A couple of rules still hold true - if you want to fish clean water, get your ass out of bed early, rug up, brave the frost and be first on the pool of your choice. Not always easy when the other early birds share those habits. I'm lucky enough to have a labrador who has breakfast around 5am 5 days a week, and she happily reminds me of the time on those other 2 days. A paw in the face is better than any array of ringtones that the crew use as wake up alarms on trout and duck adventures. The faithful piranha clocked me in the chops around 5am. The crew arose. By sunup I sat aside the run I wanted to fish, fumbling in the low light to tie on a fly. Doh. I swung the first bucket with high anticipation, the little Trout Spey HD #3 sending the payload again and again. Such a great little rod, firing a 270gr head, 10' of T-8 (SA TC Tip) and a 4.6mm tungsten bead fly with ease. I kinda showed off to myself by rolling out (after a fashion) single spey casts - very efficient but not really recommended with Skagit gear. You wouldn't be doing that with 12' of T-14 on a #6 anytime soon. Layla told me another angler was approaching, just as I'd finished the top bucket. Not even a hit.
I made the short walk to the next section as another 2 anglers came in above . One peeled off and approached, he carried a single hander and told me he'd hooked and lost a couple of fish here the day before. It's heavy water, so if the fish makes a break for the lower rapid you're in trouble. The other guy moved downstream as I began my journey through the pool. The first hit jogged trough the line but didn't secure a hookup. A few casts later and midstream the fly was intercepted. The fish behaved by swimming up the swift current rather than dragging me downstream. I bent the rod into him - the fly was tied on a Kamasan B175 - that hook will not bend under any pressure a fly rod can exert. Netted and with the fly twisted out, the coloured up jack darted out into the current.
Round about then, a guy approached on the far bank and waded in.... right where I was landing my fly. Even better, he waved to his 3 compadres in alongside him. One carried a very dark dead fish, and that combined with their inability to cast revealed the truth - newbs. Even though my blood pressure was elevated, that revelation made me re-evaluate my initial instinct to tear them a new one. My fly landed between 2 of them when the line came tight in the shallows at their feet. Damn snag. I pulled hard. It felt more like I was dragging a log... I'd been here before... fish on! A cast perpendicular to the current if taken early by a fish, is subject to bellying in the system so it may not feel like a fish per a more direct downstream contact. The earlier chap was walking back upstream when the fish woke up and bolted to the heavy tailout above the rapid. I leaned hard on what felt like a hefty specimen, and the fish came upstream before turning and lighting the afterburner. Over the rapid. The hook pulled. I vacated the run to give the other guy a shot. 200m downsteam I jumped into a run that we have named a terrible unmentionable word... originally named before this run had reshaped into a very decent holding lie, its now first class water. I'd barely started when the 4 amigios tromped downstream and entered the water opposite... walking straight into fish holding water. I soon hooked up, netted and released another dark jack. Enough. Anglers were everywhere. Time to move.
A drive. Cars parked everywhere. A 20 minute walk. Fresh footprints. Layla bumped a hen pheasant. A cool breeze blew off the mountains. I was glad for my woolly hat, gloves and puffer jacket. Even the brisk walked wasn't causing undue overheating. I arrived at the run and it looked good, a right hand crescent with deeper water on the TLB, a broad shingle bar, and most importantly, peace and quiet. In deep contemplation I began to swing the run. What a beautiful day. A skein of Canada geese passed overhead. A slight downstream breeze dictated that the cast would be a double Spey. Sometimes I struggle with this cast due to blowing the anchor so that gave me a focal point. At the point where normally a fish crops up the line came tight and a tail boiled on the surface. The #3 bent like a noodle as the fish porpoised throwing spray. A cool little fight ensued and I'd barely netted the fish when Layla sparked up - walking upstream came Greig! He'd already fished the run through, taking fish on a more or less regular basis. Damn. Fishing behind the master is akin to following a Labrador Retriever while looking for tidbits of food. He'd seen my fish splash on the surface so had come to investigate. We swapped stories for a while, snacked on duck beirstick and then he was off. I continued to cast and swing, cast and swing and by the end of the run had hooked and landed no less than 5 fish.
It was nearing lunchtime and the water deepened - by the time I was hip deep I knew I had a leak in my waders - it was cold! My left leg and foot were saturated. Walking back upstream I poked my head into a pool that looks simply uninviting. A huge back eddy deflects a swung line and if you lack confidence the inclination would to be to strip back and cast again. Here's the thing; that very same back eddy moves the fly backwards and forward through the lie and you can be fooled into thinking nothings going on when BOOM the fly is hit. I should mention that the far bank is covered in fly eating overhanging bush, and that the head of the lie is protected by a gnarly snag. I made a long cast, drooping the fly in 45 degrees downstream and right on the far bank. The head swung across the current and had only merged with the back eddy when line simply tore from the reel. the first run was a 50m sprint ending well down the slack tail out with a launch and splashy return. I struggled mightily to bring that fish upstream.. through the tailout, through the back eddy and into the pool proper where she flashed in the sun as again and again she darted over the gravel lip into the depths of the pool. Landed, she shone in the sun, a fat egg bearing hen, a truly stunning fish. A few casts later and I hung up on the snag. Disaster struck... rather than pinging the leader, the spey swivel between running line and head broke, taking with it ~ $150 of gear. That's the third time I've broken a head off on a snag but only the first time I've not been able to retrieve the gear. Luckily I'd thrown a 270g SA intermediate head in and always carry a range of tips so I was back in the game shortly after.
I messed around a bit longer, then called Jase to see how he was going. I wandered back to the truck and brewed a coffee in the jetboil then headed up to find him. At the car park Pete's car was parked right by Jase's so I was surprised to not see Pete standing on the bank. Jase boomed out casts on his Sage One 3110 with ease. I sat on the bank, watching before we decided to grab a coffee at the coffee cart and head up to the Mill Race. We'd barely parked up when Greig rolled in. We rigged up and headed off down to the run. A nympher worked the very middle of the run, intersecting the juicy lie at the top, and the sometimes productive tail out. He invited us to get in, so I headed to the tail and began to swing it. The sun dipped towards the hills and the air temp dropped. I needed to marinate the fallow venison back at base so soon after pulled out and headed home. Fire lit, waders and wet gear hung to dry, hot shower. Mike rolled in soon after. I got the meat into a mix of soy, brown sugar, garlic, salt, pepper and chilli flake. We downed a beer or 2 each then I headed to the shop for wader repair glue, which Pete had waiting. A bit of smack talk. I remember: a great meal (veni, kumara chips, fresh salad), a few beers, a bottle of red, turning in relatively early, a pit stop pre midnite (splitting headache) and next thing, a paw in the mush.
At least she'd waited until 05.45. Waders - dry. Porridge eaten. 4110 Sage One set up. Been a while between drinks for this rod. Karl and I teamed up to hit a run we affectionately call the Pest Pit. Its sweet swinging water. I was parked in by Jase so Karl took off which turned out to be a good thing, as another local guy (guide) was waiting beside the river. Karl and I linked up, crossed, and he let me go first. Guide and partner soon crossed and headed downstream, foiling our plan for later in the morning. I swung the juiciest water and after 2 dozen casts was questioning whether any fish were home when the line came tight. A good tustle ensued.
The differences between the Trout Spey HD and older One are pretty obvious. The One requires much better timing and line control, its grip is larger in hand and you can haul tree trunks with it. The Trout Spey HD is much nicer in hand, much tippier and a joy to cast. Fights are longer as the rod bends further through the blank. Both are cool. Karl wanted fish for the smoker so the silver jack was smacked on the head, or WABd (Welcome Aboard Bat) as we call it. Karl swung out the rest of the pool and then we headed back to the cars. At the next park there were already 2 cards in residence, Greig and Simon's. A relative crowd... I decided to walk on up but Karl chose a plan B and we parted ways. I called Greig to ask if Simon and Meinrad were near him and he said no, so I scooted along and entered the water at the top of the run. I saw a couple of guys in the distance and figured it was Simon and Meinrad; soon they popped up on the bank and Layla fired up. They started at the top. I was halfway through when Greig's old Hardy shrieked and he called over his shoulder "Big fish!". I waded ashore and pounded down to him. Hie Meiser had a healthy bend in it and from the depths, silver flashed. I tailed the fish and what a specimen it was! Fat, deep, stunning.
Back upstream, I continued. Greig finished the run and left for the next spot. I changed my head out for a 330g Int SA Spey Lite - I needed to change something, anything, to get an eat. But that didn't work and I left the run scratching my head as I went. I thought about my next move, but on a whim decided to drop into the hole that I'd lost my head and tip in yesterday. Putting on 10' of T-10 for extra depth, I wondered if the bright, still conditions were more than half the problem. Getting the cast in below the (damned!) snag with enough length to swing the current into the back eddy. Hit. No hookup. I muffed the next cast and was rapidly stripping the fly through the eddy when the water literally exploded and the line was ripped from my grasp. And that first run was at least 80m. The backing knot flew through the guides. I put side strain hurt on and gained line. Finally the fish came to hand, a mind blowing fat little hen, deep and round.
The next cast barely had time to straighten and swing slowly into the seam when the fly was smashed and a repeat performance unfolded. This time though, the fish was larger and deeper still, a gem of a hen stuffed full of eggs. I pinched myself.
Wading further down the run I'd made a good cast, the line now clearing the back eddy on its swing when it came tight again, and again I watched the running line shoot through the guides into backing... I struggled back against the current pulling the fish with me. Into the pool proper the fight became more protracted, each time I pulled her to the lip she'd shake, roll and charge into the depths. Finally beached, at least 5lb of chrome lay in the shallows at my feet. Looking at my watch I realised that I'd almost used my allotment of time, maybe another 10 minutes? Wading to my plimsoll line I put in a long cast. The fly swung through the holding water. Below the eddy. Into the slow slow stuff on my bank. The line came tight. I thought it was a snag until the hook bit and the fish flashed across the river. Despite being smaller the fish gave a great account of itself and a beautifully coloured rose cheeked pre-spawner came ashore. What a way to finish.
The walk back to the truck was more like riding a magic carpet. As I passed over the main road bridge, the pool held 7 rods that I could count. They're there for a reason.
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