Home runs

With the Kiribati trip looming, the end of my pheasant season had arrived. I would be able to squeeze one final day in. I decided to make it a big one if need be, and packed lunch and snack bars, along with a meal for Layla. After several days of rain, I was hoping the fine day that was forecast would get the birds out and active. I wanted to get to a few places that I hadn't visited this season, and quietly hoped that the other guys who hunt the property hadn't got to. I needn't have set the alarm. I was awake at 04.30 and with gear ready all I had to do was make coffee for the road, grab my lunch from the fridge, feed the dog and then get going. The drive was quiet and I arrived 45 minutes earlier than I'd thought I would. I called in to see Craig but he'd left for the day. On with gumboots, vest, camera slung, GPS switched on, gun readied and we set off. I'd gone several km before realising that I'd left my water bottle at the truck... that would be a problem later in the day. My plan saw me quickly covering the river bank while getting to the old bridge where we crossed - and Layla got hot. She got out a bit and pushed a bird, up with gun - hen... we carried on around to the area I really wanted to get into. I'd taken a ridge line route. In the gully below a hen took to the air. Over the rise and into the first spot I'd wanted to cover. Layla was going full noise but we didn't push any birds at all... strange. Maybe the other guys had been through recently? Up and over arise and onto the peninsula. Always holds birds. Always? Not today, although fresh footprints were visible. Ok, out and back down the river. The bend by the hut is usually a good spot to prospect. I sent Layla out and across the river. She pushed straight into the thicket. I  moved quickly to close off the predicted escape route. A clatter of wings and a bird came out - cock bird - he was away, my first shot was wide but he fell at the second. Another clatter and cackle and a rooster came out... I wasn't able to reload in time so he was safe. Layla swam back to me, then hit the rooster's scent, he'd run from where he fell but had only gone 10m before dying. The pup delivered him to me. I drank from the small clear stream on my way back, the sun was up and whilst not scorching I was sweating as I'd tackled a few hills and had ahead of me a steep climb. The next ridge was smothered in gorse. Layla worked it hard while I puffed my way up. At the top I took a breather and grabbed a few photos of the surrounds. Beautiful country on a beautiful day. Hard to beat.

South East

West

I knew there was a track down through the next valley, but there was no obvious path to it from where I was, so I entered a cattle tunnel through the gorse. Track found, and Layla got really birdy. She charged up into some thick native bush and pushed a bird out, out of view. There was never a chance of a shot so I was ok with her getting out of range. Moving down the track, I sent the dog into the scrub on my left which looked more likely to hold birds. She hit a scent then stopped and stared into the scrub. The cock bird launched straight up. A shot I'd taken a hundred times. Maybe I was too casual. Maybe my head wasn't down. I swung up onto the bird and fired. When he didn't drop I pulled ahead and hit him again.... in my dreams - I hadn't touched a feather! On a hot still day the last thing you need is to miss easy chances. I gave myself a mental uppercut. Out of the bush, and back to the stream for a drink. I didn't really think about it, but that was the last substantial water I'd take on board for the next few hours. And the next few hours involved plenty of hills. I shared an energy bar with the dog. I decided to track through the most heavily hunted area on the property, but moved with as much haste as my legs could muster. Up and over then back down and through some rocky outcrops. Layla busted a hen right in front of us. I was hot, hot and sweaty. A quick detour into the bush gave a reprieve from the sun. Back now, to the end of the farm. Past a swamp that had in the past given me birds. Nothing. The next part was all uphill. In the sun. Heart beating. I was making heavy weather of it. At the top, over a gate and into a bush track, pocked with cattle ruts. Down into the old clearing. Craig had once told me that a Maori village had been sited there. A herd of wild goats grazed the clearing. We got pretty close to them and I sent Layla in to give chase. Not her thing, those stinkys. We worked the meadow and Layla got interested in a scent but nothing jumped.

The next part of the traverse is truly interesting. A cavern is entered, where water has bored at the rock beneath a saddle. Here I took a handful of water on board. Having been underground for several thousand years I figured it to be pure enough. Icy and refreshing. Ahead of me lay a large bowl, stretching up a steep gorse and t tree covered incline. I'd always seen birds here. My legs were complaining. I knew I should have taken a route to the right of the bowl. Instead, I went up the middle. Layla's head turned rapidly and she bolted as she spotted the rooster, I got a rapid and futile shot away as he put bush between us. Mental uppercut #2. Halfway up the incline I sat for a rest. The GPS showed 12.5km covered. Phew. At the top of the valley, a small mob of goats with kid in tow, made a getaway. I made it up, a puffing mess of sweat and red in the face I'm sure. Layla hit a patch of scrub hard and a hen paradise duck emerged - I call the dog in as the shelduck would be nesting in there. Over the gate, downhill, thank god. Along the bush edge shady relief. The face 150m away was covered in young head high gorse. I wasn't sure how to work it, I was sure that it would hold though. Layla, still looking fit and fresh, worked in. 50m away, a fat cock took to the air. Layla clearly was on a scent and with a whir, a hen took air in front of us. If only hens were cocks...

We moved down to work around the swamp. Once our release site, these days it seems slightly barren. Against the high rocky banks, moss grew. I grabbed handfuls and squeezed the water out, a few drips per handful but welcome none the less. The final climb lay ahead. Energy bar shared with dog. Ok, up we go. Arriving at the head of the valley I had in mind, I pushed the dog in. She hit a scent and ran - I blew a stop whistle and she pulled up... as a cock jumped and flew ahead. I couldn't have shot but damn, another chance blown! Ok, settle down. I pulled the dog back and pushed her into the gorse below me on the left. She breezed through and then BOOM, nose down. I got behind her and closed the gap as she charged a gorse clump - CACCKKKLEE!! Snapshot, bird plummeted, break gun, holy shit another rooster's running, close gun as he takes to the air, remember second trigger, pull through as he begins to gain speed, pull trigger and he folds. Double rise! DOUBLE RISE!! From mental uppercut to top of the world! Home run with bases loaded! A six off the last ball of the match to win it! I tracked back to pick the second, Layla would be onto the first one. Soon she appeared with the gleaming bird in her mouth. Photo time. Pain in legs gone! Success, the sweet taste of success. This is why I hunt, hard work paying dividends. Pheasant hunting drives me like no other type of field sport. Spey casting is about perseverance, a mental challenge. Pheasants are hard physical work, covering ground, outwitting the cunning rooster.

Gun over shoulder. Birds in vest. The final push, back to the house. My mind was on water. By now the skin on my fingers was beginning to shrivel, a sure sign of dehydration. Head down, I focused on the final km back to the house when I heard a call -  Mike was asking how I'd got on. I detoured across to see him and thank him for use of the property. We nattered for a while and I checked my GPS - 17km covered. Saying a farewell, the dog and I carried on. Finally we arrived at the truck. 1.5 Litres of water gone in seconds. A large can of V followed.  I fed and watered the dog and put her in the back of the truck; despite being young and fit she'd hurt tonight. I'd covered 18.2km, so I'd say she would've done that plus a quarter, call it 22km of running and swimming.

The cramps came halfway home. By then I was one milkshake and 2 bottles of Coke Zero down (yup, a diuretic, I know..). Inner thighs were cramping and a couple of times I had to stop the truck and stretch the abductors. Lesson learned - NEVER, EVER forget the water bottle. If it had been a summer's day, I'd have been in trouble.

With the season over, I can now reflect on how good its been. A freezer full of pheasant tells me all I need to know.

2 days

4am start again. Jase and Layla were the passengers, and Turangi the destination. A good run to Pete's place where we dropped off our excess gear; in the past both of us have had our cars robbed. Far easier to prevent fate being tempted, than to run risks.

First stop, the Over The Hill Pool (OTHP). Really good swinging water, directly upsteam of The Silly. I started half way down and Jase went in at the head. I swung right down covering the water as well as I could... not a tug. Jase caught one right off the bat, but that was his total return. 2 guys already in the Silly each caught a fish on scratching gear.  I went in at the head of the OTHP for a fast run through the head. Again nada. We crossed at the bottom of the run and set off downstream, dropping down to Cattle Rustler's. I moved up to fish Barlows which is a beautiful run and went through thoroughly - not a damn thing. Uh-oh, this wasn't looking so bright. Jase had hit a couple of fish.

Crossing Cattle Rustler's at the tail, Layla in tow. Going downstream ok, I'd not like to cross against the current. Mill Race. Hit or miss water. Nice for swinging, but scratchers get in here a fair bit too. Jase was already well down the run by the time I started. I was at the halfway mark when the fly was hit upon landing at the far bank, and a strong fish took line. It was a good fight and as I drew the fish ashore an angler stepped in upstream - Connor, who I hadn't seen for a fair while. We caught up and Jase came up to see us. He’d swung nothing up from the run. After a natter we got going and took the bush trail up to where the truck was parked. We decided to have lunch at the Blue and were soon brewing tea and eating rolls and chorizo Saussies.

Up at the Sand pool, a ranger checked our licenses (after many years between being checked, this was the second license check in a month) before we crossed and moved down to swing the water below. Jase calls it the Pig Pen. He let me swing the more productive lie and I was almost at the tail of the pool proper before I got a hit and landed a small feisty fresh fish. I pulled out and Jase swung the tailout and began to cross the river with the current. He bounced across and I began to follow, with Layla in tow. I blessed the fact that I'm 6'3". With dog held by collar we got across no problem. Layla's quite calm in crossings that aren't everyone's cup of tea.

Back at the car we made the call to swing the Blue. I had one tug but was fishing in auto mode and sort of pulled the fly from the fish half heartedly.

We called back to Pete's to grab our gear and then headed down to our accommodation. What a delightful old school bach! Set back amongst trees, old school fittings with a few modern amenities, it was like stepping back in time. We made ourselves at home, got Layla settled in the laundry and then went out to find dinner. Burgers and fries filled the gap.

Up and at 'em early Sunday. Breakfast then over to Pete's. We made a call to fish the town pools. I'd never fished the Island Pool so that was a new piece of fishy looking water. I went through it as thoroughly as I could, but achieved nothing except lost flies. Pete and Jase went down to the Judges to fish the True Left. I swung the tail out. Nothing. I really wasn't troubling the scorers. I grabbed a very bored Layla and we headed down to Judges. I arrived in time to watch Jase land a nice fish. Its a tricky cast in here, with limited room and very deep water just a step out from the bank. A couple of nymphers plied the pool on the far side. Pete had pulled the pin by this stage. Back to the car.

At the Bridge Pool coffee cart we ran into young Connor. He was planning to fish the Bridge Pool but we formed a new plan. Downstream to Grace's Road car park. Only a couple of cars in residence. I wanted to fish Karl's "No Face Fish Pool" so headed downstream while Jase and Connor fished a closer piece of water.

Connor with a smashing fish

My casting was gone. I stuggled my way down to the NFFP. I hadn't put a Spey swivel into my system so had a few curls in my running line. I sat down. Tore 15m of running line off. Cut it. Put new loop knot in. On with Spey swivel. Back into it. The fly swung slowly into the holding water and the tug pulled line from my fingers. A fit fish gave a good account of itself and I beached it.

Connor wandered downstream and as he arrived I had another hit. This fish soon detached after a strong start to the fight. I withdrew and gave Connor the water which he covered nicely.

I wandered back upstream to fish the water Jase and Connor had covered. Good move. Cold showers smattered the water.The run is full of ugly snag like structure but actually has a clean holding lie. The first hit was a full-on SMACK and the fish launched sideways, throwing the hook. The next hit hooked up solidly and I played a fish in through the snags. Stunning. Silver. Fresh. Connot walked up and the following hit saw a fat fresh fish take to the air. I thought I had control but the hook threw, just as Connor was ready to net him.

Fresh & silver

Jase came up to find Pete who had arrived and I hit a snag that ate several flies before.... my running line parted. Connor waded in below the snag and retrieved my head and tip, thanks bro!

Back at the truck Layla made herslf at home, curled up on Jase's seat. Ooops. We had a beer each and talked smack until Jase and Pete joined us. Concept flies were handed out. Gear exchanged. The fellowship of fly fishing is alive.

Carpark concept fly... :D

Fat & fighting fit