Part 2

When all the colours of the metal lines were out, speed was reduced again and the men settled down in the quietude to work their spoons near the lake bottom. Ernie wondered idly if at that point the volcanic lake was less than 100 metres in depth. He tapped the skeg of home brew and passed a handle to Alan.

Apart from the gentle putt-putt of the motor, the only other sound was the slap and tickle of the water against the sides of the boat. Warmed and relaxed in the bright sunlight, Ernie gazed into the clear water. He remarked on the amazing sight of a shoal of translucent jelly-fish wobbling in a multi-dimensional game of chess.

"Hey, watch your line," warned Alan. So Ernie side-strained his rod and contemplated more distant waters, where diamonds danced in glittering encores.

Ernie began nodding off pleasantly when all of a sudden he felt a drag on the line. A trout had taken his bait and was skulking on the bottom. At about the same time, Alan said he thought he had a strike, but shrugged; maybe it was just New Zealand again.

Alan was arcing his rod upward, releasing and repeating the backward sweep.

"Mine's still there," panted Ernie.

Alan gave an enthusiastic rejoinder, "So's mine. And it's a biggy!" Both men fell speechless, sensing success.

"Oh no, my fish is swimming across your line!" moaned Ernie. Suddenly the worst possible scenario occurred. Into view came the two lines knotted together, colour after colour.

"Some bloody dumb fisherman you are, sleeping on the job!" scolded Alan, feeling harassed and disillusioned with his so called fishing buddy.

Ernie ducked apologetically, "Sorry." He watched miserably as Alan proceeded to haul in the lines. Neither of them had noticed that Calypso was moving slowly round in a tight circle until Alan looked up startled, into the curious face of another boatie.

"Everything okay, mate?" he smirked, as Ernie grabbed the tiller and cut the motor.

"Sure, fine," grumbled Alan, giving a thumbs up. He turned his back to discourage further conversation. After cutting their lures free, Alan cut out a tangle of line that bunched up into a large ball. "Don't you dare say a word about this to anyone, do you hear!"

"Hell no Alan," Ernie protested. "But they'll know as soon as we return the rods."

"Bullshit! They've got so many strung up along the wall, they'll never notice. Let's go in; I'm pissed off with this dingy." Ernie felt grateful that the blame was being shifted from him. Alan centred himself with more aplomb and off they set.

After a leisurely trip of 40 minutes or so, they crept into the coarse pumice sands of Okataina cove. Together they hauled up the boat, remembering that some twenty years previously they had witnessed a flood following a subterranean disturbance. Those were the days when there had been a fleet of boats ranging from dingys to large overnight launches, all for hire at the landing.

Alan and Ernie were only too happy that the operation had been scaled down and no one was about to witness their degradation.

To be continued...