Guest Post by Rex N. Gibson
We have heard a lot of our river’s plight,
Of belligerent anglers demanding their rights,
But this is an issue that hasn’t happened before
Now the anglers are livid, they can’t catch fish any more.
To the bulk of these folk it was the best way,
Every week in the season they’d be on their way,
And down to the river with time than was won
By clearing the chores lined up by dear mum.
But the salmon have gone and I’m asking you,
Since there is no fishing what can a guy do?
At the Rakaia and Waimak no comps will be held
The sponsors aren’t happy, with prizes withheld.
Now just yesterday on my way home from work
The mate said to me, some fishing wouldn’t hurt
What’s wrong with you I said, have you gone blond
He said the wife claims there’s still perch in the pond.
A tourist popped in to our work today
Said he was Herman from the old USA
He said that his catch rate was never so great
Then I noticed his creel was full of whitebait.
For the salmon have gone, so I’m asking you
Since there is no fishing what can a man do.
I’ve hung up my waders and stacked up my rods
My ticers are rusting and I’ve mothballed the quad.
I went to the club with my card to get in
When approaching the door I heard a violin,
With a hat on the ground, and his big car standing by,
Was my tackle shop guy with a tear in his eye.
They’ve hung up their braid, their reels and their priest
The whole salmon business is now de-ceased
I’ll go into town and book my seat to cold Can-a-da
And hope that their salmon match the old Rakai -a.
Our salmon have gone, so I’m asking you
Since there is no fishing what can a man do
I’ve sold up my truck, there’re no trips to the river
So I’m drowning my sorrows and killing the liver.
Yes, I’m drowning my sorrows and killing the liver.
With apologies to the Web Brothers (“The Jockeys are Striking”, 1960)