Geoff Thomas: Cherish life's gifts

Geoff Thomas with a trout caught near his bach on Leka Tarawera. Photo / Paul Thomas

I'd like to share a story. A personal one. On May 20, 1968, a newly married young couple borrowed mother's Mini Minor and drove from Auckland to Rotorua, arriving at a lakeside bach at 10.15pm.

A small stream danced past the house and where it expended its energy as it sent a spear of current into the dark, deep waters of Lake Tarawera, big rainbow trout often lurked.

They sucked in the cold stream water as they finned gently on the edge of the sand bar pushed out by the running water, using the darkness to overcome their natural fear of the shallows as they built up the courage to dash up and over the sand bank, leaving a wake like a jetboat, until they reached the sanctuary of a deep bend, hiding under ferns and watercress. The new groom took down a fly rod from pegs on the wall and with a reassuring, "I won't be long," walked down the sandy bank to where the stream chuckled and gurgled as it joined its welcoming bride - the wide, calm waters of the lake. A possum screeched in the dark bush on the edge of the bay. With trembling fingers the groom stripped line from the protesting reel, dropping coils on the sand. A trout splashed 3m away and his heart pounded. Carefully he flicked the rod and line swished through the air.

Two false casts and the line settled on the dark water on the edge of the current, angled so the monofilament trace and dark fly cut across the current, which immediately pushed it around. He slowly gathered a coil in his hand, then another. The line straightened then suddenly tightened in his hand, the rod swept up and a trout splashed angrily.

The rod danced as the fish splashed again and again, then tore line from his hand and the reel screeched as the fish bore away towards the depths.

He reeled madly as the fish swam back, then jumped again with a loud splash. The trout tired against the steady pressure of the rod and line until it lay flapping at the water's edge. The triumphant angler slipped a gumbooted foot under its gleaming flank and flipped it up on to the sand.

Slipping a finger into the gills he lifted the trout and raced back to the house and into the bedroom where he proudly showed his new bride the dripping trophy.

"That's nice," she said.

Roll the clock forward 44 years.

He has taken over a lakeside bach further along the road from the original family place. A tiny stream chuckles past the new house and in winter the trout gather at the mouth and run up the creek to spawn. It is a smaller family these days. The bride, a wonderful mother, is no longer with us, claimed by the scourge of cancer, and 19-year-old Katie has taken on the mantle as the only lady still living at home. Her sisters have their own families.

That first night was a dark one with no moon showing; ideal for night fishing. We carefully stepped out from the tiny beach into the shallows, stripped line from the reel with fingers that trembled just a little, dropping coils in the ankle-deep water, flicked the rod and the line swished. Two false casts and the line settled on the black sheen of the lake, the hand gathered a coil, then another, the line tightened, the rod swept up and a trout splashed angrily.

It leaped and danced in the shallow water before boring out to the depths but the persistent pressure of bending rod and tight line wore it down, leading it into the beach where a gumbooted foot flipped it up on to the sand. With a finger firmly behind the gill plate the trout was raced back to the house and into the bedroom where the dripping trophy was proudly displayed to the lady of the house who sat up, blinking at the light. "First cast on the first night in the new house."

"That's nice," was the response.

The second trout came on the second cast at 5am the next day. It would be nice to be able to report a third one on the third cast, but fishing is not like that. You see, you always pay your dues. There will be a lot more casts with no tug on the line until it balances out.

Isn't it strange how life goes around in circles? We start out in nappies and often finish up in nappies. It is what we do between the times spent in nappies that really matters.

For many, that involves catching a lot of fish and squinting down the barrel at ducks, deer and other critters. It also involves working, and raising families. Long may it last.