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.