Sunday...

As I walked up the Awakat.. Hutt (River), really you are not supposed to say river, just Hutt, the clouds loomed with bluntened menace above the Western horizon. A gent with a beard said he had seen some trout activity near the far shore below the rail bridge.

I thanked him and walked across the single file pedestrian bridge beside the railway. A sign told me that this was to close on the 28th Feb. The sign didn't know if it would reopen. I thought that this might be the last chance, and access is a little difficult, involving crossing several small islands and that would be impractical at high tide. I momentarily considered the grammar of the last sentence, thought never mind , and walked to the tail end of the stretch of water in the assumption that the trout would face upstream. The breathless wind rippled the water no more than the inactive trout. Nevertheless they knew I was here! Slow and methodical, don't grate the stones, fish can hear or feel vibrations. After a few minutes a light shower made ringlets on the surface. This was good. I would be less visible. After a while they started rising again. 

The sun had risen over Moera Heights and was gazing through the clearing clouds when I disassembled my fly rod. I'd been using the dry fly and nymph configuration recommended by the sport shop in Petone. The trace line had tangled around the dry fly possibly explaining my increased lack of success. But I didn't mind going home with an empty bag. Like life, often it's the seeking and wondering that is as much fun as the accomplishment.  

 Have fun boys, but don't sin.