The Auckland “Ninepins” Club Enjoys a Day on the Water

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 200, 12 November 1927, Page 24 (Supplement)

The Auckland “Ninepins” Club Enjoys a Day on the Water

(Written for THE sr.Y by

(J. A. GILLESPIE.)

■HE “Ninepins” Club has nothing to do with nineTliat. ancient, and perhaps honourable, game is not to be compared with fishing. Mention fishing to any of the club’s members and they will immediately tell you of the Kaipara Harbour, that magnificent stretch of land-locked water 40 miles north of Auckland and only a few minutes’ run down the river in a launch from Helensville. Fishing in the Kaipara seems to be the prerogative of the Auckland Nine-

pins Club, whose jolly members discard collars and ties and all respectable clothing two Sundays in every month during the summer. Last Sunday was the first outing of this season. As the first day of “Summer time” dawned and the thrushes thrilled their appreciation from every bush in Auckland, a motorbus, crowded to the roof, left for the open road, free life, fresh air and the Kaipara. j There is a fascination about speed- | ing along country roads while the dew i is still on the grass and the grey j mists shroud the Waitakeres in a j silver winding-sheet—even if it is only the moral effect of having risen at 5 o'clock in the morning. But there is more than that. A tang in the air ! stirs the blood and the motor-bus ! seems to enjoy having the road to itself. On it roars through sleeping villages, where the first blue spirals of smoke have not yet appeared, past the orchards of Henderson and through quaint Huapai. the first port of call. Before breakfast time the winding river at Helensville comes into view,

where the only activity seems tf> be among the milkmen. The bus is left at Mount Rex. a few miles beyond Helensville, where ! launches are waiting for the fisher-! men. Mr. Johnston, master of the craft and pilot for the fishing grounds, ! is ready and in a few minutes the j launches are speeding for the harbour down the winding river, only slightly | less twisted than the mangroves which twine along its muddy banks. Breakfast on board is a healthy meal. Free life and fresh air have had their effect. A plump Maori member demolishes six eggs and the business portion of a loaf of bread as an overture to the day. There is billy

I tea and other liquid food if necessary. | After all, what is a day s fishing with- ! out a little nourishment? Early morning on the Kaipara Har- | hour is a poem of blue and silver. The water stretches for miles —a sea in itself, but a sea with scarcely a ripple. Round every bend there is new beauty —grey-green hills ending in a shadow of blue. We saw it at its best under a cloudy sky, with the sun breaking j through in fugitive beams and lighting distant portions of the wooded hills with startling splashes of colour. Away up the seemingly-limitless arms of the harbour the water and the hills were wedded in a film of mist. Except for i the chugging of the launches there was not a sound in the warm morning air; its breeze too mild to stir the . water. Here there was no fear of wallowing swell to upset those unaccustomed to the sea. Kaipara is the fisherman’s paradise—and the artist’s. No time is lost when the first fishing ground is reached. As the launches j chugged across the water lines were prepared and hooks baited. By the time the anchor has reached bottom

the first line is out. and in a few minutes the first fish is gasping in the boat. Whether it is dog-fish, schnapper, or conger eel is all f he same —it is fish. The excitement grows, even among the dyed-in-the-wool fishermen. Isn’t there a mild little sweepstake on the biggest fish of the day 1 Isn’t there the prospect of a big shark? Yes, there is. “Into the bag” is the prevailing » ry as each fish comes up. “Mr. Jones seems to be one of the heroes of the party and parries most of the badinace which comes his way with quips tha ? speak of long years of familiarity with the theatre. As the fish begin to fill the bag. K have time to take stock of the clothes “as worn at Kaipara.” A tall individual who responds to the title ot “Lofty” is adorned in what must once have been a green blazer and a telt hat. Both would have put a jumble sale to the blush. Our plump Maor l has forsaken his suit for a batbinz costume. Odds and ends of trousers, now remnants in the real sense of the word, are gooc. enough for fishing a • tire. And the hats—Mr. Stetson would have shed tears of felt had he seen them. But it is all part of the business, fishing is no game for tailored wear. As each ground is thoroughly exploited the launches are moved to others more favourable. On those ! thousands of acres of water there is |no lack of good fishing and as tn | afternoon wears on the bags begin to overflow. Sharks add to the joys of the day despite the fact that they frequen . ! depart with a quantity of line, s ® ver . i hooks and the bait. There is a joy i playing them on a schnapper line an i often six- to nine-footers get as i as the surface before they finally brea away. By careful manipulation * ! captured two, to say nothing of njuclarger ones which must at least ha' been 12-footers. But this is developing intc* a “fish” story. As the launches glide back to the j wharf the last of the food, both van i ties, is consumed. This may eonsis i of a bottle of pickles and a tin oi | tongue, or it may not. The fish ar i cleaned on the boats and everything * in readiness to mount the waiting & | and speed homeward. That 40-mile run is a fitting climax to the day. The hills are shadows their peaks with mist and the last T *-' of the sun catch fairy vistas of j Manukau on the homeward trail. Kaipara Harbour is not far away ‘ these petrol days. Its far-flung wa _ are the spiritual home of the i Club, whose trips are arranged j Secretary Harold Smith.