LESSONS LEARNED ó Staying sane in the closed season
By Andrew Savs

ITíS late August. In less than a fortnight, depending on where you stand on matters of law, the revitalising benefits of self-imposed abstinence, the rights of a fish to enjoy a respectable measure of conjugal privacy or simple convention, we can again fish our rivers.

Opinions on the necessity for a closed season vary. In many parts of the world a closed season is not observed and regulations may even differ between provinces of the same country. This is something that you really should check before planning a trip. In a turn of events that I swear to you is true, a friend recently wrestled himself free from the horrors of international air travel to find himself, waders up, on the South Island. At eleven time zones from home, he was quite nearly literally on the other side of the world ó during the closed season. The same seasonal rule does not apply on the North Island, as he now knows and really should have checked before leaving. Assuming that the regulations are standard in a country is fatal, and while the indigenous place names over there may all be fairly similarly confusing to the touring angler (the Fish and Game website for all the world appears to have been designed by a well-intentioned and, it appears, largely successful member of PETA) itís the sort of oversight that can drive an otherwise stable man of balanced temperament into a dark, vast abyss of despair and self-loathing.

In my group of friends a schoolboy error of this kind would probably have resulted either in him being abandoned on the side of a deserted road to die, or with his brutal murder at the hands of his companions. I donít pretend to know how many blows with an aluminium rod tube a man needs to receive or where they need to fall before he expires from blunt force trauma, but Iíd expect that itís rather a few and that they would continue until long after it was absolutely necessary.

One can only dream of living in a world where justice and common sense prevail and where, before a jury of their peers, his tube-wielding companions would be found not guilty on the grounds of ďthe bastard brought it on himselfĒ. Itís not a judgement that Iíd rush to take on appeal either, but then I like a bit of Old Testament-styled justice as and when a point needs to be unequivocally made.

Read the full story in the October 2017 issue of FLYFISHING magazine.
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