Geoff Thomas: Trout's allure like no other

A trout is like a spirit which taunts the angler. Photo / Geoff Thomas

A trout is a fish.

But it is not that simple. For surely a fish cannot drive people to drink or destroy friendships and marriages yet elevate a person to the greatest heights of satisfaction and achievement. A trout can, and often does.

A trout is like a spirit which taunts and beckons, something out in the cold darkness of a lake or deep in a pool; something which demands its pound of flesh before offering itself. For every angler must pay his dues, and the scales always balance the investment of time and effort with the rewards.

For every red-letter day there is a fishless one. Perhaps we don't realise because we tend to recall only the best day. That is human nature.

That great fish, the marlin, impresses with its brilliant electric colours at the moment of striking the lure and shocks with its violent power. The shark terrifies and awes with its remorseless savagery.

But these creatures are battling not just an angler, but a heavy boat and a rod that can hold an ox. In death their colour fades to that of dull meat.

The trout offers a continuing romance; the angler extending himself through the delicate line and sensitive rod to connect with his quarry. It is a one-on-one contest, particularly for the fly fisher. When dead the supple grace and shining colours of the trout endure. What other creature continues in allure after death?

Game fishermen and trout anglers share a common regard for the fish they seek. Unless a specimen is wanted for its value as a trophy, to be preserved, or for official weighing as a record catch, it will be released. To others, a good fish for the table is just as worthy. While the intangible value of a fish cannot be measured or compared, each is equally important. The fly-only, no-kill philosophy does not impress the youngster who catches his first trout on a worm or a spinner. But hopefully he will grow to accept some of that philosophy.

It is a sad state when angling and environmental pressures reduce once-great fisheries to artificial put-and-take waters. In some places all fish caught must be returned to the water. This is the case in many countries, but fortunately New Zealand still has the resources, awareness and time to prevent it happening.

Most anglers go through a stage where it is important to build up a score and kill as many trout as possible. As most proponents of the catch-and-release philosophy went through the same stage, any criticism should be delivered with care. But more trout anglers are aware that rivers cannot take excessive pressure, and that a good percentage of fish caught should be released. They are also aware of the threats from proposed electricity generation schemes and development of catchment areas where pine trees replace native bush.

With youngsters now also aware of the values of conservation and management based on those principles, the prospects are good. But it has been costly. The golden days have gone, along with the codes of ethics and unwritten laws which determined how men behaved on the river.

Just as tackle and techniques have changed, so have many of the values associated with sport fishing - some for the better. But provided we learn from the past, the losses will not have been in vain. The need to release fish of all species is a constant reminder that the care and future of our fisheries are in our hands.

In certain places it is desirable to harvest the trout to ensure a healthy fishery, particularly lakes where stocking is necessary to maintain the population, or there is excessive natural regeneration. But that does not lessen the value of each fish. The trout remain the same, and if we do not treat them with respect and appreciate their value, we will be the ones to suffer.

It may be difficult for people to understand the passion the big-game hunter or angler feels towards his quarry. The American outdoor writer Robert Ruark had spent months chasing kudu, the holy grail of African safari hunters, and said he would rather own the kudus he did not shoot than collect a record trophy by a main road, or have it wander into camp looking for instant taxidermy.

"None of it is any good unless you have to work for it, and if the work is hard enough you do not really have to possess the trophy to own it," said Ruark.

"The value of a trophy is computed directly in terms of personal investment in its acquisition."