162 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Sept. 19. 1889. 



THE ANGLER IN NEW ZEALAND. 



THE combined arte of pisciculture and acclimatization 

 have completely upset all the old-fashioned ideas as 

 to where to go for sport, and also as to size and habits of 

 even the most familiar kind of fish. If any of the most 

 noted American anglers were asked to say, at a word, 

 where the biggest trout in the world are to be caught, 

 they would probably be puzzled for an answer, and the 

 chances are a hundred to one that they would give a 

 wrong one. Those who have the "inside notion," how- 

 ever, would have not a moment's hesitation in replying, 

 "New Zealand, for a thousand dollars!" And they would 

 win the money, if any one were rash enough to put it up. 



Taking all the elements of enjoyment for anglers into 

 consideration, indeed, not only are the biggest trout in 

 the world to be caught in the wonderland of the Pacific, 

 as New Zealand has been justly called; but the pleasant- 

 est and by no means the most expensive fishing is to be 

 had there. In a word, it is an angler's paradise; and any 

 one who has spent a season there can honestly lay over 

 the, most stupendous "fish stories" that he is likely to 

 hear anywhere else. It is a curious feature of the coun- 

 try that everything is on a gigantic scale. The inoa 

 (Dinornis gigantea), a wingless bird, with which the 

 island once swarmed, stood 14 or 15ft. high, and had legs 

 as thick as a horse's. Even now eggs of this monster are 

 sometimes found, measuring 12in, from end to end; and 

 though no specimen of the living bird has yet been cap- 

 tured, vast skeletons are constantly being discovered. 

 The acclimatized animals seem to follow the same law, 

 for in every instance where they have been successfully 

 established at all — and (.here have been some very per- 

 plexing failures— they have not only rapidly multiplied 

 in enormous numbers, but also developed a size which 

 would be deemed fabulous in their natural habitat. This 

 is markedly the case with fish. 



It is necessary to say here that New Zealand consists of 

 two large islands and one small one, having an area alto- 

 gether about as large as Great Britain, but longer and 

 narrower, very much of the same shape as Italy, with 

 the climate of the south of France, and a population of 

 650,000 British and 50,000 Maoris, who are the natives of 

 the country. It lies out in mid-ocean, 1,200 miles from 

 the nearest mainland, and it has higher mountains than 

 any other country of equal breadth. A waterfall 2,000 

 feet high has recently been discovered among the little- 

 known mountains of the West Coast; and the variety 

 and magnificence of the river and forest scenery are 

 indescribable. 



It can be imagined what waters there are in such a 

 country for fish. Yet, strange to say, nature placed no 

 fish in them, or, at all events, none worth calling fish. 

 Eels swarmed, and grew to an awful size; but there were 

 no other native fish except a few little tittlebats and 

 smelts, which are now used for bait. The acclimatiza- 

 tion of fish began under the auspices of societies, aided 

 by the Government, about twenty-five years ago; and 

 has been accompanied by astonishing results. The sal- 

 mon, the true Salmo salar, has been a most mortifying 

 failure. The Government and the acclimatization socie- 

 ties have spent many years, and, perhaps, a hundred 

 thousand dollars, in trying to establish this king of fish; 

 but all in vain. The ova arrive in excellent condition, 

 they are triumphantly hatched out, and the fry thrive 

 apace and attain a phenomenal size in the breeding ponds 

 or weirs; but so surely as they go down to the sea, so 

 surely every one of them falls a prey to some unknown 

 enemy, and never a smolt returns to tell the tale. 



But now comes the strangest thing. All other fish of 

 the salmon species that have been introduced have done 

 splendidly. The American brook trout (Salmo fontinatis) 

 has made itself entirely at home, like a true bred Yankee, 

 and seems likely to crowd others out of the location 

 wherever it is placed. It is a great favorite with the 

 colonists, from its beautiful appearance. The acclimatiz 

 ation societies do not yet consider it sufficiently estab- 

 lished to allow it to be caught, and though it has been 

 turned out in some open waters, I have never seen or 

 heard of one being killed with rod and line. 



Then the Loch Leven trout (S. levenensis) and the sal- 

 mon trout trutta) have been quite successfully estab- 

 lished; and what is most remarkable, the salmon trout 

 goes down fearlessly to the sea and holds its own against 

 all foes, while the true salmon, a much stronger fish, in- 

 variably succumbs. The commonest fish of all, however, 

 in New Zealand, and the one which has developed most 

 marvellously, is the brown trout (8. fario), which you 

 have also introduced into America. Many of the rivers 

 and streams of both the North Island and the Middle 

 Island— which are almost like two separate countries — 

 are now plentifully stocked with these fish, and, notwith- 

 standing the most ruthless poaching, they are finding 

 their way into all sorts of unexpected places, where none 

 have ever been turned out, by means of the deportations 

 and migrations that occur during floods. 



I was fishing a beautiful little stream in the North 

 Island the other day — the Horokiwi is its musical Maori 

 name— when a cheery looking, sunburnt settler came and 

 stood by me, grinning, and watching me throwing the 

 fly with great interest. Presently he said: "Ketchin' 

 trouts?" 

 "Trying to," I replied. 



"They's nice, haint they? Leastways my old 'ooman 

 do say so. I prefers heels myself; but I goes down with 

 an 'ay-fork and ketches a couple o' trouts or so for the 

 old 'ooman most hevery evenin'." 



"Oh, you 'ketches them with an, 'ay-fork,' do you?" I 

 said. 



"Yes, you can get 'em any time that way. I haint got 

 no patience to stand a weltin' the water with that there 

 whip of a thing, and then p'raps lose 'em arter all." 



And that is what goes on everywhere. The old hands 

 among the bush settlers look on "trouts" simply as food 

 They prefer "heels," but they are getting to like trout! 

 too, and they "ketch 'em" the quickest and surest way 

 they can. Yet they breed and muster strong, and all the 



'ay-forks" in the country don't seem to make any dif- 

 ference. 



There is one thing to be said, the acclimatization 

 societies keep up the supply most energetically. They 

 have breeding ponds, and they employ rangers, and ail 

 the better class of country settlers help them all they can. 



Many men of property in the back blocks never think of 

 returning from town without a can or two of healthy 

 fry— many thousands, perhaps— which they quietly turn 

 out m some secluded stream, with a certainty of hearing 

 good accounts of them some day. This is going on 

 steadily from a great number of different points, and the 

 consequence is that the fishing becomes more various and 

 more satisfactory every year. All acclimatized birds, 

 animals and fish are deemed to be the property of the 

 acclimati?:ation society within whose district they are 

 found, and a license for shooting or fishing can only be 

 obtained from them on payment of £1 ($4) for the season. 

 It is strictly against the law to sell trout. The fishing 

 season commences on the 1st of October and lasts six 

 months. Every sort of information and assistance can 

 be obtained by writing to the secretary of the acclimati- 

 zation society, who will always be found an enthusiastic 

 sportsman and a courteous gentleman, only too delighted 

 to welcome anglers from abroad. 

 But how about the biegest trout in the world? 

 Oh, well, I was just coming to them. There are several 

 rivers in New Zealand— mostly in the Middle Island- 

 where for some reason not clearly ascertained the trout 

 grow much more rapidly and to a larger size than else- 

 where. One of these is the Opihi, in South Canterbury, 

 on which is situated the picturesque village of Temuka. 

 I have myself seen an honest brown trout caught there, 

 weighing 281bs., and a firmer or better fish I never saw. 

 I have known 401bs. of trout killed in the Opihi with 

 one rod in a single evening, and not a long evening either, 

 for darkness falls very suddenly in those latitudes. In 

 the same river fish weighing 301bs. have been taken and 

 eaten, and found delicious. I happen to know the coun- 

 try about there well, and I attribute the great size and 

 good quality of the trout in the Opihi to the fact that the 

 river, which rises in the snowy mountains, does not flow 

 into the sea at all, but into a large, deep lagoon, many 

 miles long, which only breaks out into the sea at flood 

 times, though the sea water penetrates into it through 

 the shingle bank, or flows over into it during stormy 

 weather. This lagoon is, in fact, like an inclosed arm 

 of the sea, and is alive with little fish, crabs and all sorts 

 of marine and semi marine creatures. Here the trout 

 can get any quantity of food, and from the depth and 

 saltness of the water, they develop some of the charac- 

 teristics of salmon, the red flesh and the large size, with- 

 out being exposed to the attacks of the ravenous seafish. 

 The Mataura, in South Otago, another snow river run- 

 ning into a lagoon, has trout as large as those in the 

 Opihi. A friend of mine who is a true angler, Mr. Alex- 

 ander Ferguson, manager of the National Bank at Christ- 

 church, Canterbury, to whom I applied for some authen- 

 tic particulars of sport during the season just over, wrote 

 to me, to follow me to America, as follows: "Brown 

 trout weighing 201bs. and upward have been landed with 

 rod and line from streams both in the north and south of 

 Canterbury during the past season. On the Selwvn. a 

 stream fifteen miles from Christchurch, three rods killed 

 twenty-one fish weighing 1441 bs. on the 17th December, 

 with natural bait, bullhead and smelt (small fish indige- 

 nous to the river). On the same day two rods killed 

 sixty-one trout weighing 41-Jlbs. with artificial fly, in a 

 stream flowing into the Selwyn." 



The very big fish are generally caught with natural 

 bait, or with an artificial minnow, the Devon being con- 

 sidered specially effective. But I have known several 

 huge fellows landed through the seductions of a cock- 

 chafer or a large grasshopper. 



In the mountain lakes of the Middle Island, some of 

 which, such as Wakatipu, are 2,000ft. above the sea, and 

 are reputed to be unfathomable, the trout reach a greater 

 size than they do even in rivers like the Opihi or the 

 Mataura. But I believe there has never been an instance 

 of a big trout being caught in a lake with rod and line. 

 Plenty of them are caught and eaten, but they are either 

 netted or else speared, or snared in some way. There 

 seems to be something in the vast depth and extreme 

 coldness of the water which changes their habits and 

 renders them proof against all the temptations that the 

 genuine angler can hold out. 



For my own part, I am inclined to think the trout fish- 

 ing in the North Island is better than that in the Middle 

 Island for casual visitors who wish to see something of the 

 country in addition to getting good sport ; and as the stream 

 of Americans to New Zealand is steadily increasing— 

 they are said to have numbered 2,000 last summer— a few 

 hints as to where to go and how to get there may be 

 acceptable. 



Wellington, the capital of the colony, is the starting 

 point. It is a humdrum little commercial city of 30.000 

 inhabitants, superbly situated on the shore of one of the 

 grandest harbors in that land of harbors, framed, as it 

 were, in noble mountains, clothed to the summit with 

 evergreen forests, except where snowy peaks of distant 

 ranges stand out against the sky. 



* There is the best of hotel accommodation at Welling- 

 ton, and the people are most civil and hospitable to 

 strangers. Sportsmen will find an unfailing friend and 

 unerring guide in Mr. Charles St. Barbe. on Lambton 

 Quay. 



The fishing itself lies at a place called the Wainuio- 

 mata Valley — wai-nu i-o-mata, water of sharp stones, a 

 lovely mountain stream, flowing from the wooded ranges 

 to the sea— which is about sixteen miles from Welling- 

 ton. 



The best way is to go to the Hutt, a village on a river 

 of the same name full of big trout, by a little jingling 

 train of cars running fourteen miles an hour— there is no 

 rapid transit in New Zealand— and then walk or drive 

 from there to Wainuiomata. There is no hotel there, 

 but there are a number of whares, or huts of one, two or 

 three rooms, which are rented at from 60 cents to $1.50 a 

 week, the tenant taking out everything he wants, bed- 

 ding, cooking utenei's, stores, etc., in an express wagon, 

 or the buggy that he drives out in himself. There is 

 abundance of fuel and water on the spot, and milk, eggs, 

 and butter of the very best can be got for a trifle from 

 any of the neighboring farmhouses, which in themselves 

 are well worth a visit. The folks in the neighborhood 

 are on the best of terms with the angling fraternity, who 

 cordially reciprocate their kindness. I made one of a 

 party last year, who invited every family living in the 

 Wainuiomata and Orougoro valleys to an amateur enter- 

 tainment at the school-room, to celebrate the opening of 

 the season. They all came, to the number of a hundred 

 or more, including several generations of men, women, 



miles round was locked up empty that night. We gave 

 them Christy minstrels, and readings from Mark Twain 

 and Bret Harte till we nearly killed them. It was a sight 

 to see whole rows of blooming young mothers suckling 

 their babies and crying and stamping with laughing at 

 the same time. Then we fed them with cakes and pies 

 and filled them up with brown ale till they couldn't hold 

 any more, and then they danced till midnight, when, as 

 it was Sabbath morn, they left off dancing and drank 

 whisky instead for another hour or two, before singing 

 "God Save the Queen," and driving home in the moon- 

 light. That's the way we go on up there. But the fish 

 are not much interfered with after a night like that. 



The life m the whares is the perfection of camping, 

 and you cannot imagine anything jollier than to return 

 from the upper waters of the stream with a thumping 

 basket, to find your mate has a rousing fire going— for 

 there is a touch of frost up in those mountains at night, 

 even m summer— two or three pounds of porterhouse 

 sissling on the gridiron over the clear embers, new laid 

 eggs to follow, a jug of beer foaming on the table, every- 

 thing as snug as possible, and the certainty of a merry 

 company from the neighboring whares afterward, with 

 plenty of good songs, good stories and good fellowship. 



There are no big fi«h in the Wainuiomata. nothing 

 over 61bs. ever having been caught there, that being my 

 friend St. Barbe's prize fish last season, but there are any 

 number of beauties of from |lb. to 41bs. or 51bs., for those 

 who know how to get them. There is no difficulty at all 

 about the expedition, and the cost is a mere bagatelle 

 for $1 goes as far in New Zealand as $5 here. Yet, you 

 get first-rate sport, grand air and exercise, lovely scenery 

 and as fine a peep at the back country, with'its virgin 

 forest of cypress and yew and gigantic fern trees and 

 palms, and strange flowers and still stranger birds, as you 

 could get by going ten times the distance and spending 

 ten times as much. 



I can safely recommend any angler who wants big fish 

 and all sorts of other good things combined, at a moderate 

 outlay, and who does not mind an ocean trip to try New 

 Zealand. He will never regret it; I have been there and 

 I know. Edward Wakefield. 



THE BULL AND THE BEAR. 



WHAT Bismarcker, that recalls the good old days of 

 "75 at Fort Abe Lincoln, does not remember 

 Charley Eeynolds, Gen. Custer's favorite scout? A grave 

 kindly man, with an unmistakable air of refinement that 

 even the wild, hard life of tbe frontier had failed to rob 

 him of. Charley's experience of life on the border had 

 been of the rough-and-tumble description, whose alter- 

 nates were wild excitement and pinching deprivations. 

 He had been by turns cowboy, courier, hunter and scout, 

 and life to him while p issing through these varied phases 

 had been replete with stirring incident and thrilling ad- 

 venture. On the eve of the battle of the Little Big Horn, 

 when Gen. Custer divided his command, Charley was 

 sent with Major Reno, On the fol owing day, when 

 Reno's command struck the upper end of the Sioux 

 camp, Charley was shot in the head at the first fire. In 

 a dazed and dying condition he rode straight into the 

 midst of the hostiles, where he was pulled from his horse 

 and stabbed to death. It was in the company of Charley 

 Reynolds one sunny afternoon, in the autumn of '75, 

 while riding over from Bismarck to Gen. Custer's head- 

 quarters at Fort Lincoln, that I heard the stoiy of the 

 bull and the bear: 



"It was shortly after the spring round up over in the 

 Wind River country. The outfit had just finished a 

 drive of over one hundred miles from the lower valley, 

 where the drought had sunburned the grass to a crisp.' 

 There were twenty-five of us all told, and we camped 

 close together on the south bank of Wind River. We 

 had little to do, and were mighty glad of it, for the long, 

 dusty drive had worn us completely out. The cattle 

 were as yet too weak to range far and grazing was good 

 close to camp. After a week of rest and quiet we made 

 a reconnoissance in force of the adjacent country, with 

 results that were entirely satisfactory. Not a sign of 

 Indians anywhere, while signs of big game were every- 

 where. The mountain streams were fairly alive with 

 trout, and nothing could well exceed their anxiety to be 

 caught. Hunting parties went out from camp every day 

 and fresh meat was plentiful. 



Occasionally the boys ran across the trail of a grizzly, 

 but the big brutes kept well out of sight. One morning,' 

 however, about a month after our arrival, a party of us 

 almost rode over a half -grown cub in a black berry 

 thicket, about six miles from camp. The cub was so 

 busily engaged in stuffing himself with the ripe fruit 

 that he did not see us until we were right up on top of 

 him. The berry patch grew along the base of a bluff, 

 which the bear made a desperate attempt to climb, but 

 finding it too 6teep he put his back against it, showed his 

 teeth and growled out something that sounded like 

 "Come on." We got a couple of ropes around the young 

 ster's neck, and soon had all the fight dragged out of 

 him. Half stupefied from the choking, and frightened 

 out of his wits', the cub waddled along into camp, his 

 conduct on the way being so exemplary that we had to 

 drag him only about two miles. Upon reaching camp we 

 roped him down good and fast, and at supper time held 

 a council of war, which was to decide the prisoner's fate 

 We didn't need his meat, so we decided to adopt him. 



After a great deal of kicking and squealing on his part, 

 and considerable off hand profanity on ours, we got a 

 nice rope collar around the cub's neck, and with a lono- 

 wagon chain made him fast to a Cottonwood, that grew 

 near the opening of an old dugout, which some trappers 

 had scraped out years before. Then Steve Leonard, 

 the range foreman, brought a bucketful of water from 

 the river, and we christened the bear Rube, after the 

 cook; after which touching ceremony we shook the ropes 

 off from him, and got out of the way. 



Rube got up, sho >k himself together, and started out for 

 his native hills. When he reached the end of his chain 

 he turned a flip-flop that a circus veteran might envy, 

 and dealt the ground a stunning blow with his broad, fat 

 back. Then he got up, and spent the next two hours in 

 trying to pull the Cottonwood up by the roots. Just as 

 he bad worn the last vestige of skin from his neck, in 

 his frantic attempts to pull up or break something,' he 

 discovered the opening to the dugout, Doubtless thinkT 

 ing it was an underground passaee to some other and 



., happier land, he shot into the hole, and brought ud 

 children and innumerable babies. Every house for ten against the back wall with $ thud Kke the full-length 



