A small poem I wrote some time ago when I was white baiting in South Westland. The photo above is of the Whataroa River, New Zealand.
INANGA
Inanga slither into
The dark fold of my net,
As the raging sea crashes
I escape with my life,
But hardly a pattie there.
Too early in the year
But I commune with nature
And talk to good mates
And muse why Brunner
Ate his favourite dog
I wander to the inland creeks
Where high above the Kereru
Struts his camouflaged wings,
Staring into tea-stained
Water I see a shoal.
Weeks tick by
And the first run
Flows by my net and soon
A million bodies lithely
Congeal into a shoal.
Like sex of a distant past,
Or memories of times had
A thrill runs through my
Bones, body and soul,
I lift my net in ecstasy.
O Inanga I worship you
In pan, pattie or net
They call me a killer
But it’s not just that,
As water, we are one
By Bob McKerrow
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