Kick'n with Pete

A couple weeks ago while on Kirimati I'd got a message from a well known fly angler that he'd be in Turangi for roughly a week and would have the new Sage X5120 along if I wanted to catch up for a swing?

I booked a trip in as soon as I got back. But I'd sort of screwed up and booked to arrive the day he was leaving. That's how I roll.

But I kept that booking at the motel, and let the proprietor know I'd be down late, with dog in tow. I rolled into town pretty late, got set up in my unit (I'd be on the water before anyone else! Haha!), tucked Layla into her blankets in the back of the truck and then tried to get to sleep. Unfamiliar bed, main highway noise, trucks rattling the windows... ahhh shit here we go.  The alarm blared at 04.30. I drank coffee, ate, fed her royal blackness, pulled on waders and boots, loaded the truck and got going. We were second car in the car park - 3 guys were readying themselves in the dark to assault Reed's pool, an easy piece of water suitable for geriatrics. Just sayin'. I let them know where I'd be and Layla and I set off down the track. We needed to make 3 crossings to our spot. In the dark I readied my wading staff and stepped into the first and most gentle crossing. I fell over halfway across.... water sloshed around under my raincoat and made its way down my legs. It was mild out luckily, or I'd have been heading back for a change of clothes. We made it into position without further mishap and sat on the bank waiting for a glimmer of light. It was still dark when I made my first cast, setting the anchor by feel and swinging barely more than the head and tip - I retrieved the fly through some slack behind a log jam WHAM a fish hit with purpose and rocketed downstream before the hook pulled. NOT COOL.

As the sun rose I moved through the pool, covering the water carefully. 2 more hits came, one fish shaking loose after a good minutes of head shaking runs and the other a bump as the fly moved through the prime water. In this pool its better to fish through once then rest the water for an hour or more. On the way downstream I dropped Pete a line. He would be walking Kaiser so told me he'd come down the track on the opposite bank. The water here is enticing, emerald green depths hard against the far willow lined bank, shallowing my side over rounded stones and pebbles. The deal is to cast hard into the far bank, throw a mend to help the fly sink and swing deep to shallow. Its nice water. In my minds eye I'm in Alaska or NW USA casting for a fresh from the sea steelie. The takes here can be subtle but this one isn't as the fish hits with a thump-thump - lift and I'm on.  Immediately the fish takes to the air, leaping, leaping all the time boring upstream and I cant get him on the reel. Stripping yards of running line in is no way to get control and with slack in the system the fish jumps one more time above me, gives me a finny salute and shakes the hook. Pete shows up and we yell greetings across the river. Layla sees Kaiser and wants to join him. She's a brave little thing, swimming over to the faster water but the bank's not climbable there so she paddles around before returning. Pete observes that her activity can't be great for the fishing - I on the other hand have a notion that fish aren't really put down by dog activities, having on numerous occasions taken fish immediately or soon after Layla's invaded a pool or run. Pete says he'll be free for a fish later on so we arrange to catch up. I decide to head upstream and see how Miles is getting on with his client. They're in the braids, fishing a small run with a couple of other guys on each side of them. Reminds me of shags on a pier.  I don't want any part of that in my fishing. But they're catching, and as a guide his primary role is to catch. His dog Paddy and Layla catch up and play in the long grass beside the river. We natter for a while, watching client Warren cast, his budgie indicator drifting back down. Across the river, one of the shags briefly hooks up, then the fish is gone. We agree to catch up later for a tour of the upper river pools.

I part ways with Milo and head down to the pool I started in. No one's in there. Cool. My wet feet are starting to chill a bit so this will be the last run before heading back for a change and clean up. I've barely set foot in the run when not one, but three budgie casters descend on the run from the far bank. This water holds a maximum of one Spey guy or 2 nymphers (one operating per bank) and when they enter the water with no by-your-leave my stress levels rise a bit. The Tongariro is, unfortunately, notorious for a lack of courtesy. Some call it etiquette. I try not to lose my shit, instead I'm dropping my fly at the foot of the most upstream guy - he's trying to achieve the impossible anyway. With a high rocky bank behind him and a double nymph rig there's no way he can switch the direction of his cast to cover the lie. I throw an off-shoulder cast slightly upstream and overcook it a bit - I'm snagged in the fast water. F*CK!!! I haul back, and the rod takes on a bend that it wasn't designed for - then the snag takes line ... I don't kill many trout (1 in 5 years) but this gleaming fat hen is a fine candidate for the smoker so I take a rock and kill her. Layla, basking in the sun, watches over the fish where I lay her in the shallow water edging the pool. I make my way back into position. Nympher #1 has moved up to the next pool. Nympher #2 is tangled in the scrub atop the rock bank. Nympher #3 is snagged on the notorious snag in the tail. I figure these guys aren't from around here. No one in the know  would risk rig after rig on that underwater eater of flies. In the fast water a fish hits and goes. A good fighter this one, solidly refusing to be subdued. He's a fine fresh silver jack and will make a great smoking partner to the earlier hen. Nymphers 2 & 3 move on. Nympher #1 returns and begins casting very near the snag when the inevitable happens. Time for me to move anyway. Layla and I cross the tail where I call to #1 fluff chucker that the snag he'd hit probably has $ thousands of flies adorning it.

For the smoker

At the motel I clean my fish and into the refrigerator they go. A change of clothes. Off we go to Miles's digs. We kick back in the sun, grab a smoke and coffee and catch up. Client Warren's a really nice guy. We head upstream, Miles has intel that the Fence Pool is full of fish. I hate that pool, deep and swirly with an ugly upstream eddy on the near bank. Not swinging water. Evil nymphing water, but anyway I leave them to it and head down to the Whitikau. Wet prints on the bank show that some one's left the water recently. I need to hit the far bank where the fish hold, and get a couple of feet of drag free drift. I struggle. Guys like Jase and Greig can do this with regularity. I get started and Pete appears on the bank, armed with his #4 trout spey. He casts beautifully and is in the groove immediately. I get it right occasionally and get an elusive hit; but the fish bites and is gone. Pete and I natter about what I can't remember. We head downstream and drop over the bank to the Reef Pool. That pool has changed a lot. The deep heavy flow beneath the reef on which one stands is interrupted by a large rock so the heavy near bank chute at the tail is gone, replaced by a more sedate tail out. Pete sends me to the head and begins to probe the tail. His hit comes early as he swings under the bank, a natural holding lie.  But its gone. My take is positive and the fish rips line. Shortly Pete nets a fine silver fish.

Reef Pool

There are a lot of guys around, an indication that the runs have finally arrived upriver.

Next stop is Blue Pool. Pete takes the upper half of the tail and I go in below the big rock. Its such sweet swinging water. We know its been hammered today but by now all the holding water will have been fished. So hitting the far bank and combing the water where fish will have retreated to is important. Its late afternoon by the time we're done. I'd had 2 hits and Pete one, for no hook ups. We really don't know why our hit to hookup conversion rate is so low. I mean we've debated it extensively, theorised that hook up configurations are less effective than hook down, and vice versa... but we just don't know for sure. Pete who's observed a million billion zillion fish eats in his many years as a guide doesn't subscribe to 'short takes' and 'tail nips'. He knows that fish hit streamers amid-ship which is why when fishing articulated double hook flies he removes the rear hook to make the fly compliant with local regulations and not the forward hook. We agree to meet at his 06.30 the following morning for breakfast, giving me time for a pre-dawn assault. Heading back to town with a 19.00 dinner date with the boys to meet, I realise that despite having already gone hard for 12 hours I'm still keen. We jump out at the Island Pool and head across the bouldered rockscape. Layla likes it here, lots of grass holds quail and she's lit up. 2 guys are nymphing the head of the run and I slide in below them - literally - the bottom here is uniform smooth round small rocks coated with algae. Wading staff mandatory as each step is a slippery lottery. Layla visits the upstream anglers and barks at them. I call her back. I need to be out of the water by 6. Under the waterfall a fish takes and stays on, flashing dark red in the late afternoon sunlight.  I'm in shin deep fast water and without a net (curse my damn short memory!) I need to move downstream and bring the fish into the lee of the near bank where the current swings wide. He's well hooked and is well disgruntled. He gives me a tail spray as he swims away. I slip-slide my way back up. This is nice water but I'm yet to hit a fresh fish in here. The line tightens and I'm in again. Another dark fish, a recovering hen. The tail out is lovely looking water but I come up with nothing. Back at the truck I realise I'm stuffed.

04.45 and the alarm goes. Its cooler this morning. Layla is awake in the truck and wolfs down her food before toileting. Coffee and weetbix on board and we're away. We're the first car in the park this morning. I figure I'll get through one run and choose the "Lodge Run' which gave us so much fun last year. Jase had told ,me that the floods had altered the run somewhat. Layla and I stumble to the head of the run. Again I start fishing in relative darkness. But I stuff up and over cast, hitting the far bank. Breaking the fly off I know I'll have to wait for a bit of light to tie a new fly on. Upstream a car drives to the edge of the Lower Bridge pool. The original troll hole. With enough light available, a new fly is bent on. Conscious of time I fish faster than I might normally and its only near the tail that goods are produced. A small fat jack eats in the heavy water, and takes quite some subduing before going back.

Pete and I eat eggs, bacon and fried spuds on his front porch. Life takes some interesting twists and meeting honest genuine nice people like Pete and Sherrie is such a bonus. Layla's staying for a day date with Kaiser and Sherrie. Pete and I head out. We'll start up at Mill Race. Amazingly only one other car's in there. We're almost set when Sean Andrews (Cat 3 Fly Co.) and his mate pull in. Same plan but with limited water he agrees to head elsewhere. A call from Andy and he's looking for water too. Pete and I get to Mill Race. The head's occupied. There, 2 nymphers work the juicy seam. We jump in the tail. I find this water very hit and miss but usually good for a fish. Not today. Andy, Sean and his mate are in Carty's Run. We regroup and decide to head upriver. Talking to Sean, its fishing double handers that brought him back to this river. That's a common theme amongst the spey guys, the challenge of swinging flies for the thrill of the take is the summit, the very apex of fishing this river. Andy and Sean's mate (sorry I am so bad with names) fish the Whitikau while Pete, Sean and I talk. The river is busy, a couple of canoeists carry their white water boats upstream. Saying good bye to Sean, Pete and I head downstream. We soon bump into Greig, the speymesiter. We have a chit chat and drop into Reef. Its already been thrashed from the far bak so hopes are not high, Greig leaves shortly and we need a new plan. With limited time we make the call to head to the lower river. And its a good call, only a couple of cars are in the park, Pete draws the Stump and I head up to the Lodge Run. A  couple of nymphers are in there on the far bank. I could easily jump in but I'm not given to bad angling manners. It shits me, so why do it to someone else? Rather I head down to the messy water above Pete. Jase says its "no good". The rush of the river heads down the True left under an undercut bank before the flow charges headlong into a thicket of stumps of old trees. Floods have driven this river path, having destroyed some fine old pools in the process. I'd hit fish from the far bank before, where the heavy water slackened under the cut of the bank. So fish definitely held... but with the main rush of water closer to the far bank I'd struggle to drift a fly through the holding lie. Technical water keeps a lot of guys away. In the fastest of fast water the fly came up tight and I was connected to a fish that took line at an alarming rate before turning away from the snags at the very last second. In no way would she come out of the main flow though and it took quite a lot of side pressure to draw her forth, each time though he charged back in the shelter of the torrent. Finally the fish gave in, and unhooked charged home.

And it was time for me to head home as well. Layla had had a fine morning with her mate. So had I. Always good kick'n with Pete.

Into Spring

Looking back a year and its remarkable both the parallels and differences on a week-to-week prior corresponding period basis. This time last year the North Island was wet, the trout were running hard and we'd been snowed on. This year, the South Island has had the snow event. Farmers have reported Major lamb losses due to the wet. The big difference seems to be that the trout runs in the Tongariro have seemed very sporadic. Rather than hitting chrome fresh minted fish regularly, those specimens have been harder to come by.

We've fished some different water this year, no doubt about that but the explorations have often been fruitless or the rewards minimal. As a rule, the fishing above the township's main bridge has been difficult whilst in the uglier waters below the bridge, fish have been regularly found. For sanity's sake, a good amount of time has to be spent in the peaceful beauty of the upper river once the need to hook a fish has been sated. The hope that the runs will appear in force keep driving us on, but last weekend a change was needed.  We wanted to swing up some resident fish that equally wanted to smash passing bullies and leeches. We needed a change of location. A plan was hatched.

We'd left at the gentlemanly hour of 5.15am, a little later than I'd normally set off. The weather was stunning, a still day lay ahead of us and fog blanketed the land. As such the drive was a little slower but we still made good time and on arrival fell into our routine for setting up. I had along the Sage One 4116 Trout Spey and Jase had packed his #3 Spey - whilst other methods draw more fish we both prefer to swing up our trout. The hits are super addictive. The river looked in smashing condition as Jase and I walked up to our chosen water. In the backwaters we spied browns cruising - they could wait until we returned armed with single handers later in the season. Layla frolicked around until suddenly from behind a bank a lamb charged at, and hit her. I'd never seen the like! My first chosen water comprised shallow shingle rapids with individual inflows contributing to a stronger current under the far bank that flowed into a gut before shallowing into a really nice tail. The confused currents made a simple swing impossible so I chose a cast and jerky retrieve approach. Soon enough, the fly stopped with a thump. Lifted into a largish fish that fought dourly, rolling in the current. When extracted he proved to be a very old fish with large teeth, past his prime but still ready to chomp on a passing bully.

Dinotrout

After that I struggled a bit. Nothing moved at the fish imitation. Plan b needed - off with the skagit head, on with the scandi, a med sink tip and a team of small wet flies. Having not really done much of this type of fishing I needed to hit fish to get some confidence. And the first hit wasn't long in coming. The fish throbbed under water and the fight was protracted, so I was quite surprised at the long skinny fish that I landed. At that stage I noticed 3 anglers walking upstream.... our plan for solitude was scuppered. I wandered down to meet Jase and he said the other guys had fished up, so any water from here down had been covered. It was now pretty hot - Jase was having a nap on the bank and Layla was stretched out on the sun. The run I probed was long and had always coughed a fish, Jase told me that the 3 guys had extracted half a dozen fish already, so I wasn't all that confident. When the fish hit, I was bringing the wee wets back with a jerky retrieve. The small brown fought gamely and when brought to hand had taken the darker wet (name unknown) loaded with a small bead for weight. 

Jase woke up and moved downstream while I swung the tail out hoping for a larger brownie.  Overhead the sun beat down. Layla chased a pheasant out of the undergrowth and got excited by quail scent as we moved down to find Jase. Rounding a corner we came upon 2 other anglers working upstream - maybe the beautiful day forecast had brought a rush of other anglers to the river? 

While Jase worked downstream I covered a favoured run but the lack of action told me that the other blokes had already been through. Layla and I lay on the bank, she flicking at flies with her tail while I caught some shut eye. Then it was time to go.

Island time

Island Time has a quaint homesy aura, and CXI runs on Island Time. For this, our third trip, we were greeted by Shimano at Cassidy International. Progress is being made and the tin roofed shed is being replaced by a modern looking terminal facility. I predict that the quaintness factor will go by the wayside faster than ever now. This was reflected by the attitude of some of the guides who, after a long season were frank in their admissions that Australasian anglers are given second rate treatment behind the higher tipping US based anglers. Shame that. By now they should realise that we work as hard or maybe harder for a buck, so they should either step up, or step aside in the case of some of the older guys leading the young fellas astray.

The frustrations of guides not showing up for work, or in our case on the final morning the boatman not arriving, topped off the the feedback above given were on the whole evened out by several experiences.

Lunch 

Day 4 and I was on the "Long Walk" with my guide "T". I had 1500mls of water on board and my lunch... T had nothing and refused water when offered. We'd been dropped off the boat and wouldn't see it again until late in the afternoon. The pancake coral amongst the back country lagoons is a very special environment and we'd done well on the bones and were hunting a GT. Several shots were taken but the fish were very cagey and turned away at the last second. Come lunchtime and T asked if I liked eating fish? Sure I do! We set off for a small island and once there I was tasked with collecting salt brush and grass for firewood and tinder respectively. T in the meantime had my fly line in hand and was jigging the fly over the rocky outcrop, soon throwing fish after fish over his shoulder. When he deemed that we had enough we set about starting the fire - my role was mainly to lie in front of the pile of grass and tinder to block the incessant wind. Once lit and embers formed, the fish (snapper) were raked into the coals and cooked whole. Once skinned and with the head removed (taking the guts with it) the flesh was sweet and juicy - amongst the very best fish meals I've ever eaten.

'

The formidable drag

Post our GT trip earlier in the year where our gear was simply smashed, an excessive amount of research had gone into reels with responsive, powerful drags. Jase and I had both settled on Hardy Fortuna XDS 10000's - one drag knob turn and you've gone from zero to 32lb of fish breaking drag.

Until that is, you meet fishzilla. One minute the pink bill fish fly was idyllically swimming through the cobalt water, next minute the ocean opened and a fridge sized yellowfin mashed the fly. Within seconds the 65lb backing was disappearing at an alarming rate and the fish was unerring in direction or pace, quite simply it was flat out for the horizon. 

Over my shoulder, Dion, the driest Aussie you'll meet drawled "turn the drag up, he'll spool you...". I sunset the drag knob. Less than 10 seconds later, the fish was gone. At first, I'd thought that my rigging had failed but as I wound in I realised that the backing had parted. Why???? It wasn't until I tried to back off the drag that I discovered it had seized solid. The formidable drag.... good on paper I suppose.

Later, Dion fought a tuna to a standstill but lost it at the boat as the hook pulled. Mike boated a junior fish soon after. I call that an ass whooping :) - I'll probably never attach to a larger fish on fly gear and I'm ok with that!

Yup, it was good to be back in Kiribati.