A New Year, Johannes, and Me

Written in January, 2010, while on extended fishing holiday in New Zealand.

Christchurch left, north drove.
Seek the freed alone. For a day.
Or two.

Hello 2010. Who are you? What will you be?
Midnight struck. Next to a fire. The fire. With the wine. And the stars.
And the thoughts of family and friends. What they're doing.
What they will do.
When I will see.

Not a fish in that river.
I could find.

Drive. Turn this way, that way.
Difficult to keep one's eyes on the road.
With these sights.

Plans made prior, go to Blenheim. Meet Johannes there.
Pick him up. His things. His rods. His reels. His flies.
Look at a map over a beer, point fingers here. And there. Go there?
Go there.

Try to help him learn. Tell him things I think.
I am only an angler. In another country.
Caught fish, one has. Catch fish when one wants, I cannot.

Anglers bond. On the water.
Freedom there.
Anglers bond. In the campsite.
Freedom there.
People bond. On the road.
Freedom there.

Difficult to translate,
"Three feet to the left of that orange-ish rock and a rod's length upstream from the second clump of grass in the water," to another's second language.
Try.

Cold beer speaks everyone's language.
Welcome after long days on the water.
With no fish.
Curse the sandflies. Laugh the mistakes.
Talk. Listen. Look. Learn.

Ankles burn. Legs aflame. With bites.
From the sandflies. Devil bugs. No escape.
Until the night is cool. Then.
Freedom.

A pub. Old. Hello.
How many, one wonders, have had a pint.
Anyone I know?
Win two out of three. At pool.
Too good to go to only once.

Not a fish caught.
Not a fish in the net.
Not a fight fought, a dance danced.
Worthless guide.

Not a minute not enjoyed.