“THE BEAUTY”

The middle of winter, 3 rd of July
Full moon, black clouds, couldn’t see the sky
“Glad I’m not fishing” as I went off to bed
“Not like you, going soft?”, wifey said

It was quarter to eleven on a dark wet night
We’d just got settled, got a hell of a fright
The phone rang, it was Bert on his cell
Whooping and hollering, raising hell

“On my way back from Ruato Bay”
Not like Bert with so much to say!
“I’ve caught a beauty” he sang down the phone
“Just landed it now, on my way home”

I said “That’s nice, do you know the time?’
“I’ve caught a brownie, it’s in it’s prime”
Curses, yelling, lots of joy
He lets out a whoop, not being coy

Now as a fisherman I don’t tell lies
Share all our info on making good flies
But this tale I tell is all O.K.
The monster caught at Ruato Bay

Now we come to the part where you think I jest
But this isn’t funny, Bert forgot his vest
Net, fly’s, priest and torch
All at Ngongotaha, back on his porch

There’s only one other fishing the bay
Bert sidles up, says “Gidday”
“Can I borrow a fly” says a Bert in need
“Any old thing should do the deed”

“Scotch Poacher do ?” came the reply
“Should do” says Bert, gives it a try
Flings line and fly onto the lake
Pretty soon he feels a good solid take

Take pity on the stranger who lent the fly
It’s all enough to make you cry

Out of the blocks like Ian Thorpedo
The trout takes off like a speeding torpedo
With Bert hanging on, both hands on his rod
At first he thinks “It’s a bloody big cod”
But it wasn’t a cod as soon you’ll see
He was at Rotoiti, not at sea

Like being towed by a 150 merc
The trout and Bert go berserk
Being spooled by the Ruato hog
And still he grips that 5 weight rod

Our quick thinking Bert’s not complaining
With a hop, step and jump he’s one foot planning
Out to the Dump, Pipe and Transformer
Bert doing slalom’ what a performer

So here is Bert being towed by a trout
A big fresh brownie your beginning to doubt
If your thinking “It’s a bit of a tale”
Take pity on Bert, he’s thinking “Whale”

Out of Ruato the trout did run
Bert skiing behind thinking “Oh what fun”
Around the lake then back to the bay
How many miles, who can say?

As for the trout, you have to admire
After all these miles, beginning to tire
The trout must have thought “It must be time”
As Bert slowly retrieved his line

Use your thinking and you will see
Bert in the bay on hands and knees
Trying hard to evict the trout
Heaving on large tail and snout

Onto the sandy beach he finally threw it
Slipped in his hand, nearly blew it
A struggling biggy flew through the air
What a sight, what a pair!

The moral of this little tale
Is we fish for trout, not for whale
And perchance we leave gear behind
Lend us a fly, if you’ll be so kind

Just to recap the story so far
Bert’s on his way home, phoning from his car
He caught a huge trout at Ruato Bay
Now comes the time when he has to pay

That night when he finally got home
He called everyone on his cell phone
To tell them all of his very good night
Of the trout putting up such a great fight

He borrowed a mates front end loader
Couldn’t find a small bulldozer
Transported the fish up the path
Through the window into the bath

So excited didn’t sleep that night
Kept looking, smiling, wanting to skite

He rang me again the very next day
And still he had a lot to say
Couldn’t decide what to do with the fish
Sap it, mount it, make it a dish

Now Bert tells me he thinks there’s another
Perhaps a sister, father, brother or mother?

And now we come to scale and tape
Of weights and measures, colour and shape
Nineteen pounds, one ounce it tipped the scales
Pretty good size for a small Killer Whale

Eighty seven centimetres from nose to tail
A glorious fish I’m told
Four inch span across the back
The colour of burnished gold

That beautiful fish lies in state
At Ray Ports it awaits it’s fate
A stuffer of fish and other such game
His work attracts world acclaim

So if your driving out Ruato way
And have some time to spare
Take time to cast a line and fly
Into the lovely clean air

Now I know that Raglans got one
But one thing I need to say
If we speak nicely to the right folks
Rename Ruato, Whale Bay

I know you think “A very tall tale”
“This guys telling porky pies”
But look on the wall at O’Keefe’s shop
And believe your very own eyes

After the trophy is mounted and when Bert is able
The trout surrounded by rocks, centerpiece of a coffee table
Swimming naturally, encased in glass
It’s going to show Bert’s got class

I’ve enjoyed recounting this saga to you
Hope you smiled, laughed loudly too
Nothing much else to say of the bay
Here end the gospel

P.S. The name Robinson I’m sure is Scotch
And the word Poacher covers a lot
To be given such a fly that night
Is quite ironic, think I’m right

EWAN PILCHER