossed and headed downstream, foiling our plan for later in the morning. I swung the juiciest water and after 2 dozen casts was questioning whether any fish were home when the line came tight. A good tustle ensued. 

The differences between the Trout Spey HD and older One are pretty obvious. The One requires much better timing and line control, its grip is larger in hand and you can haul tree trunks with it. The Trout Spey HD is much nicer in hand, much tippier and a joy to cast. Fights are longer as the rod bends further through the blank. Both are cool. Karl wanted fish for the smoker so the silver jack was smacked on the head, or WABd (Welcome Aboard Bat) as we call it. Karl swung out the rest of the pool and then we headed back to the cars. At the next park there were already 2 cards in residence, Greig and Simon's. A relative crowd... I decided to walk on up but Karl chose a plan B and we parted ways. I called Greig to ask if Simon and Meinrad were near him and he said no, so I scooted along and entered the water at the top of the run.  I saw a couple of guys in the distance and figured it was Simon and Meinrad; soon they popped up on the bank and Layla fired up. They started at the top. I was halfway through when Greig's old Hardy shrieked and he called over his shoulder "Big fish!". I waded ashore and pounded down to him. Hie Meiser had a healthy bend in it and from the depths, silver flashed. I tailed the fish and what a specimen it was! Fat, deep, stunning. 

Back upstream, I continued. Greig finished the run and left for the next spot. I changed my head out for a 330g Int SA Spey Lite - I needed to change something, anything, to get an eat. But that didn't work and I left the run scratching my head as I went. I thought about my next move, but on a whim decided to drop into the hole that I'd lost my head and tip in yesterday. Putting on 10' of T-10 for extra depth, I wondered if the bright, still conditions were more than half the problem. Getting the cast in below the (damned!) snag with enough length to swing the current into the back eddy. Hit. No hookup. I muffed the next cast and was rapidly stripping the fly through the eddy when the water literally exploded and the line was ripped from my grasp. And that first run was at least 80m. The backing knot flew through the guides. I put side strain hurt on and gained line. Finally the fish came to hand, a mind blowing fat little hen, deep and round. 

The next cast barely had time to straighten and swing slowly into the seam when the fly was smashed and a repeat performance unfolded. This time though, the fish was larger and deeper still, a gem of a hen stuffed full of eggs. I pinched myself. 

Wading further down the run I'd made a good cast, the line now clearing the back eddy on its swing when it came tight again, and again I watched the running line shoot through the guides into backing... I struggled back against the current pulling the fish with me. Into the pool proper the fight became more protracted, each time I pulled her to the lip she'd shake, roll and charge into the depths. Finally beached, at least 5lb of chrome lay in the shallows at my feet. Looking at my watch I realised that I'd almost used my allotment of time, maybe another 10 minutes? Wading to my plimsoll line I put in a long cast. The fly swung through the holding water. Below the eddy. Into the slow slow stuff on my bank. The line came tight. I thought it was a snag until the hook bit and the fish flashed across the river. Despite being smaller the fish gave a great account of itself and a beautifully coloured rose cheeked pre-spawner came ashore. What a way to finish.

The walk back to the truck was more like riding a magic carpet. As I passed over the main road bridge, the pool held 7 rods that I could count. They're there for a reason.

Scaling down

The most interesting fly tying journey I've taken over the past few years is the redevelopment of steelhead (swinging) flies, especially the scaling down in size to accommodate our local winter lake run fish. A 4" fly here will get eaten, but a 2" variant of the same fly will get a hell of a lot more takes I've figured. In terms of down sizing, there are a few considerations -

• Flies incorporating shanks and swing hooks are limited to a certain small size.
• Materials used have to be down scaled too - trimmed, or in the case of natural materials such as furs and feathers, much smaller variants used.
• For deep buckets, runs and pools, you need to get down in the weeds - or at least get your fly in the fish zone. Microspey in itself limits the size of tips that can be used, so getting weight incorporated in smaller flies needs to be thought through.

Answering the shank & swing hook challenge is easy enough. 3x and 4x long shank hooks allow for single station flies to be constructed. Upside is that flies are scaled correctly. Downside is that one of the key benefits of shank & swing hook flies is that the hook can be changed out if it dulls or is damaged. We lose that advantage. But we'll get more eats so its a win. Alternatively, trimming the shank and running the swing hook directly at the back of the shank is an option, albeit a more expensive one.

Scaling down materials is a much more difficult ask. Zonked pine squirrel and mink replace rabbit. Arctic fox & US possum can be trimmed at the butts. Synthetics require different treatments though, materials such as aqua veil can easily be trimmed back and once proportions are figured, and winging materials reduced in volume as well as length to retain proportions. Once you get the hang of it, (I write down measurements until I get the knack) its not too difficult. Tungsten dumbbells in small and medium size can be secured from tungstenbeadsplus.com. A range of tungsten beads in all sorts of sizes and colours can be sourced locally and globally relatively inexpensively. More difficult is the question of feathers such as schlappen and guinea fowl, which play an integral role in a number of patterns. Searching out and finding smaller feathers is a task in itself, but worth it when you can turn out a pattern half the size of the original. Often times it means using more of the tips of feathers than you might with larger flies, as you would if tying tiny dries.

I have to say that it helps having mates who are in this game too. It would be fair to say that between us we've scoured the globe for materials and patterns, and we've amassed a stupid amount of stuff. (I wonder if the fish appreciate the lengths to which we've gone?!). Because tying is such a small market here, and streamer/intruder/steelhead pattern tying even more niche, its really not possible to source what we want and need locally. 

It may seem a lot of bother to go to, when you could easily tie on a gold bead olive Woolly Bugger, but the fact is that the other guys swinging flies are probably doing exactly that, and in my opinion I'd rather fish a pattern that flows better, moves better, looks better - and get better results.

Cool winds, rising water

I'd left home at 18.30. I didn't want to feel rushed, as it was the first swinging trip of the winter for me I wanted to be thorough in my gear packing. When you're at it all the time , getting everything aboard is pretty much second nature. I was close to an hour out of home when it hit me - I hadn't packed my wading staff... I'd been thinking about pinching down hook barbs with my pliers when I realised that my belt that the pliers live on were attached to the belt to which my fold down staff is also attached... and the belt was still at home, hung behind my office door. Not a critical oversight; with a recreational water release we hadn't planned to cross the river anyways, as it would rise to ~50 Cumecs so crossing would be out of the question. 

Layla and I would meet Jase at Oruatua where we were staying. It was pretty late by the time I rolled in and Jase was already there. We got set up, put together rods, got the dog bedded in the wash house. It was very cold so I was glad of the super warm sleeping bag I'd got for my birthday. And I set the alarm too early. I was up and about at 05.00... the sun wouldn't rise for another 90 minutes... and we don't really fish the more social pools where guys line up pre-dawn to get the hot spot.

Even so, it was too dark for me to tied on a fly when I reached my spot. With dawn glimmering, the trees swayed in the cool breeze blowing from the snow capped peaks and that's the beauty of fishing the Tongariro in winter - its proper cold. Compounding the lack of light was my fingers freezing up. Not that dead still icy cold of a hoarse frost, but the severe southerly wind chill that slowly steals body heat. Only 2 days later I do remember tying up at least 2 new leaders on that first run though... twice I broke off at the leader to tip loop, my biminis breaking both times on snags. I'd put the 360 grain intermediate head on, paired with 10' of T-12. The Sage One 5110 works well when there's breeze to deal with. As the sun came up I settled into a casting rhythm. Upstream, Jase worked a seam that hold fish regulary and is often overlooked. It took about an hour to work my run properly and the hit when it came sent my pulse rocketing. It was in heavy water a few feet above a snaggy mess of drowned trees and thrashed on the surface revealing a shapely wedge tail. I coaxed the fish upstream, inch by inch. Again it raced downstream, stopping before it hit the snags and finally I managed to bring the fish to net, a beautiful chrome bright hen that splashed me on her way home. At the truck we debated where to go next and decided to head downstream to fish water that I'd last fished immediately prior to lock down.

The walk down is pretty relaxing and as the day was warming I'd ditched the puffer jacket in favour of a hoodie. We were surprised to find another angler at the first big pool, so pressed down to the next. Jas gave me the option of going in first and second cast I hooked up on a fish that dragged downstream before leaping. It was quite dark in colour but still strong and shapely, and fought gamely to the beach.

Somewhere shortly thereafter I hooked the far bank and lost a fly, or a leader or both; ultimately I bent on a scaled down pink Senyo's Slim Shady. The hit when It came ripped line and the fish charged downstream. The fight dragged on and with each run I hoped that the hook had taken hold in the gristle of the fish's mouth rather than a softer spot. Each time I brought the fish upstream it ran back down into the current and this happened time and again... finally I coaxed it into slacker water and Jase scooped out a beautiful chrome bright hen of close to 5lb. After a few shots she sped into the depths. 

I continued to work down into the tail out while Jase headed downstream. 

The river began to deepen as I edged along a sand bank, and at my limit I reeled in and headed off down to catch up. The run below was beautiful. I followed Jas down and he caught a couple of crackers. I was back in snag mode... hooking the far bank, trees, well anything really. I was simply rusty. The recreational release hit us just before midday, with the water rising quite fast. We exited the river and walked back to the truck. Coffee, ham and cheese roll, duck bier stick - lunch of champs. Layla sniffed around and grabbed tidbits that we threw her. At the bridge pool we pulled in. The water was murky but fishable. Jase headed into the pool proper while I moved into a back water further down. Changing out the tip to account for the shallower water I began to swing. Nothing. Nada. I went through again. Jase crossed the bridge and entered the water on the far side. Nothing doing, so it was time for a move downstream. There are a couple of bypasses that the fish take which give them gentler passage so when we'd conferred earlier we thought we'd give it a nudge where they joined with the tail out of a large holding pool. Back to the T-12 tip. I pumped off shoulder casts out (the wind had gathered strength) but found nothing in the tail out. A few yards downstream in a gutter the line shuddered and a fish thrashed the surface. Well aware of its surroundings it refused to leave the heavy water and threatened to charge down the rapid... if it did I'd be left standing and now I wished more than ever for my wading staff. I wasnt keen to enter the torrent to forced the fish into the near bank where the water was softer and eventually coaxed it up to the net. Across and up the river, a line of guys fished the 'Troll Hole' and it looked like nothing was doing up there. The water remained high but definitely fishable so I imagined that as fish ran through they'd begin to hook up.

I'd cast a few more times when again the line came tight. This fish seemed more docile and came upstream immediately. I'd taken my net out when it woke up and screamed away. Again I was faced with the delicate balance of stopping a raging fish before it made the rapids, without breaking it... the hook pulled. I worked the water again, carefully covering the bucket but that was it. Back at the truck we made the call to fish the Hydro, one of the most popular pools on the river. Three guys fished ahead of us. Greig appeared on the bank and we had a catch up before combing our way down the pool. Nothing. That was our day. Venison, Vietnamese coleslaw and spuds for dinner. Layla stretched in front of the fire. I slept like a baby. 

And awoke at 5. Old habits. Dog fed. Kettle on. We'd be leaving the house this morning so post breakfast we got the gear loaded in our trucks, cleaned up the house and left in the darkness. This morning we'd swap around, I'd fish the runs that Jas had covered first yesterday and he'd cover the water I'd fished. I entered the lower of the 2 runs, and fished it so so carefully. Not even a tap. Up to the top run. Here I landed a chrome hen fish, hooked and lost another fish and had several hits that didn't hook up. Back to the lower run. Right at its tail out I briefly hooked a fish that simply let go. Moving down to the top of the run Jase had fished I'd barely entered the water when Pete appeared. We stood on the bank chatting and Jase came up. Then I wandered down to a favourite pool. Right about where I thought a fish would be, it hit. And I gained no control whatsoever. For 10 minutes we played each other, the fish never relenting. Up and down the tug of war continued...the hook pulled. I prefer to go hard in order to bank the fish in good condition for release, but maybe I was going too hard? The next fish hit and took to the air. 2 more fish took and were brought to the bank. Then Jase jumped in and snatched a fresh little chromer. On the road to the lower river we ran into Greig coming the other way - he'd fished the runs we were heading for and had one well. We parted ways and continued down. In the pool that had coughed up for me yesterday I had 4 hits and not a single hook up... they felt tentative. Hard to say why or how fish take flies at times but I couldn't connect. After a couple of hours I caught up with Pete and Jase; they both reported hits but no hookups. 

At the truck coffee was brewed. Home time was the call.

Scoot n' shoot

Saturday. With a sick daughter and a bunch of chores stacked up and not getting any of my attention during the waterfowl season, I had a list of things to get done. On top of which I needed to help Tim with moving some of his furniture into his new house. While SWMBO went to an early meeting I got stuck in; clearing a few errant tasks before she returned. Then a trip across town, furniture moved. Back home. Grass cut. Leaky sunroof on truck sealed. Strafed decoys (grrrr) repaired (WHO shoots irreplaceable Body Language decoys anyway????). Another Grrrr just for good luck. By late afternoon I was pretty much on top of stuff. 

SWMBO could see the look on the Black Piranha's face. She was restless. She wants to hunt hard at this time of year. It wasn't actually my suggestion that the dog and I go hunting. I put a call in. Craig said that birds were thin on the ground and very flighty. Today he, Mitch, Mick and Jethro had worked hard for one bird bagged. None the less, I packed dog and human lunches, prepared my vest with an ammo top up, GPS and added a small folding knife and a couple of OSM (One Square Meal) bars. I'd felt fit the previous hunt, so no dramas on that front. 

Its a three hour drive to Craig's and I'd want to be there close after sunrise, mainly to catch the birds out sunning after overnight rain. Just after 8 am I arrived and caught up with Craig and Kathryn. Craig gave me a rundown on the previous day's activities. He'd seen 3 birds and shot one, the other guys hadn't taken a shot. He gave me a pointer on where to start and after parking the truck I set off behind a very excited Labrador retriever. We'd gone only a short way beside the river when with a huge amount of quacking and wing flurrying a mob of ducks took to the air. Layla sped her pace, nose to ground and I was convinced the duck scent had wafted up to her.... no marks out of 10 for me when she bumped a rooster that gave me no chance to shoot. Mental uppercut. Chance blown... but he'd flown down river rather than across, so maybe we could pick him up a little later. 

This stretch of river is great for bird holding, for exactly the same reason as its a pain for fly fishing - overhanging cover. Trees, blackberries, steep banks, deep water. Ugly, ugly, ugly for angling. But oh such beautiful territory for pheasants. The grass was damp so any scent held would be recent. We approached a corner shaded by a large macrocarpa, beneath which was strewn fallen sticks, grasses and flood debris from a high water event. We worked around and into the shaded area. When the bird launched he'd put the tree between us and away he flew making a small series of clucks. Back where we'd come from; clearly he was comfortable on his home turf. I'll use that against him later in the season.

And now we left the tree cover for more open area, with the river separated from the stock paddock by a fence. The fence was festooned with growth, good cover for holding birds. and we hadn't gone far when Layla lit up - there was no doubt that she'd hit a pheasant scent. I got into position while she drove hard into a patch of dead blackberry and a cock bird burst out. He'd cleared the far bank when the oz of #5 hit him flush. Layla marked him, then launched into and swam the river, dragging herself up the far bank, nabbing and bringing the bird back. All in all some really good work on her part. 

2 wet tails

On we went covering a range of territory by the river, all the while ducks and grey teal flushed ahead of us. Through a copse of young trees we pushed, no pheasants at home. Every patch of gorse and scrub was covered. No pheasant. finally we arrived at a bend of the river. Here it turns 90 degrees, and a large tree sits prominently on the bend. And here in the past I'd been undone by a nice bird. Layla was hot. We closed in together and the bird that exploded was safe within a few seconds of flight, I simply couldn't get a bead on him and he made cover. Not only that but across the river, another bird took to the air, cackling his goodbyes to me. 4 birds seen in the first 90 minutes. 

We worked back towards the truck taking an alternative direction but saw nothing further. With plenty of time on my side I'd figured on trying for birds I'd seen a few weeks ago. At the road we came up behind Craig who was moving his cattle into a new paddock. I stopped and let him know my intention to head to the next farm and try the gullies I'd hunted last time. I parked the truck and was donning my hunting vest and figuring out my next move over a refreshing drink and cheese roll, just taking in the scene. Sunny day, slight breeze, cool air, just a lovely winter's day. As I watched a hawk cruise low over a turnip crop to my surprise a cock bird spooked by the harrier leaped,  flew 100m and set down in a gorse clump. Gun ready. Bringing the dog to heel we moved over as quietly as we could, even so the bird took to the air with a huge cackle well out in front and my shot only winged him so he hit the ground running. Over the brow of a hill, through a fence. Layla stopped dead at the fence, unable to get through. Puffing, I arrived on the scene and boosted the dog over and she took off, nose down... and was gone for enough time for me to have to cross the fence myself and go looking. I found her in the next gully, wandering back with a very live bird in her mouth which I retrieved her of. 2 birds in the bag! 

My legs were feeling it now; as opposed to the last hunt I was feeling pretty shattered. I'd figured a plan but had slightly miscalculated my path and ended up climbing up through a steep gully that I'd intended to push down through ... Layla had hit no scent at all on the way up, yet last trip we'd bumped a few birds here. At the top I took a few moments to get my breath back. Time for my final fling. A hillock coated with gorse. Sheltered at its high point by a large tree, providing dry cover. North facing slope to catch the winter rays. Food, warmth, shelter from the wind. And as I knew from last time, a hangout for at least one bird that had flushed unseen with that throaty wattle warble of a cock bird. Quietly with dog at heel we entered from a steep bank above the tree, dropping down into the shaded shelter zone. And Layla's nose hit the ground, she pushed in through the gorse cover and emerged before circling back. The way she charged in to the scrub the second time, I knew she'd seen the bird... and she pushed it hard so that when he boosted from the gorse thicket he presented that perfect oncoming overhead shot that gunners love so much and at the shot he folded, stone dead. Beautiful. 

Done before lunch, finished with a highlight bird. As I wandered back to the truck, Layla continued to hunt, and I stayed close as she covered thickets of gorse. From a prominent point a cock bird saw us and jumped at least 200 m out, undoubtedly one of the birds I'd been told about - spooky and flighty.

At the truck the dog and I shared lunch and talked about the morning's hunt. She agreed that she needed to work closer in early in the day. I promised to touch up a bit on my shooting, that second bird had been a bit of a rusty effort. We both agreed to split the ham, tomato and cheese rolls 50:50. She agreed that a swim in the river to wash some mud off her coat was a good idea, and that for me to throw sticks for her to grab was even better.

After that, we headed home.