Just one trout - that's all I asked.
The Opihi wasn't prepared to oblige,
so it was upriver again -
following an old trail in the mist,
past the hanging cliffs where my father & I
culled out the river shags years ago.
Up the valley to a lake bed so dry
old trees, old foundations were coming up
like springs through the stuffing.
& after an afternoon downstream,
I gave up on the river & lunched
below the limestone drawings.
Hoons in a Holden were racing
up & down Raincliff Road.
I dozed. The thunder of tires
gave way to the thunder of feet,
& beside me a moahunter
fresh from the hunt, panting.
How did it go? I asked.
Just one, he said.
Just one.