Going a bit retro

Meinrad is a nice bloke and a qualified casting instructor. Jase met him via the local, Rod and Reel. A couple of casting refreshers were on the cards. I’d asked what to bring and the response was ‘whatever rod you want to practice with, and a good attitude’. I decided on a whim to drag the old mistress out; my Sage XP 590-4. The first high quality fly rod I’d ever purchased, she’d taken quite some wifely convincing to bring across the threshold. A “rod for life” I’d said. Other rods have come and gone since then. But I meant what I’d said. The first cast with her had brought a lovely fat brown far from where you’d expect such a fish. So light and responsive. Not uber fast. In the initial practice session I was overpowering the rod and smashing out all sorts of tailing loops and ugliness. But when it came together, well damn. I was back in love. Rolling forward a couple of weeks a back-country mission beckoned. It’d be my first post hip operation big mission and in a way was the truest test I could get. The gorge we’d drop into is mean, the walking is rough, mostly wading over slippery moss-covered rocks designed to roll ankles and test joints. I opted for the XP as weapon of choice. Before going over the edge I called SWMBO and told her of our plan, expected get out time, and what to do if she hadn’t heard from us. Boots laced. On with pack. Layla’s collar removed. GPS, food, survival blanket, lighter.

We set off downstream, where possible using terraces to stay out of the stream bed. Old familiar pools were passed. Finally after almost 3 hours we reached our starting point. Misty cool rain blew through, which combined with our sweat drenched bodies caused rapid cooling. I pulled my spare dry top out of the pack and donned it. I was wet wading while Jase had chosen waders. I’d felt that the additional restriction of movement of waders would tire me faster.

We rigged up under the ominous gaze of a huge bluff, cleft by a stream gully, the lowest of the 3-river confluence. The pool is beautiful with plenty of fish-holding cover. Jase was first up and immediately hooked and landed a beautifully coloured bow. It may even have been first cast. I’d tied on a stone fly with a 3.8mm tungsten bead behind a Category 3 Roger That. The fly plopped in and on the second or third drift was hit. And that set the scene for the day, the fish were active and in great nick. The old XP gave a great account and I bent her to the handle more than once. I’d hesitate to call the number of fish we hit between us. 

By midday the weather improved so jackets and under layers were removed. Layla rummaged in the bush, pushing out grey ducks and at one stage a Canada goose. She was having a back country ball. The fish were in great condition, some of the fights were the stuff of dreams with fish screaming uncontrollably up and downstream, and on occasion we took multiple fish from holding
pools. Quite simply epic fishing.

We continued to clamber up the riverbed, negotiating large rocks and edging around bluffs, and after 12 hours in the gorge we reached our get out point. The final descent was exhausting. At the truck I called in to wifey to let her know we were safe. My hip had stood up perfectly and the recent knee clean up op hadn’t hampered me overly. Layla dropped in the backseat, she’d had a hell of a big day. At the hut Jase fired up a feed of pork chops, spuds and coleslaw before we headed out for the evening rise.

The night before had been epic, I’d taken the Sage Trout Spey HD #3 armed with a scandi head and long tapered leader with an emerger down to the evening rise pool. As the sun had dropped fish began to move and I started covering rises, swinging the fly through rise forms. The sky darkened and rise forms splashed all over the pool; bugs constantly landed on my face in the darkness. The fish I finally hit launched and threw the fly, a fat football of a fish. As the rise dropped away I switched on my lamp and was astounded by the tens of thousands of caddis dancing above the water – with so many naturals available to the fish even getting an eat felt like a long shot.

This night, I tied an elk head caddis on and with the XP in hand wandered down to the pool. Jase arrived with his little #2 Sage TS HD wearing his gumboots. I hadn’t even brought another fly, if I lost this one my eyes wouldn’t let me tie another on. The rises were sporadic, clearly tonight’s hatch wasn’t going to be quite as epic as the previous evening’s. The fly was engulfed in a glop and I lifted to for half a second a decent weight that was here and gone. I flicked the fly to recast then though I’d best check it…. The hook had broken at the bend. Sh1t hooks. I don’t tie my EHCs – maybe I should start. Day over. A huge day.

The dog snuggled into my back that night and snored like a trooper. I was quite surprised to wake early. Outside, cloud had settled. We ate eggs and bacon and planned our day. We were expecting Andy, in which case he and I would fish a branch while Jase took out his spey gear. We decided to head down to the river for a quick fish until Andy arrived, so the XP was pressed back into action. We crossed the river and Jase headed upstream while I went to a favoured pool and fished out the head. A ‘bow and a brown came to the fly before Andy called and relayed that in Turangi it was pelting down and forecast to come our way so he’d pulled the pin. 

Change of plan. Back at the hut I rigged the trout spey gear and we headed off. I’d put on the Skagit head and a dual density tip followed by a Gartside Starling. The big river offers stacks of swinging water – in fact probably the best way of covering the water off is with long swung casts.

By the time we reached our turnaround point we’d both taken some ripper fish. My best had taken a sculpin pattern we call the Skanky Squirrel, a derivative of Jerry French’s Summer Sculpin as I’d retrieved the fly through thing deep water at the end of the swing. The fish taken hard then screamed out line leaping and spraying droplets. In the weigh net she was 4lb on the nose. 

The sky darkened as we made our way back to the hut. We packed, cleaned, baited the rat trap and shut the hut down then headed out. The skies opened. For once, we were glad to be off the river.

Sailing in the wind

A paddle-boarder I'm not. Not even close. Jase's inflatable SUP, the gold and green ship known as 'Gareth the Crab' was as we'd left it with Itu, in perfect working order. As a family we'd just arrived on Aitutaki and first order of business was to hire a car and get my fishing license. I pretended it wasn't the first order of business, claiming a 'sight-seeing tour'. After getting both license and car at the Boat Shed we set off. First stop Itu's where we caught up with the man himself, and James who runs Wahoo charters. Itu went off to find the paddle board and returned. We talked about next year's trip to Manuae and he'd put some thought in about back up boats and what not. After a chat we'd headed off to the lookout, via the huge Banyan Tree which the road dissects. It was good to be back.

That night, the wind arrived. We were woken by gusts blowing through the palms outside our bungalow. By sunrise it hadn't eased an iota. I arrived at the port at gentleman's hours, post breakfast. 130 pumps saw Gareth fully inflated. I'd scoped out a brick as an anchor. I'd assembled the paddle. I'd got it all together.... so I'd thought... wind assisted Gareth and I set off on a waddling course - only halfway across and fully committed did I remember that I'd not attached the detachable stabilising fin to Gareth, so his bum was unstable to say the least. Making the flat I threw the brick over and anchored. I'd never seen as many bones on the flat as I did that morning. And, they were shallow. This isn't what I'd come to expect at all. My flies were weighted to thwart current and hit the bottom fast. Even the smallest tungsten eyed flies were too heavy. I spooked fish to the left, the right and the centre. Finally I got a good cast in ahead of a nice fish, got the eat and landed a good specimen.

A little later I thought I'd hung up on some sea grass but pulled a flounder up, my first. Paddling back against the wind was futile, so I headed across the channel arriving at a breakwater where I jumped off and towed the craft back to where the car was parked. Lesson learned - DON'T FORGET THE FIN.

As and where I could, I spent time fishing. A session on the flat nearest the game club was fruitless. Spotting is difficult here. We had a day snorkeling the lagoon before heading to One Foot Is. The wind grew.

The day before my guided day, Kaleena called to say that the wind would increase further, so asked if we could postpone by 24 hours. Family said yes. As they'd organised massages and beauty treatments I had a day up my sleeve.  With the fin on, Gareth was much more manageable. The wind have moved further to the south. I arrived on the flat. Across the channel an angler and guide worked as a team. The wind howled. And on the whole, the fish seemed absent.  Given that It had taken a bit of effort to get there I decided to blind cast over the lip into deeper water. Its notr a tactic for a fine day, but on my last trip had paid dividends on another flat, where 7 bones and a trev had accepted the fly, 6 of the bones and a small brassy coming to hand on that day. 4 hours in and I hadn't even looked like hooking a bone. I just wasn't seeing the fish. I'd traversed the flat twice and was faced with casting into the wind. Directly into the wind. On one corner of the flat I could make an angled back hand cast into the blue and here finally I felt a good take, hit the fish with a quick strip and the fireworks started. Once quelled I managed a few shots of the fish. That signaled home time, and despite the wind having increased and changed quarter to an even more inconvenient angle the trip was more manageable with the fin holding the board's bum on track.

Tuesday rolled around. The phone call when it came was expected. The wind was constant and I thought it would be Kalewena calling the day off. But no, it was simply a change of pick up point. When I got down to the lagoon, Tia had a large mantis shrimp under control. Rua was waiting and after a big bear hug we set off. He took us to a flat sheltered by a motu and showed me fish after fish. My casting was less than great but the issue seemed to me more that the fish were picky.  The wind was increasing, but I was getting plenty of shots in. Time ad again Rua called the strike but the fish hadn't committed. If I struck once that morning, I struck 50 times. We worked on getting the presentation better and slowing the retrieve own to less than a crawl to keep the fly anchored on the bottom and minimise the effect of the waves. Improving the technique paid off - We hooked 2, dropped one and landed a nice fish..

A change of location to a much deeper flat and things got really challenging. We had limited shelter, waist deep water and fish moving unpredictably. It was tricky, challenging and ultimately rewarding as I set the hook into what after a hell of a fight turned into a bone in the region of 8lbs.

Soon after I took a small Napolean Wrasse, another first for me. We lunched on One Foot after which we did a short stint looking for more fish. The wind now howled so I suggested we cut and run, which Rua was happy to do. Great guide, great day, great reward. Up at the house I said goodbye to the boys. Goodbye for the next while until we see each other again. It'll be about a year, all going to plan.

Low and clear

With no rain for at least a couple of weeks and only last weekend’s Recreational Release to refresh the river, there were probably better options (Jase mentioned at least one) to swing up some resident feeding fish, but I’d promised Greig a shot with the 3 weight. That meant a final spring trip to the Tongariro. We went straight up to the Blue Pool, rigged and while Jase hit the Pig Pen I wandered up to Whitikau where I met Chris who was on his final day of a 2 week stay. After a chat I headed to the top of the run where Greig was working his RB Meiser #5. A handshake, and a rod exchange. At the head of the run I began to extend line, the Hardy Taupo mounted on the rod purring with each pull of line. The rod itself was very slow actioned and I was able to lay out casts with ease. Downstream, Greig turned and gave me a thumbs up – clearly he was enjoying the rod. 

Layla guarding the run. Credit: Chris Dore

Chris having swung out the tail of the pool came upstream to shoot the breeze and say goodbye before heading back south. 

Chris & Layla

I watched Greig cover the holding lie which is opposite the main flow of the river and requires that the fly hits the water within 6” of the far bank, and a drift through the lie before the current drags a belly and whips the fly downstream. If anyone’s going to take a fish there it’s the master himself but nothing came to his fly. Or mine for that matter but having followed 2 of NZ’s best anglers through the reach I wasn’t surprised about that. Greig exited the water and came up. I reeled in and handed over his beautiful combo – oh how I’d have loved to hear that Hardy sing. He was rapt with the Trout Spey HD, and we both agreed that Sage has nailed it with this model. Other people who had tried the #4 were saying equally nice things.  I continued through the pool and then headed downstream, dropping into the Reef Pool where wet prints up the bank indicated someone had recently exited. I could see Jase downstream swinging out the tail of the Pen. The Reef is nothing like the pool where 3 years ago I’d hit a fish that simply charged out my head, running line and most of my backing while the Speyco screamed and screamed. Back then the deep seam extended down past the rock seam that gives the pool its name and hugged the true left. Now the tail has filled in such that I could see that the river is wadable there in low flow, so a new crossing is formed. This will change the way I fish this part of the river. On the upside, a beautiful tail out has formed and so I waded down in water that was once neck deep swinging the fly from main seam through the riffle across to the left bank below me. And I got a hit, a good hit. The fish hit the surface, sprayed and heaved into the main current. A jerk through the whole rod told me that something horrible had happened on the reel. The fly was gone. The running one had wrapped under itself somehow, maybe I had wound it on loose last time? Whatever, on a low river sunny day I knew there’d be few hits so losing a fish to gear failure is not a good look. At the car park Jase and Greig were finishing up a cup of coffee, so I grabbed one also and we nattered away, planning our next move. Town pools. I was in my t shirt under waders by this time and even though occasionally a light cool zephyr blew, it was nice to not be clad in the winter clothes while fishing. Greig hit the Lodge Run while I wandered down to Stump and Jase moved into the Cnut. I studied the water. The low flow had moved the main current several feet. The pool had probably already fished hard. I figured that the fish would be holding in the current or maybe against the far bank so after short-lining the slack immediately below the sticks I began to hit the far bank, throw a mend and drift into the main run. Almost immediately a fish bumped at the fly without hooking up. I gave the fly some erratic movement to see if the half-hearted tap would convert to a full smash, but that wasn’t to be. I carefully fished the same cast but no joy, so began my movement down the pool. Finally and below what is normally the prime holding water, a fish latched on, ran into the bank, thrashed around and then came upstream. The hook pulled. Gah. I added a wee soft hackle on a dropper. Mayflies were coming off, maybe just maybe I could get a fish interested in an emerger. No joy. I decided to go through the pool again but to really focus on the area by the large fly eating snag ¾ of the way down. Here, long casts across are doomed to catch up on the mother of all what must be fallen trees or a standing stump covered in trash, so a cast 60 degrees down and across is called for. I’d almost reached the snag when in the turbulent water above it a fish slashed at the fly, missing the hook. At the end of the swing I jigged the fly in case the fish had followed and with a wrench the fly was hit broadside on. And the fish was in no mood to be brought ashore either. I saw bronze flashes in the water as the fish doggedly regained the line I’d taken. At one point I called it for a brown before a darkening rainbow jack rolled on the surface.  Nice, day made. He posed for a shot before shooting from my grasp and burning out into the current.

I wandered upstream to where Greig was effortlessly covering the water. So nice to watch a maestro at work.

The afternoon unravelled with us catching up with more river mates, Connor & Shelen, Andy, Theresa and Claudio, who were fishing downriver. I changed over to the new Scandi head to get some touch and go casting practice in. I’m a bit out of practice and when after a few shots I got my boogy on, I hit the snags on the far bank and lost my flies! Greig, Jase and I swapped positions in the runs. I wasn’t seriously fishing so much as trying to figure stuff out for summer riffle fishing. After the past month of skagit casting post my absolute fishing hiatus whilst recovering, it took some adjusting to get the single Spey going.

We rolled out late in the afternoon, relaxed after a beautiful day on the water. Time to put the Skagit heads away. It feels like summer is almost here.

Leech day

Jase is a long time advocate of the simple bead head leech pattern for migrating rainbows. Whereas I've used small silver bodied orange bead headed woolly buggers for quite some time, the simplicity of tying leeches began to appeal. Tungsten bead flies hang up in rocks and sink quickly to meet snags. Tying replacement flies that take a couple of minutes each to fashion appeals more and more!

But there's that thing about using 'new' patterns. Your mate has caught hundreds of fish on them, but still that little nagging doubt nibbles at your brain. Can I catch with them? (I mean, of course I can but I don't know that yet).

Another early start. SWMBO is getting used to me waking before the alarm goes, before 4am. Dog is fed. Porridge. Coffee. Into the truck. Dog gets extra sleep on the back seat. We arrive in T town and head straight to the river. Encouraging sign #1, no one else is at the car park. Gear assembled. Brisk walk to the crossing. A chilly wind whips clouds across the sky. Even though its spring now, a system they are calling "the mole from the pole" drags cold air up and across NZ. Layla hunts the scrub and chases down duck scent at the river crossing, where I drag her across to avoid her spilling downstream through the next holding lie. At the entry point she rolls in the sand. On with the leech. I start with an olive body orange bead on an Ahrex #4 barbless. Short line first, swing through the gut. Lengthen to swing the first of the holding lie, nothing, try different drifts (fly side on, or tail on) by mending. I'm almost into the prime water and am swinging into slack current in front of a snag, giving the fly action with rod movement when the fish hits. Airborne, spray flying I glimpse silver as the fish cartwheels towards the bank then runs at me. I'm reeling fast but there's slack in the system and inevitably the hook pulls. Hmm. A few swings later but into the broad choppy part of the run and the line shudders. This time I clearly see a large jack fish, coloured from a few days in the river, take to the air. He jumps and jumps and throws the hook. Too much rod pressure? Apart from another bump, the rest of the run gave nothing up. Telling the dog to stay I jumped in the river to cross the deep channel to a gravel bed below a snag, from where a long cast dropped into deep (snaggy) water under the bank covers the tail out.

Fish hang in the gentler tail out. The water was pretty clear, after the recent rain I'd expected more colour. When the cloud receded, the sun beamed down, not really ideal conditions. The water deepened as the shingle bed fanned out, but from this point coverage of the holding water peaks. The rod shuddered and a fish ran upstream - fast. I stripped running line to maintain control as the fish streaked past me, aiming at the snag upstream. With line on the reel I gave it a bit of jandel and forced her downstream. On the #3 every fight is epic and this one is no different.

Beached she shone in the sun, fresh and clean straight up from the lake. Back on her way. I waded back out to the gravel bar. The next hit came soon after, this time a darker fish which fought dourly. The run gave me one more hit that didn't connect.

Calling Layla to join me on a bar midstream, I swung what could be great holding water if not for the presence of a mess of snags. We worked our way downstream but there were no further rewards. The wind blustered and made casting difficult. At the truck we ate lunch. Layla scoffed some biscuits while I tackled a couple of kransky sausages. 

Overlooking the river from the road bridge I watched half a dozen guys hammer arguably the most productive pool on the river. Its a pool not to be missed if you enjoy company!

I decided to spend a couple of hours in the 'town pools;. Arriving at the car park we found a disgusting sight. Well to me, not so much to Layla who was immediately interested - the remains of a skinned and cleaned sheep.

I'll never understand the mentality of some cretins. The Lodge Run was unoccupied so I swung the bucket at the top and then the tail out. No hits.

The Cnut was occupied but to my surprise the Stumpy was devoid of angers. But not of fish! Its such great holding water and the fish will lie both sides of the pool, which spills right to left past a mass of  drowned timber. It duly gave up a number of hits through its full length, the leech getting plenty of attention.

Representative example. Leech in mouth.

Having combed the water once and with no on else around, I moved to the top and came through again. This pass I focused more on the fast water, holding the fly in the heavier current, and was rewarded with several nice fish.

I called it at 3pm, feeling quite chilled in the legs. Leech fly - tested and approved.

Half a year

26 August. 6 months of rehab has come and gone. I'd actually cheated a bit and attended Sporting Life’s annual Fly Fest in Turangi, using the excuse to jump in the river for a few hours on the Saturday with old mate Milo. A hole in my waders combined with a complete lack of terrain fitness (exercise had been daily stationary cycling for 15 - 20km) saw me back at base mid afternoon for a rest while my wader glue set. The following day I set out for a swing and can’t really remember how I went. I know that later I’d told the lads I felt more like I was filling time than fishing effectively. Time away does that. But it was simply so nice to be back in the water that the pain that followed was soon forgotten. And, as always it was great to catch up with a bunch of fellow anglers at the Fest. It’s a great event. I found myself after months of not doing much, planning a weekend trip. I let Pete know I was heading down, and he grabbed the new Sage Trout Spey HD 3110 that I’d asked to be set aside for me. Rather than push too hard getting down on the Friday evening, I packed the car, got a good sleep in and loaded the dog aboard early the next morning for the trip down. We made good time and it was before 9 when I arrived at Pete’s for coffee. He was dressed for fishing, so we got our shit together and headed up to the Blue for a swing. The rod is simply i-n-c-r-e-d-i-b-l-e. Armed with a 275g Rio Trout Spey head and 10 t-8 MOW tip it just fires out decently weighted streamers with ease. The wind was howling from the mountains and I couldn’t have cared less; I pulled my woolly hat lower, zipped my puffer up and cast offhand. We swung that pool tip to tail for not even a hit. I’m officially in love with that fly rod. Even so, I handed it over to Pete and soon he was grinning ear to ear. We skipped back to town where I dropped Pete off, he was recovering from a cold and it was best for him to escape the freezing wind. On a whim I headed down to the top of the braids and found no one home, with wind like that the nymphers stay away in droves. It was in the top branch that I landed my first fish on the rod, a  little hen who decided to stay upright for her photo. 

Further down after a dicey crossing I swung out a nice gut that tailed out into sweet looking run water and smack in the middle a fat healthy hen ate and headed skyward. The fight was torrid but I soon beached her. Later in the Lodge Braid I hit a beautiful fish that shredded the surface and threw the hook.  After a tough morning, at least I was finding fish now.

 Returning to the truck I drove around to the reserve car park and wandered down to the Stumpy. The sun was lowering. The pool has changed somewhat since last season, with the main flow entering slightly higher, exposing additional stumps and debris. Its magic swinging water, the heavy flow broken up by the debris leaving broken mid-thigh deep water on the TLB, fish holding water. It invariably coughs a fish or at least a hit and this time it did both. In the twilight a fish bumped the fly without taking so I jigged the rod and was rewarded with a savage hit. A sweet little fresh hen was beached. Soon after and nearing the bottom of the tail out, another fat little freshie ate and fought with great heart. She was returned. 

The sun was past set by the time I booked into the motel. Layla was dried, fed and wrapped in blankets, she’d stay the night in the truck. I slept well and it was an early start for us. By the light of head lamp we arrived at the Mill Race. I had great hopes that the additional flow (the big boulder was only just showing) would see fish lying in the edge water. I swung it from top to bottom (including swinging the juiciest part twice) for one grab and one coloured fish landed. 

Not quite the reward I was looking for! I thought of the nice looking stretch above Admirals, Jase and I had walked to it once before. It really looks the goods. Layla and I crossed the Major Jones swing bridge and headed upstream. The walk was a good 30 minutes, which I wasn’t used to after the layoff. None the less we arrived at the Admirals on the TRB and moved up to the run. Well, as good as it looks, its actually horrible to fish with confused currents not really conducive to swinging. I fished it through while Layla perched on a rock mid current. A flying visit to Kamahi Pool gave me a coloured up jack in the tail and not much else. A brisk walk back to the bridge punctuated with a quick swing through the water below the Hydro and above the Breakfast. Nothing. There’d been 6 guys in the Hydro when I’d set off upstream, only 1 remained now. I set off to the reserve and wandered down to the Stumpy, where a guy was nymphing. Walking back up to the Cnut I asked the nympher opposite if he’d mind me fishing my side, and with his blessing I jumped in the top. He soon vacated carrying a very nice fish and I began (hopefully!) methodically combing the water. Layla stood atop the high bank, keeping guard 😊. Nearing the tail I got a hell of a fright when a fish hit in the faster water and ripped line. I’m not sure why he stopped but he turned and ran up stream while I reeled like mad. Opposite me he lugged out into the current, time after time returning to the heavy flow as I tried to coax him out. By my watch the fight was about 15 minutes in duration during which – Layla engaged in a play fight with another dog, Pete phoned, 2 guys pulled a car up to the bank to watch, Pete phoned again, the dog’s owner engaged me in conversation for several minutes before realising I had a fish on, the fish changed tactics and doggedly pushed under the bank and then finally… I beached a large jack who carried his river darkness like a shadow over his silvered flanks. He had the final say too, spraying me with water as he kicked powerfully out of my hands. Down at the coffee cart, Pete gave me his rundown. He’d taken the Trout Spey HD 4116 out for a shot and man, we yapped like excited kids about the rods. Pete’s an observer of speaking only when words need speaking, and he had a few. We parted company and I decide that my final fling would be in the Stump. It was vacant when I arrived. The first fish hit and shot skywards throwing the hook.

In the slacker water the line tightened and I hit a solid resistance that simply accelerated screaming line off the reel.  She skittered across the surface in a series of hook dislodging cartwheels, that fortunately for me failed, the hook remaining solidly in her jaw. As I beached her I thought it would be nice to take one for eating, so delivered the coup de gras. I swung the middle of the pool again and was landing a small dark fish when a dog and angler appeared. We spoke for a while then I gave him the pool and bade farewell to him, his dog and the river.

Day tripping

Jase was back from his annual pacific holiday. I needed another fix. He’d headed down Friday night. Doggo and I were on the road at 04.15. Jase and I met at the coffee cart, caffeinated and got going. Destination: The Pest Pit. I’d anticipated hitting this water since Pesty had taken Jase there and they’d done fairly well. We walked the track with anticipation, crossed the river with relative ease (dog was swept downstream and made the far bank in a back water) and Jase directed me to the upper lie. Hard against the left bank a bush overhung a deep gut which got the treatment. Nothing. The reach is punctuated with a fallen tree that forms a natural break in the current which fans wide before sweeping from right to left. A good cast to the far bank provides a great searching swing through the slackening water without any need to mend. The first bump didn’t connect, and although I jigged the fly to see if the fish would chase and eat it didn’t. I carefully covered the same cast a couple more times to see if I could tempt the fish, but no. A few paces downstream and the line tightened. The fish when landed was slightly dark and was soon on the way. The next hit was powerful and the fish charged upstream. I thought I had some control before the hook pulled. Jase soon joined me from where he’d been combing the lower run while I fished the tail of the run. Above us, old friend Chris Freer entered the tail of the next pool up and soon hooked up, his Sage Method glowing like a light sabre in the sun. Jase followed suit and landed a chrome bright hen which escaped his grasp before I could snap a photo. I moved into the lower run and Jase headed downstream. Over the next while I fished hard for a hit that didn’t hook up, then crossed and headed down to fish behind Jase. He’d done well landing several ‘bows and a grumpy looking brownie. We’d killed a few hours so back to the coffee cart... post caffeination we decided to head up and fish the Pig Pen and Whitikau. I grabbed Layla and crossed the river while Jase headed up. At the vantage point we’d spotted a number of fish in the ‘Pen’ but I hit nothing. Jase called and had landed 5 from the Whitikau. He said he’d cross and come down to fish behind me. I went through the Pen again, with a T-10 tip on to see if the faster sinking tip would make a difference. It didn’t to the fish but my casting went all to shit!

Jase appeared, soaked as he’d tumbled over on the crossing. He swung the Pen while I messed around, changed the tip, played with Layla and then wandered back upstream. At the truck we decided to hit the town pools as a final stanza before I got on the road. Jase hopped in the Cnut while I wandered up to the Lodge Run. The top bucket didn’t produce at all. Hopping in at the mid run point, I began to fish across the current back into the slacker water downstream. The fish that ate both did so midstream and both times I was forced to step backwards upstream to bring them to hand. 

One day my lack of a landing net will cost me a big fish I suspect. At the trucks I fed the hound who crashed in the back seat. I downed the obligatory V energy drink. Home time.

Into Autumn

The month of May. 

For us in the southern hemisphere it marks the final month of autumn, a month that normally signals the first blasts of cold weather that turn the leaves brown and send one reaching for coats and parkas. 

Autumn is generally a wet season but this year we’ve had an abnormally dry summer and Autumn, leading to a general shortage of water. Lumbered with my dodgy hip I’d been unable to partake in the usual pre duck season traditions and maintenance. But by hook or by crook I’d be there for opening day, that unmissable tradition, that highlight of the year. With much assistance from good mate Matt, I was there in the maimai pre-dawn on opening with dad. We were ensconced in The Park, a fine pond with a view across the clearing where our ponds are located. Early on we made a call to take drakes only which is a fine notion if ducks are plentiful. 

But they weren’t. 

Fog shrouded the ponds which is a death-knell for hunting as the birds skim above it. The first pair that sailed in came from above the fog bank and dropped with feet extended. Having missed the entire early goose season laid up recuperating, I wasn’t expecting much from my shooting but I put them both down with a shot each. The hen bird lay dead but the drake took a bearing and headed out of the pond fast. Layla was released and quickly returned with the hen. I sent her back after the drake and for some reason dad decided to go for a walk. The next few minutes involved dad tipping over and I looked up to find him trying to crawl out of the pond on all fours (while Layla returned with the drake)… I grabbed the pole I’d cut as a walking aid and waded out to grab dad. Together we shuffled back to the maimai, old fart and cripple… we would have made a sight to behold I’m sure. I gave dad my down filled wading jacket and as the weather was fine he was able to stay warm. We shot ok, taking our 2 limits with an acceptable number of shots expended. It was a neat little hunt made all the better by challenging conditions and good company. Topped off by Layla retrieving like a champ. We lost no birds at all.

Knowing that I had no options to chase pheasants this year I’d accepted an invitation to go with a group of mates to fish Hinchinbrook, Queensland. The core group of Darren, Dion, Steve, Jase and I had gone on a number of adventures together. Dion’s mate Gary rounded out the angler contingent. We were booked to fish with Dave Bradley and his team from Australian Flyfishing Outfitters. Dave, Jon Snell (“Snelly”) and Amos (“Famous”) Appleston made up the guiding crew, and man, those boys knew their shit. We were hoping to find permit and golden trevally on the flats and assorted target species (notably barramundi) in the extensive mangrove creek systems behind Hinchinbrook Island. The week passed quickly. We really had only one flats day and ol mate Steve managed in his first 2 casts of the trip a permit and then a golden trev! I saw one permit but he was moving away from us fast so no shot was available. Fishing the tidal creeks is a game of local knowledge, serial casting (utterly relentless coverage of every snag, overhanging bush, pounding of mangrove root systems and harassing of gutters), and the species inhabiting the area are stunning in both number and quantity. Over the week we caught barramundi, cod, jacks, grunters, GTs, bluefin salmon, and a host of other species. The range of target species available makes kiwi stand back and admire what’s on offer. Evenings were social involving rum and gin drinking, pumping the guides for stories and intel and generally figuring out the way of things. As with these trips it was with sadness that Steve, Jase and I departed to Townsville in our rented truck while the other boys headed to Cairns for their departure. Hope we all get together again soon.

Day 47

I thought it was about time to get back on the airwaves. Today represents 47 of the 181 days that are my prescribed  rehabilitation program. Today is day 5 off crutches.

I honestly can say that I feel lucky. This is a 6 month period of low activity that means that for the rest of my life if I maintain a level of fitness, I'll be able to chase fish and birds. And that in anyone's terms, is a bargain.

Big bones, stings, & other mishaps

On this year’s trip to the islands, Andy would come along in Karl’s place – Karl having used his brownie points up on his recent trip to Brazil. Andy, the unofficial mayor of Turangi, fly fishes 300+ days per year and consequently was able to get up to speed pretty quickly. We’d booked the same accommodation as the previous year, the house on the hill with the deadly slippery driveway – quite lethal when wet which seemed to be 100% of the time last year…

We met in the airport lounge early on day one, caught up, grabbed some rums and got stuck in. I was food mule this year, using my extra baggage allowance to carry a poly box full of food. Jase used his to bring along an inflatable SUP. Our main bags were crammed with fishing boots, rods, reels, flies and leaders. We were ready.

By late afternoon we’d landed, been picked up by our hostess, grabbed our transport for the week (scooters) and headed out on the nearest flat. We’d be fishing on our own for the first 3 days followed by 5 days of guided fishing. I headed out to he right to give the other guys space. It was cloudy which combined with bonefish camo was going to make spotting really really difficult. That afternoon  I spotted 2 fish but both had made me first and got their asses into gear and boosted out. As we left the flat, Andy began casting into the deep hole beside the fishing club and soon hooked and landed the first bone of our trip, a respectable 4lb fish. 

Over the next few days we each fished either with Jason, using Gareth The Crab (The SUP) to access a flat across a shipping channel, or around the various accessible flats. On day 3 I travelled across the channel with Jase on GTC and it was there that I caught my first bone for the trip, having bust one on the strike a bit earlier. And it was a really good fish that ran long and wide into the backing, ripping out at least 250m on the first run before dogging. The second run burned the backing knot through the tip again and then the fish circled wide before Jase was able to tail him, a bright 26” fish estimated @ ~8lb. 

Other adventures included catching a Brassy Trevally that I’d initially called a small GT. Turned out to be a really good specimen too.

The days seemed to blur together and so did the happenings; one day as Andy and I drove the dreaded driveway I heard a noise, turned around and saw him tipped downhill with the scooter almost atop him. Somehow his rod had caught an overhanging tree and flipped him. Luckily there were no broken bones, although he did retire from the fray with a stiff neck and shoulder. On the first Saturday evening, our pursuit of nightlife led us to the Golf Club, which was like a shack in the back blocks. We navigated by fluorescent red light across the course; Tim and I narrowly avoiding driving across the 18^th green while Andy and Jase were unable to avoid driving on the hallowed grass. We got bollocked! 

Later in he week, Andy who is terribly allergic to bee stings, was attacked and bitten twice by a hornet. Soon he was swelling (which persisted all week) and vomiting, and without his epi pen was in a degree of trouble. However after hydration he was able to continue to fish, although the after effects of the stings bothered him for the rest of the trip.

Our first guided day saw Andy and I teamed up and we had a ripper day. By lunch we had gone fish for fish with 3 bones landed each. At times, schools of large bones accessed the flat we stalked with Ty and Varu poling the skiff, and their 2 sets of eyes gave us so much opportunity to position our flies. With a more or less constant breeze getting a pinpoint cast in was difficult, but we managed on most occasions to make our shots count. 

At lunch we caught up with Tim and Jase, who had both hooked and lost GTs in hand to hand combat in the coral. After their early GT excursion, they’d fished nearby but were yet to hook a bone. They related that as they were fishing deeper water, they struggled to sink their flies fast enough to get them in harm’s way. That afternoon, Andy and I caught a few more to finish the day with 10 bones landed, quite simply and epic and unusual day numbers wise.

cruising pet GT

We’d hatched a GT plan so the following day Andy and I teamed again. We walked a reef section over the lowering tide. The current was fierce, and I was nervous as we approached gutters that emptied the lagoon over the reef into pretty much the open ocean. We stalked through rough broken and live coral patches. With difficult overhead conditions, I just wasn’t seeing anything. We got back on the boat and spent the day poling for bones with some success.

Over the next couple of days we mixed the teams up and I fished with Jason and Tim respectively. Fishing with Jase and Tia our day began with a session casting not bommies in the lagoon, while waiting for rainstorms over the outer reef to clear. I managed a stroppy small blue trev. 

On our reef walk I spotted and cast to a large GT but stuffed up my cast and spooked him. I stood atop a small bommie and watched the fish randomly cruise towards me while my fly was hung up in the coral. The fish passed a rod length away, a large blue knee knocking finger trembling moment indeed! We lunched onboard and spent the rest of the day searching for GTs (no luck) before heading for a flat to find bones. With my last opportunity of the day I managed a large bone, identical in length to my previous large fish @ 26”, roughly 8lb of bone.

On what turned out to be our final guided day, Tim and I headed out with Varu. Again the day started with a reef walk for GTs, with nothing seen. Tim pulled a couple f blues from a gutter and then we spent some time working trigger fish. Little did we know that on Jason and Andy’s boat, there was a huge amount of excitement that Andy had rigged appropriately, cast for and landed a large trigger, a first for E2’s operation! Tim and I were privileged to be taken hunting crabs that afternoon and the boys soon secured us our dinner. We ate crab and parrot fish with veges for dinner and it was food fit for kings.

Celebrations that night went into the wee small hours…. And as we talked and celebrated so did the weather change. Wind blew in and he roofing iron on the house began to lift and flap.

The following morning we received the call we had expected, guiding was off. We took it easy preparing breakfast. Jase and Tim would take GTC across the channel and I decided to fish one of the iconic flats, involving a wade/swim, across a channel. I duly arrived. The wind howled and the only viable cast was a back cast off the flat into the depths. I felt it was the only option in the circumstances and was surprised to land 6 bones from 7 hooked. So while not classic bone fishing, it was my best day numbers-wise in this location.

So ended the fishing part of the trip… the socialising continued a while longer...