Graeme Christie | Tuesday, 3 November 2026
No fishing again this week, so here is another no fishing one. Auckland, North Island, early November. The harbour temp is still climbing and I am still at the desk. The wind has been relentless this week.
I ran a half marathon this weekend. Fast enough. Finished, which was the point. Getting to the start line took many weeks. A muscle injury that was quite problematic, a rehabilitation, slow kilometres while the leg decided whether it was going to hold. It held. Fitness came back the way it always does, by doing the dull thing again on the days you don't feel like it. There is no trick.
Later in the week I caught up with a good acquaintance. Earlier this year he spent time in hospital. He was standing there. Not the best, by his own account, but through it and upright. He dodged the bullet.
That is the sort of thing that keeps me running.
At work I see a lot of people over a lot of years, and lung function, as far as I can tell, has a big say in whether they get to keep enjoying whatever it is they enjoy. The fishing, the garden, whatever it is. The ones who can still breathe well keep doing their thing. I would like to keep doing mine. So I run. It keeps me thinking about life, and working towards something.
Fishing gets a dividend from it. A cold morning wade is easier with breath in the tank. Walking water needs legs. The core that gets you up a stopbank is the same core that keeps the cast straight on wet grass.
The other thing this spring was work. I had a project to get across the line. I think the modern term is that I had to lay an egg. A big egg. A few things had to go my way and I had it at fifty-fifty, some days forty-sixty. They went my way. I am thankful for that. What I have now is a canvas, which is its own sort of work, the sort that keeps everything else going. Including fishing.
I get up each day and think about fishing. Every week I hope to go, it's an obsession at present, and this week I haven't been able to go. That bothers me a little bit. The running, the rehab, the egg. They all feel like they are pointing the same way, which is at the next trip, and at turning up to it fit, with breath, and with the business standing on its own feet.
If you are a weekend warrior with a job that eats weekends, I don't have much advice beyond what I'm doing. Pick the thing you can do in twenty minutes and do it most days. The run, or the park with a rod. Do it anyway. The next half is already in the calendar. The fly box is still full. I have a few more fly tying ideas.
The elections are around the corner and there are some fish positive policies, let's hope they go through. Unfortunately water quality issues abound and whatever the stripe, they are a little lacklustre in dealing with this. I'll get the coin out and choose my poison.