It's blowing a nor'west gale. I'm standing with my back to it, my camera steadied by a stock yard post.
We inched our way up the paper road (meaning a legal road crossing private land) across Lake Taylor Station that eventually gets to Lake Sumner. Fortunately we only went to the head of Lake Taylor. It's oh so very rough!
We fished the shore but not a lot was happening. Only 3 trout over the whole morning. Being there was enough. I thought of my Grandfather.
He died before I was born. I wondered if he believed the war he fought in would be "the war to end all wars". I guess not as he served in the home guard during WW2.
I don't know if I can go away and fish or tramp, climb a mountain, own my own home and have a job because of what he did. But I do know he believed he was doing the right thing that would make a difference for the lives of his children and grand children.
So I thought of Granddad and of Dad heading off to an Anzac service and silently gave my thanks.
In the afternoon it was even more windy. We stoically headed to an exposed spit with waves rolling into shore. It was cold, hard to cast and of so rewarding. When things get a bit rough it stirs things up and trout can get a bit excited.
On my first cast I hooked into a feisty brown. So much fun and so strikingly beautiful I put him back. And the next one.
I think my Grandfather would have approved.