IN CAMP IN NEW ZEALAND 275 



try to disentangle it the firmer it is held, and in the end you 

 have not only most decidedly lost your temper, but fly, and 

 probably cast as well. I have heard language on those occasions 

 that would turn a team of oxen ! 



Soon after breakfast Mr. C. and I got on to our horses, each 

 with a rod ready for action ; saddle-bags, made out of a sack 

 contained waders, billy, luncheon, &c., and carried home the 

 catch. Thus we rode up or down along the river, through the 

 everlasting manuka scrub, sometimes disturbing a hare or quail, 

 starlings, or a hawk, wild pigs rarely, but always bunches of 

 wild horses, each led by a stallion, and " shags," darters, a very 

 destructive bird to the young trout. Prospecting the river as we 

 rode along, we tried for any decent fish discovered and what 

 sport it was ! On some days the trout would rush at the fly as 

 soon as it touched the water, while on others nothing would 

 tempt them, even if the fly was frequently changed and dangled 

 in front of their noses, almost for hours together. The fish 

 would quickly dart aside, but immediately return to his former 

 position, and apparently never even notice the beautiful governors, 

 claret hackles, and peverils so artistically displayed for his 

 approval. The first-named was the favourite fly, and took 90 

 per cent, of the fish landed. On one occasion I had already 

 caught three beautiful trout with the same governor, and the 

 Maori boy was trying to get a fourth a very lively fish into 

 the landing-net, when in the struggle my cast broke close to the 

 fly. I exclaimed, " What a pity ; there goes my best governor! " 

 but the boy, having secured the fish, answered, " Oh ! no, here 

 it is in his mouth, and another one with it," a peveril, which 

 evidently had not long adorned the captive's lip. Difficult as 

 the fishing is, the satisfaction of at last hooking a good fish after 

 repeated failures is very great, and the handling and landing 

 him afforded much enjoyment. On several occasions I took the 

 Maori boy with me, who was very keen and skilful at seeing a 

 fish in the water. He was an excellent boy, but his costume 

 seemed somewhat peculiar. Poki always wore a thick blue and 

 black striped woollen jersey and coat, however hot the day ; a 

 grey felt hat, terribly the worse for wear, with a once yellow 

 puggarie and crimson feathers. His trousers were badly rent 

 behind, the rent, however, generally filled by a casually protruding 

 shirt-tail ; while his boots threatened every moment to separate 



