tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5346813924406818842024-03-20T22:07:58.026+13:00Snuffit@homeRamblings about fish, ducks, pheasants, geese, dogs and matesSnuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.comBlogger707125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-33582816599037701982021-01-07T17:18:00.000+13:002021-01-07T17:18:18.902+13:003 Harbours<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are lucky in so many respects, to have such great fisheries in our very small country. Getting to them while balancing work and family duties, well there’s a challenge, but frankly, the pandemic has changed my way of thinking. Get free of the shackles of work pressure. Leave the everyday behind. I find that good mate Jas is the perfect foil, his mind constantly ticks over plans and schemes, species and locations and he’s like a cat on a hot tin roof waiting for the next expedition. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">North it was. Grab the boat and hit the road. Go exploring. The harbour is mangrove lined in its western stretches, with a maze of channels providing freeways for fish both prey and predator. We liked our chances. We’d go the week before the holiday period. We had good tides and the forecast was ok too. These big harbours can be miserable when big southerly weather systems come over. With nowhere to hide it can be joyless. We arrived in summer conditions, checked in to our accommodation and got ready for a recon. It was late afternoon, beautifully warm and we quickly launched. We cruised around checking various channels and sand banks and all in all it felt fishy. That evening we ate our burgers checked tackle and headed for an early sleep. Dawn on the water, nothing beats it. Harbour channels were negotiated in the dawn light. We had an approximate idea of where we wanted to be. With electric motor deployed the search began. Jas, rigged with a piper fly stood in the bow with his 9 weight Sage Salt HD. I laid out line at my feet in the back of the boat. A 2/0 olive over white clouser minnow decorated the leader. If snapper showed, I’d shoot while Jas was carrying the elephant gun for kings. Slowly we wound our way through mangrove edges and channels. From time to time we spied snapper but always they’d spook out. In skinny water they’re amongst the spookiest of fish. A slight depression in the mangroves. Suddenly piper sprayed, I turned as a pack of kings charged in and with a flick of the rod dropped the fly in their path. Without hesitation a fish inhaled the clouser and I set the hook. The channel was 100+ metres away across the flat and the fish knew it and was there in seconds. Here I’ll put in a plug for Abel; their Super series (this being the 7/8 N) is my favourite, with smooth powerful drags and with backing crackling off the spool under pressure there was no room for a lumpy drag. Again the fish surged off and the drag hummed. We followed and got on top of the fish and there I was able to really pump the rod and lift him from the bottom of the channel. Played out and netted he measured 102cm, quite a respectable fish and certainly a season highlight. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSU2dJOdpecggiAFUd6Zb9F23TWm92PW6Ovuc06a561UBoe_lKworOXhwk9CE8IGDB9yjCH8IdpXPRxJB8jqRFUpyvHEee6MZzEfAlmR29NZVZv2aqpewYqUgS9FjBhWr6-Y-NRRay/s2048/0CFA71C3-8419-4347-92D3-15DA8ADC3A6A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1491" data-original-width="2048" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSU2dJOdpecggiAFUd6Zb9F23TWm92PW6Ovuc06a561UBoe_lKworOXhwk9CE8IGDB9yjCH8IdpXPRxJB8jqRFUpyvHEee6MZzEfAlmR29NZVZv2aqpewYqUgS9FjBhWr6-Y-NRRay/w640-h466/0CFA71C3-8419-4347-92D3-15DA8ADC3A6A.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrO5dn6c1YzdxSz1z7eh570AufZSqAK5BJegzfwYf7sqtKVohpdwjl7aQaOMIcpKv84xJq6xuDwVDz9u98kpiXI2nxdFtvsUcrlBcycySGvb_9N7bXgIJcmtKRWlMcu6TqmpwDDCW/s2048/25D068F1-1BC6-4C8B-A3E1-901AD853B90F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1961" data-original-width="2048" height="612" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXrO5dn6c1YzdxSz1z7eh570AufZSqAK5BJegzfwYf7sqtKVohpdwjl7aQaOMIcpKv84xJq6xuDwVDz9u98kpiXI2nxdFtvsUcrlBcycySGvb_9N7bXgIJcmtKRWlMcu6TqmpwDDCW/w640-h612/25D068F1-1BC6-4C8B-A3E1-901AD853B90F.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We continued our cruise, spotting snapper crimson red against the sand but always they were a step ahead of us, slinking off before we could present a fly. Need to up my game here. The day was punctuated with sightings of fish, birds and we put in hours to learn and unpick some of the puzzle of sand, mangrove, sea grass and tide. Evening came and we motored home, pulled the boat and reflected on what had been a great day of prospecting. Beer, refuel, dinner, tackle readied. Post fishing shakedown. Morning tactics. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Up and at em. We had half a day. Tide wouldn’t peak until late morning, so we were forced to follow its relentless progress, until the mangroves flooded and noises of feeding began to emerge. First target, a snapper swimming out from an outcrop of mangroves, a blood red blotch against the bluey grey background. The presentation seemed good but was not to his liking as he skulked away. Rinse and repeat. We snuck onwards, the calm water giving us the opportunity to motor on super silently with no hull slap. We were positioned between a growth of mangroves and the main mangrove line when the first kings came through the corridor in no more than 18” of water, a pair on the hunt. They were adjacent before I could make the cast and my movement gave the game away. Shortly a pack of 4 zoomed through, clearly hunting in a group, again no chance to present. The wind cropped up so we motored to the other side of the harbour in search of shelter and a spotting window. Tucked under the nearby tree shrouded foothills we found what we’d looked for and resumed the search. With time drawing by and with a set time to pull the pin we continued. And then from out of the mangroves 2 small kings appeared. Jas made his shot true and bedlam broke out as the fished screamed back into the mangroves which shook madly. Applying full side strain he pulled the fish from its haven before it ran again, this time succumbing to the drag before reaching its lair. Netted out, the little posed for a quick shot.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7M7PSgHSHdZ4FYlQENt3MtBsJGRTFAs5ES3U0aa1EgSTaP0AlOP0neY34zcQ0QvMUVn_Nb96H5wgU0vof18wRH4m7zR0PxwKyES98jZVlQq3yvI3ZMLUxPbeaAAoigDWdbMxRoiWT/s2048/C686DDB3-FA6F-425B-A4F7-08268682857D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1558" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7M7PSgHSHdZ4FYlQENt3MtBsJGRTFAs5ES3U0aa1EgSTaP0AlOP0neY34zcQ0QvMUVn_Nb96H5wgU0vof18wRH4m7zR0PxwKyES98jZVlQq3yvI3ZMLUxPbeaAAoigDWdbMxRoiWT/w486-h640/C686DDB3-FA6F-425B-A4F7-08268682857D.jpeg" width="486" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p>Christmas. Time of giving. With a backlog of domestic chores lined up post Boxing Day trips would be few and far between. I wasn’t too upset, as the medium term forecast was for cold southerlies blowing up to 30kts for what looked like days on end – not your typical NZ summer forecast. And so, raised gardens were built, fences painted, rubbish disposed off, trees planted… sweat was sweated and blisters formed. At least the brownie point bank was filling. I’d had to put my New Years Eve plan on hold given that I’m not exactly a gifted handyman and all my jobs seemed to take 3 times longer than estimated so found myself behind the 8 ball. But still I had enough time for a trip to my local rocks for a cast into the mighty Waitemata. There I found a bait fisherman in residence with a burley trail going strongly. We chatted while I made a few exploratory casts, not expecting to move anything. When a king flashed through the burley trail I asked if I could cast for it and got the green light. When the line came up tight I barely had time to strip strike before line flew and the reel brrrrrrrd. I was packing the Sage Salt HD #9 with Abel Super 9 which holds a veritable ton of backing which the fish helped itself to. Thankfully in one of those fishing breaks of luck that never seem to come my way, the fish seemed hell bent on running towards Rangitoto than adjacent to the shore. I began to pump the rod. For every metre I gained, the fish seemed to take 2; I wasn’t winning this one. Then finally, his will broke and I began to recover line and his runs became more like determined short sprints of a few metres at a time. Backing recovered, line coming in, the fish was now tired. But fishing from the rocks brings its own challenges and round about now if I were on my own I’d be pretty stuffed… how to and this critter… old mate the bait fisho tailed the fish and took some shots. A few beats of his tail and the fish was gone. Old year ushered out in style.</span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rqsIfyqq1qi2yDpeP29xbQfEJ_KMynFDbsdS5dVJ-xKENfjQNTPXJKJ3DmH_XMwhEE_j5WjgMt7lUxxXtvOUHJecySS-oePYlj_SSaLJy2bR-CFBZ8FnoWpc8C4OPcNoPGX3DSfl/s2048/BBD5E8E2-2CE4-4DA2-856D-EBB89B597788.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1598" data-original-width="2048" height="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3rqsIfyqq1qi2yDpeP29xbQfEJ_KMynFDbsdS5dVJ-xKENfjQNTPXJKJ3DmH_XMwhEE_j5WjgMt7lUxxXtvOUHJecySS-oePYlj_SSaLJy2bR-CFBZ8FnoWpc8C4OPcNoPGX3DSfl/w640-h500/BBD5E8E2-2CE4-4DA2-856D-EBB89B597788.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The following morning I was adrift on a large flat. The weather was perfect, the flat glassed out, any waking fish would be visible for hundreds of metres. At the other end I could see Adam on his Nucanoe. We each moved to different areas. I moved west to east while Adam puttered across – and it was over an hour later having slowly traversed the flat that we ran into each other with a wave. The flat was dead. Nada, not a thing except for a couple of sizable eagle rays. For a flat that up until last summer held good numbers of fish to be this dead now… maybe those gill netters had finally cleaned it out. Later in the Tamaki Straight I saw terns diving while mutton ducks took up station on the surface, and in between splashy forms gave away the kahawai that were slashing anchovies from below. Amazingly, the boats that were out either could not see or ignored the workups that were becoming more extensive. Shutting down the motor to gauge the drift gave me a clue as to where to position. I quickly rigged the #8 and tied on a crease fly which was picked off literally first cast. In 20+ m of water Kahawai are the ultimate fighter, first diving then breaching the surface, peeling line at will. Serious fun and hardy enough for catch and release. After a few fish I felt ready to continue exploring so moved on, eventually moving to a popular flat where a shore-based angler (Mark) occupied a spot on the spit where water flowed. I marked time for a while before pressing on.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbjWBv5WOIdxYuatzy5oOcl7Hkzbpo-j1HPFvuZLpjhRaqAKXUxnM_7J8cayyIEVdJIEFeYrK026R3SAsTF2rLWGLRhsPAOCGfKdfK6hGJVTRjMjzRgCBi77H8jWQGNVsp91FHAP_/s2048/714D8569-946E-449A-B946-A89AEAB0F1B5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbjWBv5WOIdxYuatzy5oOcl7Hkzbpo-j1HPFvuZLpjhRaqAKXUxnM_7J8cayyIEVdJIEFeYrK026R3SAsTF2rLWGLRhsPAOCGfKdfK6hGJVTRjMjzRgCBi77H8jWQGNVsp91FHAP_/w640-h480/714D8569-946E-449A-B946-A89AEAB0F1B5.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegU0Zix8lpcHIxD4tqwHnX1kZVPczLegcKNZ-0wVBzWkfn9BXt72Kco8hwuFhZxI7yyLsIXeb-9i63rr8J3oQzfsjazQTUpB12u7WAG7yWTFOtjIO1lfmia_8YF0lfjgbBSD-P_HY/s2048/BBE8A7E7-73DF-4B52-9251-93B9DE757600.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegU0Zix8lpcHIxD4tqwHnX1kZVPczLegcKNZ-0wVBzWkfn9BXt72Kco8hwuFhZxI7yyLsIXeb-9i63rr8J3oQzfsjazQTUpB12u7WAG7yWTFOtjIO1lfmia_8YF0lfjgbBSD-P_HY/w480-h640/BBE8A7E7-73DF-4B52-9251-93B9DE757600.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Day 2 of the year… I picked Jas up at 04.30 and we headed south. Tauranga harbour is the home of the ray rider – kingfish that follow short tailed rays, picking off critters that the ray disturbs in its travels. Critically, short tails travel strictly on the bottom and are never found mid water unlike eagle rays which throw big wakes. Being jet black, they’re relatively easy to spot on the flats. Our day was punctuated with brief glimpses of a ray rider, seeing other anglers out and about and avoiding water skiers who were out and about in plague proportions. As the hours passed we worked fishy water always searching, always looking. As we set to move to a new flat the motor depowered, firing on only one cylinder. Change of plan. We took a bearing back closer to the ramp and fished our way along the harbour edge before entering a gorgeous estuary that simply sang ‘kingi! But not today… at home I discovered that the mechanic who recently serviced the motor had not pushed the ignition lead onto the sparkplug, causing the failure. At least the fix was cheap.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">4 days later and I’m on the road again. An hour later than the other day, but that’s ok, and this time solo. At the ramp the boat slid in. GPS/sounder fired up. Motor kicked into life. All is quiet on the harbour as I motor through the channels. There’s no wind to speak of and the forecast is for high temperatures. I’ve got lots of water onboard. Doused with sunscreen. On with buff and hat. Thank god modern fishing clothes are made of lightweight UV repellent fabrics, I’m going to need all the protection I can get today. Early on as the tide floods, I cross a channel and there see a small shorttail lying on the bottom. Above, a wee kingfish hovers but he’s well spooked and not amenable to the fly. I intend to cover a lot of water today. Its 6 hours to the top of the tide, so conceivably I could fish all day long if I could outlast the sun. Now I’m ready. The #8 X, Abel Super 7/8N, rio Bonefish and a home spun 8kg Momoi leader with crease fly attached. The line is laid out in the bottom of the boat. I’m ready. Rod in hand, fly at the ready. I can fire a quick cast if needed. The moon is hovering in the daytime sky, not a scenario I generally like but time’s not mine, I have to use what I have. I’m on the lookout. And that’s how it stays for ~7 hours during which time I’ve hunted several flats and traversed an estuary. I’ve need several (lifesaving) swims and reapplied sun lotion. Spotting conditions are mint. Staying focused is easy when you’re doing something you love. The moon has set. I’m almost at the mouth of the estuary when I see a short tail. He’s not large. I need to power against the current to get in front of him. I’ll only get one shot here and then I see it, the distinctive wavey light green outline, it’s a king. The creasie lands 6’ in front of the ray and the fish charges when I tweak the fly, a full engulfment that throws spray. Quick strip, solid hookset and way the fish screams. Its not a large specimen but that fish gives me hell of 15 minutes, again and again charging, turning on its side, rubbing the fly along the bottom… and then it wanted to hide under the boat, time and again avoiding the net. Finally vanquished and netted, photographed and released. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-TV7MKtVm6_wyP_-KyB4Zcn_hEJ9UH_hEN-GrJiYqzfFLmvVgcs9A8Ekrf-s-ZIeyIpm4aaLw28VDwqJ2s0FBdzFg9xPIbnjJaJ6GS2OLEIEBl_RIqlsVqEUfyussoSVKEa3Kol3C/s1440/9CE0FBF2-2B9C-423A-B58E-8D537FD8F858.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-TV7MKtVm6_wyP_-KyB4Zcn_hEJ9UH_hEN-GrJiYqzfFLmvVgcs9A8Ekrf-s-ZIeyIpm4aaLw28VDwqJ2s0FBdzFg9xPIbnjJaJ6GS2OLEIEBl_RIqlsVqEUfyussoSVKEa3Kol3C/w640-h640/9CE0FBF2-2B9C-423A-B58E-8D537FD8F858.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KSea3sRjo_mA1NoLS9eoIk1Ype49YFiaDHIF37ga9gNwvUSXpyW9Kefm4OCLkftNXgzwxuJkAcki-islZ1RyW1ML7N5pmohh-YyG44vQUfJdv2TmtuC4ZMk_rpwvje8FPbYn-h8W/s1440/053EF384-910D-4F77-B24E-A1212360094C.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KSea3sRjo_mA1NoLS9eoIk1Ype49YFiaDHIF37ga9gNwvUSXpyW9Kefm4OCLkftNXgzwxuJkAcki-islZ1RyW1ML7N5pmohh-YyG44vQUfJdv2TmtuC4ZMk_rpwvje8FPbYn-h8W/w640-h640/053EF384-910D-4F77-B24E-A1212360094C.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arvo, serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Worth it. Worth the burnt soles. Worth the relentless pressing sun. At the ready again. Line coiled and set. Rod and fly in hand. I’m thinking about another swim when a breeze stirs the surface. And there he is, a free swimmer and I haven’t time to reposition. I fire and the fly lands awkwardly with a curve in the one, the worst possible scenario when fishing a crease fly – you need direct tension against which to ‘bloop’ the fly. Nonetheless I rip the line and get a half hearted splash from the fly – but its enough, the king rises like a brown and takes the fly. I strip the hook into his gob and its on. We’re on the channel edge so he’s straight down and along. 100 m further out is a marker pole and the fish knows exactly where it is and sets off at great pace. I’m left applying side strain and stop him, but not before there’s a fair bit of backing off the reel. Pump. That X is a great rod. Gather line. Fish is on the surface, then gone again with a few tail flicks. But he’s tiring and soon begins to circle and is scooped up for a shot. Release. 2 from 2 shots, but 8 hours in. Its time for me to head back and now there are white caps on the harbour. I
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwNFVhDrUM1bAg4794hYJMP3M67-Y_dSsTOQXQoCDNPH77U6maaIXguX6UFUgk-XNUPMEo8QruHPCpt2M3ZGqmapTAAy9V0bOzSonUBLYXKbgKS786mrSzwQinv6rlnGqH2H6JSMJ6/s2048/F2DEA82D-3FEA-4988-A7DB-B15AB8532F9E.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="600" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwNFVhDrUM1bAg4794hYJMP3M67-Y_dSsTOQXQoCDNPH77U6maaIXguX6UFUgk-XNUPMEo8QruHPCpt2M3ZGqmapTAAy9V0bOzSonUBLYXKbgKS786mrSzwQinv6rlnGqH2H6JSMJ6/s600/F2DEA82D-3FEA-4988-A7DB-B15AB8532F9E.jpeg"/></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv_KcRTz9HjhnxvoHTz-Yg21bHCXAo58gWW8Te0zQyxvxJ0v7dVTiqoQt4UDL3xF8DCEXJzPOsNIYHcDAxu71VVRAJTMiDgqvLlaHrd86mldBl9_ZskkqnqgPLvZooI54ac0E56HJo/s1440/BC7FFABA-2C8D-4BBB-A3C9-BA966D14D30D.jpeg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="600" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv_KcRTz9HjhnxvoHTz-Yg21bHCXAo58gWW8Te0zQyxvxJ0v7dVTiqoQt4UDL3xF8DCEXJzPOsNIYHcDAxu71VVRAJTMiDgqvLlaHrd86mldBl9_ZskkqnqgPLvZooI54ac0E56HJo/s600/BC7FFABA-2C8D-4BBB-A3C9-BA966D14D30D.jpeg"/></a></div>’m glad for the spray as waves break over the boat when I turn beam on to cross the harbour. </span></p><p><span id="docs-internal-guid-dadae7d5-7fff-a683-9a3b-d133ff70d23b" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"></span><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;" /></p>Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-80473929179816529972020-12-23T05:14:00.002+13:002020-12-23T05:14:12.500+13:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">South</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The boys were heading south. Well south. I was not able to commit. Work. I am lucky enough to work in an industry that while impacted by the effect of Covid is not completely kneecapped. And it has been busy, my observation is that the shift to out of office working has brought the not so charming side effect of taking away borders that an office working day imparts. I can’t remember working a 40 hour week but what I do know is that I trade my 6am start for a 5pm finish with the rest of the evening being mine under normal circumstances, but ‘normal’ doesn’t have a meaning now and the working day bleeds into the evening. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I spoke with SWMBO. I had 5 days of ‘Special Leave’ banked. I spoke with the fellas. Karl and Jas had 2 weeks up their sleeves. Tim had a week. And so, did I. Flights booked. Dehy food organised. PLB bought. Bags packed, tackle sorted, this was getting real.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Once again, the boys met up in the Koru Lounge. We were off! Landing in Christchurch, we met up with Jas’s brother who was dropping off one car, then off to the vehicle hire place to grab the 4wd, a Ford Ranger ute. Off we set, we had decided to head West to Reefton straight away, rather than stick with our original plan to base ourselves more centrally in Hanmer Springs. We arrived in Reefton in the late afternoon and found that it was the busiest Friday in months, being the Canterbury Anniversary weekend. But Karl tracked down lodgings in a backpackers and Tim and I made our way there, dropped our gear and then headed off to look at a local stream. OMG, we were stunned at the beauty and quality of the river and it went straight on the ‘must do’ list. We arrived back in town (and ph range) to find the other lads at the Fish and Chip shop so grabbed a meal and then headed back for a planning session. We had split into pairs, Jase and I would go one way, Tim and Karl the other. And with that we got our packs sorted and hit to rad first thing in the am. Jase and I headed to a notable river and leaving packs in the car headed downstream to cover some sweet looking water. This river was renowned as a river requiring a good level of fitness (ooops) and as being not for the faint hearted (uh-oh). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We covered several kms of water for nothing seen before heading back to the car, donning our packs and setting off upriver. It took a while for us to figure that we should have looked for the upstream access, esp when after several hours we were yet to see a fish, despite covering some seriously sexy water. Then it changed. I hooked a spirited fish in an obvious lie behind a current breaking rock and it soon dislodged the fly after screaming off downstream. Slightly upstream the performance was repeated when I hooked and broke off a spirited fish in an obvious lie. That I hooked another first cast after replacing the fly spoke volumes and I soon landed my first fish of the trip. We hadn’t gone too much further when Jas discovered a rod tube on a rock cairn and we knew that we’d been jumped; or more to the point had reached the upstream access where another angler had entered the water. Fishing went hard again. Overhead conditions were tough, but this is not renowned spotting water due to its heavy rocky nature, so we were not expecting to see much. At about 4pm and about to enter the rugged bush area above farmland, we met the owner of the rod tube. He reported this as his first visit to the river and he had caught a lovely fish. We pushed on, arriving in the late afternoon at a spot that looked good to set up camp on. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A bit of bush clearing was required at the site, then we pitched our tents. The sandflies were ferocious – there’s an art to getting your tent setup while keeping the little buggers out. Both of our tents combine an sealed inner sanctum with an outer cover and can be pitched without needing to expose the core. Fire set. Jetboil blasting out a zillion joules – boiling water required for our Backcountry meal packs. Given we were further West than home, the days lasted longer too. I used that time to fish the attractive run opposite our camp, and soon had a feisty brown on which was released quickly. I couldn’t help but think how neat it would be to lave Layla along, she’d love it here sniffing out Weka and ducks. I didn’t sleep all that well, not so much from lack of comfort (my Thermarest mattress is very comfortable), more likely the river’s noise which blends into the background during the day is amplified at night. I spent the time thinking tactics. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs2CesROty0m6F78640F8nrhxF5WqX8iKM-2qnQDbuILp8kGLWXqFUkm-QAr6vJVxmHm5PviQhzmEJvaZhuQo23CqqkUHlEKNiN42WlQy1W91nH-ypQqAROquTps_dZg2iA9aiiLjx/s4608/P1120855.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs2CesROty0m6F78640F8nrhxF5WqX8iKM-2qnQDbuILp8kGLWXqFUkm-QAr6vJVxmHm5PviQhzmEJvaZhuQo23CqqkUHlEKNiN42WlQy1W91nH-ypQqAROquTps_dZg2iA9aiiLjx/w640-h480/P1120855.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLzpTpPr_WjD6dbVu_1Nacy6kjIHER60Z_iLSIJX-KeN4i_3khWeExQ9k7zc0l-8MqLYTIkZTNlc0a0b5JzQh4BeupW4WJecvASTNVoCJa-QtjG2IMzEOXpOaZQw4NVFvunIRui2Z/s4608/P1120856.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxLzpTpPr_WjD6dbVu_1Nacy6kjIHER60Z_iLSIJX-KeN4i_3khWeExQ9k7zc0l-8MqLYTIkZTNlc0a0b5JzQh4BeupW4WJecvASTNVoCJa-QtjG2IMzEOXpOaZQw4NVFvunIRui2Z/w640-h480/P1120856.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIiVtu0OwUUfg0zFt-AxzGNE1XPvpCt5cE3EFDRkgT4PKd_ucW_k5vof0IkPD_WuEmprpNCGizM4OQSGkKsFh-rqHNZMKw6_4H1jbHC0JHJb6xFPjzg7_coUih8NGOuK1uY7piHiA/s4608/P1120857.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcIiVtu0OwUUfg0zFt-AxzGNE1XPvpCt5cE3EFDRkgT4PKd_ucW_k5vof0IkPD_WuEmprpNCGizM4OQSGkKsFh-rqHNZMKw6_4H1jbHC0JHJb6xFPjzg7_coUih8NGOuK1uY7piHiA/w640-h480/P1120857.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrT1cFG28eNZjwFOBE9tnfh39gyaQuz_sPncNkTccVCNBeCRUd2YtwC1wyaNIH029Be-dFbKLbWRZxHNJvIS18T_oSrDMMeqMEPWT5mNhuhUDip4_tKtqyK-N7i6L6_rK5G8LToW7k/s4608/P1120858.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrT1cFG28eNZjwFOBE9tnfh39gyaQuz_sPncNkTccVCNBeCRUd2YtwC1wyaNIH029Be-dFbKLbWRZxHNJvIS18T_oSrDMMeqMEPWT5mNhuhUDip4_tKtqyK-N7i6L6_rK5G8LToW7k/w640-h480/P1120858.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We were fishing water not overly amenable to spotting, and conditions overhead had been tough. A simple one nymph rig under a very small indicator made sense no matter which way we cut it. The nymphal life under the rocks indicated that tiny brown mayfly imitations were present in high numbers with the occasional larger green stonefly interspersed. I’d stick with my black bead head PTN. If I’d had any in #18 that’d be my choice, but my smallest were 16’s. Jas and I took a side each and worked up the river. The bed was craggy broken rock with fierce angles and edges and in places damnably smooth and slippery. We fished hard but really didn’t turn up numbers until we reached above where yesterday’s guy had apparently got to. After which the fish went from technically difficult to decidedly easier to catch. Each of us landed a specimen in the 7-8lb range plus a number of smaller fish. My fish of the day was the third I took from a neat run, above a crag lined lie where Jas worked his magic on its dweller. The first fish was rising steadily but still was amenable to the little PTN as it tumbled past. The second was a dour old thing that shook its head while not expending excess energy. The final fish took in a seam alongside a faster run and went ballistic. I was quite lucky when presented with a go left or go right option around a big sunken boulder to take the right option (which was left) as the fish seconds later sizzled upstream and across the river to the left. Played out and netted she was a superb specimen of just under 8. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZZjqCE5MXookDNm9gSaMmDyoLQFuEgxXhAsEw_7VO6TRqB0vTXLOGhOvw74aRyQQnCdNpXWeneTpaRXFTI1sSqNLIYG5jEWzOlrcsqQv7x6tX7V5LgGiBs7B-gW9osYDVxNxbTGu/s4608/P1120866.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLZZjqCE5MXookDNm9gSaMmDyoLQFuEgxXhAsEw_7VO6TRqB0vTXLOGhOvw74aRyQQnCdNpXWeneTpaRXFTI1sSqNLIYG5jEWzOlrcsqQv7x6tX7V5LgGiBs7B-gW9osYDVxNxbTGu/w640-h480/P1120866.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMmmUa1-lSuedzHD-B8bSH505Y7n8YZgWFy8Bf1Ws4Vdd7smih0M_UFRC5rcsw0LLNzA97fM828YeayxEugCSsQldcozZl_7Y0-RWu2Lj4JgR7YwqpCp14LrAuaGwXM6GGm6LZ1nu/s2048/P1120869.RW2" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1538" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQMmmUa1-lSuedzHD-B8bSH505Y7n8YZgWFy8Bf1Ws4Vdd7smih0M_UFRC5rcsw0LLNzA97fM828YeayxEugCSsQldcozZl_7Y0-RWu2Lj4JgR7YwqpCp14LrAuaGwXM6GGm6LZ1nu/w640-h480/P1120869.RW2" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9GMhSVdjP16iYjprvXvYo8OML9sNo3FoKpQFCcUDIMPo761JJegmQ7F9L_yN2q47MbyvpEU0WPvUibdkCBlmasTzXRdQ_Se-qW2BuNAdQZ7MNBn5dxDKUdtpHay1hxd-1-mL4IK2V/s4608/P1120870.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9GMhSVdjP16iYjprvXvYo8OML9sNo3FoKpQFCcUDIMPo761JJegmQ7F9L_yN2q47MbyvpEU0WPvUibdkCBlmasTzXRdQ_Se-qW2BuNAdQZ7MNBn5dxDKUdtpHay1hxd-1-mL4IK2V/w640-h480/P1120870.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Later looking at Google Earth I was astounded at how little physical distance we’d covered in 7 hours of forging upstream. Our walk out was going to be decent (11km said Uncle Google later), so back at camp we struck the tents, made sure the fire was fully fully fully extinguished and hit the trail. The sub beat down and once out of the bush we carved a path that took us across farmland and away from the shelter of the trees. In a straight line the distance is 10km, add in twists and turns and its more than that. At the car we made the call to head straight to the pub when we hit town. Beer never tasted so good. Nor the steak and chips that followed. Karl and Tim came in later, reporting that they’d had an epic trip accounting for fewer but much larger fish, each having landed specimens close to or over the magic 10lb mark.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At the backpackers we got cleaned up and made plans for the next few days. In that time we covered waters from the iconic to the vaguely innocuous, saw fish ranging from huge to tiny, flighty to plain easy and covered some mind blowing territory. We made mistakes, took wrong turns, found deer, scared weka, made friends and hitched a lift with the local ranger and in general lived like we’d love to more or less permanently if it were not for the commitments we are enslaved by.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSYKYlySRkUkKkh78y9MgUs-9MI8hjkqUHKnYW1-jwtoH0Kd_QWw8g8PZY0Hfk8EuYqlQF_GntKtwONw9BR2N5JW_qnzQiRqOuYP73R2-i6O6MFHR3FxbVc482jAF8Zi3vcqSvmkJ/s4608/P1120850.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSYKYlySRkUkKkh78y9MgUs-9MI8hjkqUHKnYW1-jwtoH0Kd_QWw8g8PZY0Hfk8EuYqlQF_GntKtwONw9BR2N5JW_qnzQiRqOuYP73R2-i6O6MFHR3FxbVc482jAF8Zi3vcqSvmkJ/w480-h640/P1120850.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-6IpCuyvYXqFrIMCkz76MuwEoCK6-rBBkPyydLPmludIp5vU2MCIqGaeLQIjgvwOiU4eFXoo6P905OMJfTjU8vDZC-0yOamV9ZTSkPhdcG80ydXy7SlqVtI6bbiISNnjmc9PDodAb/w640-h480/P1120974.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYm3Yv89OTh0LtZ_bOy9vJXN561s73kDgi2i8ohg4UdM44gOTLfol7dUTxVSwfhq03679uoFH5ZTKqYRsHQqx1O7x9rHYIg2sHga0i4WjXidXBXxurrx27zLZl5VFyTwEaN0V1phZg/s4608/P1120978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYm3Yv89OTh0LtZ_bOy9vJXN561s73kDgi2i8ohg4UdM44gOTLfol7dUTxVSwfhq03679uoFH5ZTKqYRsHQqx1O7x9rHYIg2sHga0i4WjXidXBXxurrx27zLZl5VFyTwEaN0V1phZg/w480-h640/P1120978.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As the week drew to a close we’d part ways, Tim and I needing to head home while Jas and Karl extended their journey for another week. Their itinerary was enviable – as was ours. All Tim and I lacked was time, time to change plans as weather dictated. In the hired 4x4 Tim and I set off. We’d stocked up on snacks and purchased DOC hut passes earlier, and headed for waters known for large fish. A rough track lay ahead, followed by a decent walk and we had fingers crossed that no other anglers would be present. At the carpark we were delighted to find no other car, but ominously, the bar gate keeping vehicles out had been trashed so we had no idea as to whether we’d find people, vehicles or what else in the zone we were heading to. It’s a nice walk in, mostly flat, several hours along farm tracks to the bush and another 30 minutes to the hut. We arrived to find the hut vacant so set about getting our gear ready for an evening fish – broadly, the plan was to take the jetboil, our dinner and rods set up with streamers to see if we could annoy residents in a big pool into eating a fly. We ate beside a big pool, having crossed the river by way of a swing bridge. Coffee, then into it. Tim worked the lower half of the pool while I started at the top. A medium sized eel slid up into the shallows. Darkness fell and soon it became inky, with only a quarter moon behind clouds providing illumination. Turned out that the eel was the only fish encountered, and with several flies lost on structure I felt that the river was more in a taking than giving mood. We put on our headlights and setoff back to the hut. I was barely on the swingbridge when my headlight emitted the dreaded morse code flash indicating low battery life. Crossing that bridge with no light was not a prospect I savoured and then it all got worse as my landing net proceeded to hang up on every wire join. Fair to say I uttered a few choice words and switched the light to dim mode when I got to the other side. Tim crossed and I followed his footsteps closely on the walk back to the hut, which took almost 40 minutes. I slept well that night. With 3 hut mattresses between me and the sleeping platform, I was pretty darn comfy. At dawn I emerged and began to prepare coffee and the obligatory ‘cooked breakfast’, a mix of egg, hash brown, meaty bits (here’s how the packet describes it: “A hearty combo of dried smoky beef, tomato, egg and a hash brown potato mix”) that quickly becomes passe. It is nothing, if not very filling. Tim got his breakfast assembled, then it was on with boots, rods grabbed and we set off. We had a 5km trot downstream ahead of us to give us ample water for our day ahead. It didn’t start so well – when we arrived at the the river edge I realised that a belt loop had popped open and that my Gerber Gator and wading staff holster lay back along our path. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhryKK9Gdfllkz4jbjnVg7ohUdAAiu_XJjoxBsA9ChtHYcBk1Tyc-94466WsEwLKvKEG9iSa9uXSecjSGRbZ9SSESnGaFghvNetJLvgGeFtzlJsZR8d9H2mDXG8nvjKNQvroYX_Cxcv/s4608/P1120988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhryKK9Gdfllkz4jbjnVg7ohUdAAiu_XJjoxBsA9ChtHYcBk1Tyc-94466WsEwLKvKEG9iSa9uXSecjSGRbZ9SSESnGaFghvNetJLvgGeFtzlJsZR8d9H2mDXG8nvjKNQvroYX_Cxcv/w640-h480/P1120988.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9IocGPuHy2Upo0tEIxdU9szGF8aYRtbAvs-9o1-PrT7uqyEMQxd-SGCbjyYfe1-4YhtKylWCOaaUsTaPK9ZZRhJ3aTHJhDHtuqHQrWDtJUQjPrpx7TMJPJGkQd68Z1OtQveC_CMtk/s4608/P1120992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9IocGPuHy2Upo0tEIxdU9szGF8aYRtbAvs-9o1-PrT7uqyEMQxd-SGCbjyYfe1-4YhtKylWCOaaUsTaPK9ZZRhJ3aTHJhDHtuqHQrWDtJUQjPrpx7TMJPJGkQd68Z1OtQveC_CMtk/w640-h480/P1120992.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOZmRLKG1eJTNghG4YJHrx1jg8g-LY1OAf4-HcQAdZk-uvBYUG6KeS3-XOuiZs8yqnr55Hyazh_ZJdhyphenhyphenx_JHl9Bu9aYYdIyBq2nd2wrdjSEKVLrpx-dLWCL70aZI8xFgpVFuVtENUc/s4608/P1120986.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOZmRLKG1eJTNghG4YJHrx1jg8g-LY1OAf4-HcQAdZk-uvBYUG6KeS3-XOuiZs8yqnr55Hyazh_ZJdhyphenhyphenx_JHl9Bu9aYYdIyBq2nd2wrdjSEKVLrpx-dLWCL70aZI8xFgpVFuVtENUc/w640-h480/P1120986.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2y6QlAc82JKRy7alV415lAFihjmutOzSPUSNnjCslxAA4YLcgeCNByO-3Y80yxddtCL30gE-p16q4StfRJ7EGqyHQMSyG_Ch7-bQhS-kGlSXi216lpZwI_zBcvYa39RfZwC_LCR0/s4608/P1120980.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP2y6QlAc82JKRy7alV415lAFihjmutOzSPUSNnjCslxAA4YLcgeCNByO-3Y80yxddtCL30gE-p16q4StfRJ7EGqyHQMSyG_Ch7-bQhS-kGlSXi216lpZwI_zBcvYa39RfZwC_LCR0/w640-h480/P1120980.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSrjjZ40cWUf_k7r3-cLQBHRSKx4yv0rPkteNVAjT2aWILuLe_Ja-DDfE_4TzSvON7aCrqTUgaqfgvAk7AYxDaczZuTPobpsi-2wRbU9mgex0Sacuo573oXVIKrtVG8FjNp2Lxr_28/s4608/P1120979.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSrjjZ40cWUf_k7r3-cLQBHRSKx4yv0rPkteNVAjT2aWILuLe_Ja-DDfE_4TzSvON7aCrqTUgaqfgvAk7AYxDaczZuTPobpsi-2wRbU9mgex0Sacuo573oXVIKrtVG8FjNp2Lxr_28/w640-h480/P1120979.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Rather than go search, I told Tim that I’d nip back at the end of the day and pick them up. Next, the overhead conditions were appalling, white/grey cloud blanketed the whole sky; glare rebounded from the water. All anglers know that these are the worst of worst spotting conditions, which in conjunction with our relative lack of familiarity with the water, put us on the back foot. I drew the worst straw as I had the ‘sun in my eyes’. I couldn’t see shit ahead of me, anything that I could get in a visibility window would be adjacent and well spooked by the time I saw it. Tim had a slightly better gig and soon was attached to a fish that had him scrambling . I was on the opposite bank with a 20 foot drop and an undercut meaning I had to run about 50m back downstream to get in a position to help and just as I got the net in hand the fish threw the hook….</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I crossed over to Tim’s side of the river where at least we had some vis. Soon we came across another fish. At my cast he lifted and took.. but I broke the leader on the strike… we seriously couldn’t afford this muppetry with the conditions tacked the way they were. Tim hand the next shot to an unresponsive fish and I had the same on the next. The only time the fish showed any movement was a conditioned move towards a slowly drifted worm which he then rejected. As we moved up and the river braided we split for an hour or so until meting where the strands rejoined. I threw a streamer to a large fish that grabbed it but the hooks missed… and after several fruitless hours where the wind increased steadily increased (downstream of course) and the overhead conditions worsened we called it. I dropped my gear off at the hut and set off on a march to find my missing stuff. I’d retraced almost our whole downstream journey from the morning before I found both items by a gate. The round trip took 90 minutes and I’d barely arrived back at the hut when another bloke strode out from the trees. He related that he’d walked 43km that day, having decided that having reached his goal by midday that he’d decided to extend his sights so had marched on. Near dark we heard a rifle shot across and up the valley. A deer or pig had been harvested.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The next morning Tim and I got away early. We had another watershed in mind, involving a hairy traverse in the truck. Downstream of the swing bridge we saw fresh tyre marks where a truck had forded the river, clearly the hunting party were mobile and had vehicle access. We made good pace back to car park, on the way passing a stand of Macrocarpa where a deer carcass hung in the shade. As we packed the vehicle the hunters arrived in their truck and asked us whether the vandalised gate had been in that state when we arrived - whoever had done it had gone on to vandalise and steal from the private hut belonging to the station. There are sh1theads everywhere it seems. At the junction track we began the tortuous journey into the destination valley. God it was beautiful. And, god Ford Rangers simply lack clearance. We crunched and bumped our way through ruts, over rocks, around twists and turns, the whole time the vehicle’s sensors causing proximity alarms to sound – what a pain in the arse and how much did I wish that I had my 80 series there. We parked under blue skies but knew they were temporary as cloud was building over the ranges and sure enough we’d no sooner reached the bottom of our beat when the cloud banks blotted the sun. The wind began to gather. We gritted our teeth and got to work. The water was of a size that made the fish damn near invisible but we began to spot the occasional flicker of movement, twitch of tail or change of shadow that betrayed a target. Despite its relative remoteness, recent footprints littered the softer banks, and boy didn’t the fish know about pressure….. even so we’d occasionally find one on the feed and lay an appropriate trap. Tim had one take his indicator from the surface. I had one chase and absolutely smash a 5” streamer but miss the hooks. We hooked and lost fish. Finally I got one to stick and we netted a fine old jack in the 8lb range. The wind began to absolutely rage. Tim fished to a large brown but simply couldn’t get the fly across the river. By late afternoon we’d covered plenty of water, seen plenty of fish and decided to not fight the elements further. We drove further up the valley and found a spot to pitch the tents. Once done we set up the cookers and boiled water for the dehy meals. The wind pounded us but the truck gave some shelter. As we ate I gazed up and saw a spiker exit the bush and begin to feed, not 100m from us. We drank beers, a luxury afforded by being able to drive in to such a cool place. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7X-qHNay11JLLm0gDTbzZe-VG5IS5jVilKlvXZ37wmRtzwNyjnTocMhgI904Tb0wCyJjZp7vaqad-OejduiDYP45KY6MximO5VaVnLsGM1ZszL4eKGGBu1WcvEonDA4WulgCDVZB/s4608/P1120997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF7X-qHNay11JLLm0gDTbzZe-VG5IS5jVilKlvXZ37wmRtzwNyjnTocMhgI904Tb0wCyJjZp7vaqad-OejduiDYP45KY6MximO5VaVnLsGM1ZszL4eKGGBu1WcvEonDA4WulgCDVZB/w480-h640/P1120997.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUv93mqdZHeoBL-V4Znlv7hHM9LL-Uiem2y7qR38y-8doydFA3NYLsbGcZrcItaltjxJvd6AIR6LlRCT9FBf4bapQn8bjmt0fcVdZIgooD95Jihu_NAtR447zyoNlS8dTKGmQmuT73/s4608/P1130002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUv93mqdZHeoBL-V4Znlv7hHM9LL-Uiem2y7qR38y-8doydFA3NYLsbGcZrcItaltjxJvd6AIR6LlRCT9FBf4bapQn8bjmt0fcVdZIgooD95Jihu_NAtR447zyoNlS8dTKGmQmuT73/w640-h480/P1130002.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbCTQ9ohSgTzNWxbJRZXux8NhNEK7X3bGSVVJdHEokwCdLmATpgRf72gVyehk4uHYPKARObRp3dUQUEjB8w4aJAmdrSWU7nLnJWPxAM7RulN6-eBrstPFtb2N4rKccxCx342MURsN/s4608/P1130003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvbCTQ9ohSgTzNWxbJRZXux8NhNEK7X3bGSVVJdHEokwCdLmATpgRf72gVyehk4uHYPKARObRp3dUQUEjB8w4aJAmdrSWU7nLnJWPxAM7RulN6-eBrstPFtb2N4rKccxCx342MURsN/w640-h480/P1130003.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrgK24Xlipq1MitQd74_5e0VEtExPjKVbGuFIfN0GKeFJcQ5rmVGwnt22DO0MTPU686EtlvABn3oezjoAF0bHfIGsLro0d3LZL69UH0Xd2D75sbbspzXsG1JCehYAhVPNXIGjYwY0s/s4608/P1130007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrgK24Xlipq1MitQd74_5e0VEtExPjKVbGuFIfN0GKeFJcQ5rmVGwnt22DO0MTPU686EtlvABn3oezjoAF0bHfIGsLro0d3LZL69UH0Xd2D75sbbspzXsG1JCehYAhVPNXIGjYwY0s/w640-h480/P1130007.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ddFkMxT68Up220z128f1XS80eTq0xV-RwIu7GxO4ArdeY8S8cirGaATkTuNXERckge1EYg8bvrgtU4uiGb2NtqUqVo_WM8fckt8q70_So7UvVDJ3JtynRYQz1ls2AKE-aa5UKbgB/s4608/P1130010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8ddFkMxT68Up220z128f1XS80eTq0xV-RwIu7GxO4ArdeY8S8cirGaATkTuNXERckge1EYg8bvrgtU4uiGb2NtqUqVo_WM8fckt8q70_So7UvVDJ3JtynRYQz1ls2AKE-aa5UKbgB/w640-h480/P1130010.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhApZoIARcdujeEz4nXjIm4aAJ24TsY3h2V7Yv8JhR7slo4CyApy7aomgNntyONP0tCdiR6Lta9n20D4uzHmopg7VUG61GNBqaM8C0a1clhSec7tdOomsQxy70nm4WNN0iScPq6OWBA/s4608/P1130011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhApZoIARcdujeEz4nXjIm4aAJ24TsY3h2V7Yv8JhR7slo4CyApy7aomgNntyONP0tCdiR6Lta9n20D4uzHmopg7VUG61GNBqaM8C0a1clhSec7tdOomsQxy70nm4WNN0iScPq6OWBA/w640-h480/P1130011.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Despite the wind, the sandflies were heinous! A good number had got into my tent so I had to spend a bit of time clearing them out. Our last day on the water had certainly been a challenge. I stayed awake late into the night to try and capture some shots of the desolate beauty of the landscape bathed in evening light…. I rose early. Our final day. The Cooked Breakfast tasted bland. The coffee was a welcomed treat. I managed to capture some shots of the eerie wind blasted landscape. And the wind itself simply howled – no way could a fly be cast. It reminded me somewhat of the Patagonian landscape, especially that wind. I felt a bit gutted that we had to leave early, but soon our camp was struck and the truck loaded. The wind was savage, blowing dust but providing ample opportunities to spy deer out sheltering and feeding in the lee side of the valley. Returning to civilisation on our minds, we exited the valley and arrived at a small loch. Wind swept curtains of spray from the white caps under grey skies. In we went, washing the accumulated grime of several days away between screams of “sheeeeeeet!!”, “farkkmydays!!” – almost immediately I lost feeling in my extremities. God it was like plunging into an ice bath, and the feeling of cleansing went deeper than the accumulated bodily grime. Soul refreshed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div></div>Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-88018875924658128652020-09-19T07:33:00.003+12:002020-09-19T07:34:30.133+12:00The changeover<p>Springtime. Warm days, cool days, cold days, rain, shine and snow. Settled weather, unsettled weather. A discernible change, more daylight hours. Budding trees, flowers, grass growth. If asked to describe springtime in a word and I'd say "Green". Shades of green abound. The changeover from constant cold winter (to be fair, we'd had a pretty mild version this year) to fairer days and nights.</p><p>Its a great time to go trouting. Things are happening in the river. Eggs are hatching, early hatched alevins are growing and transforming to fry. Bugs are moving with more regularity and this in itself shapes the feeding habits of the fish. Winter runners if fresh from the lake will snap up swung streamers, hitting the fly with energy that translates to running line being ripped, and if you happen to use a click 'n pawl reel, a decent shriek that will wake you from your swinging slumber. </p><p>The wind induced cold sores on my lips are a reminder of my penchant to stick my tongue out when focusing. Add in sun and constant, steady, unrelenting wind and for me its a recipe for inducing the sleepy virus into making itself known. I never learn. I should just chew gum. I'd arrived in town on Friday evening. Jase was already ensconced at AB's, along with southern guests Kieran and Mark. I met the lads at the tapas bar and Jase told me we had a plan for the following day. We'd hitch a lift with Greig in his tub and avoid the crowded pools by fishing downstream. I was seriously amped as it had been many years since I'd boated those parts. Later Miles rolled in, followed by Brian and Aaron. Great to catch up, really great. The southern contingent were in fine form, and at some stage I'd talked to Keiran about the Canterbury NW wind, the curse of the fly angler. He'd described the agony not of casting, but straps tangling and the never ending noise, chewing into your psyche, driving insanity closer and closer to reality. And that discussion would come back to me...</p><p>Jas was up and about early. I'd struggled (the struggle is real, I assure you..) to get to sleep. I was billeted in a room with Keiran and dossed down in an unfamiliar bed. I grabbed my gear and exited without waking up my roomie. We grabbed a cuppa, and headed off in different directions. I drove downstream, parked, and walked. Jase headed over to Greig's place to help him load the boat and get launched. We'd meet on the river. I'd have the benefit of covering some water before we linked up and so I had a good spring in my step. First stop, 'the Kill Hole'. Its actually a shitty pool aesthetically, with a deep back eddy that varies in terms of its ability to take away direct contact with a swung fly and so, its a fairly technical piece of water. A downstream quartering cast (avoiding the darn snag that ate my head and tip...) with a mend and then lift the running line over the eddy.... and there in the window between downstream flow and upstream eddy lies the magic spot. Your fly feels weightless but its working. The swing across the bottom of the eddy. The sudden tightening if things go well. And then, the cast and step downstream, using the bank created by the eddy to access the tail out. And fish lie across the tail out where the river widens across a sandy bar. (Always fish the tail outs to their greatest extent, they are areas of high potential). The river was low and clear. And the KH only coughed one fish.. uh-oh, this could be a tough day. A breeze sprang up as I traversed to the next stretch, where later I'd meet the lads. </p><p>Its beautiful swinging water. Lovely laminar flow, deeper water river left into a right hand bend, over a shelf into a deepening gut. The shelf, a gravel bar has created a sand bar further down where the pool broadens and deepens. There are several distinct holding spots throughout the run, but fish can more or less sit anywhere until disturbed so its of great benefit to be first through. I changed out the fly, digging through my box for the smallest sculpin I could dig up. I think it was the first cast when the fly was seized. Spray flew as the fish raced downstream, clearly a freshie. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVxPyccLM2dm6z37ImDdpHDQM9QYWn4KKgUdj-GMBj7uIPYLFXMzu9IXezE2WQGrp8g1eYxeicHhLrS4KGXugSFvTzhwuia-dqkMxP7lJHtwBQ_qjAGJ01y8VxO7n0_ppn84ZHPv2n/s2048/P1120586.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVxPyccLM2dm6z37ImDdpHDQM9QYWn4KKgUdj-GMBj7uIPYLFXMzu9IXezE2WQGrp8g1eYxeicHhLrS4KGXugSFvTzhwuia-dqkMxP7lJHtwBQ_qjAGJ01y8VxO7n0_ppn84ZHPv2n/w480-h640/P1120586.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>The little Trout Spey HD is such a fun rod to fight (appropriately sized) fish on and the fish simply wasn't about to be subdued. run after run. Toing and froing. Finally I lid her ashore, a perfect maiden hen fresh from the lake. Back into the run. I'd reached the wee bucket beside the gravel bar so wasn't surprised when a solid take thudded through the line. Again a protracted fight, and again a fat maiden hen was slid into the shallows to be released.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXz70-uypqJR03fmjkc41TQLAZmRPc8dLpOMio1DdB2irTqA4dY07xXhquR5MJFgpUd_XDREh3q29zysHdmhft-kX1AmuuarJ_mLTKKN32g9wW9kLoD5zC1u9RvsaKCn8sSog2EmB9/s2048/P1120615.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXz70-uypqJR03fmjkc41TQLAZmRPc8dLpOMio1DdB2irTqA4dY07xXhquR5MJFgpUd_XDREh3q29zysHdmhft-kX1AmuuarJ_mLTKKN32g9wW9kLoD5zC1u9RvsaKCn8sSog2EmB9/w480-h640/P1120615.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>The breeze was growing now, into a stiff wind. For now, it was off my left shoulder. I hadn't reached the final holding water before a boat rounded the corner several hundred metres downstream; the lads had arrived earlier than expected. Greig beached the craft upstream and I waded up to greet the boys. The air was now chilled, the wind coming from colder climes. We drank tea and had a snack from Greig's thermos; he's good like that. Jase then headed up to cover the untouched water while I dropped in between him and where Greig took up position fishing int the deeper stuff. Last time we'd fished together here he'd taken a beautiful big fresh hen. Greig's Meiser fired his head and tip out rifle straight and soon he was hooked into a fish that he netted and released. And that was it. I'd expected more.</p><p>The wind now howled. It was cold. Cold and sunny. A howling SWW, straight off the snowy peaks. The orientation of the next stretch, so long, so inviting, maybe a km of beautiful swinging water, was East-West. And so, our casts which ideally would be angled down and across, were being blown back upstream. Direct contact on the fly was almost impossible. I hung up on trees on the far bank more than once, more than twice (I lost count). I was glad of my woolly hat and puffer jacket. The noise was relentless. Cast-step-cast-step. Throw a mend when possible. As we fished each stretch out we'd take turns taking the lead for the next, and importantly, despite the frigid conditions we were catching. When I looked upstream from time to time, either Greig or Jase would be bent into a fish, and occasionally a 'bow would thud my fly.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQUzzNjXiD6bTw4r2zkNHi6FdgU-d_iDD_NYjQh5YA_tl6q8NXzpYnKWeoadyqHK_aA0QU3dVOtseQemDZ0QDqFv2uiz_G5U3MS9mcu2MBnRTn8r4fVenXeQ83m07E0ZMKGidlt8_q/s2048/P1120600.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1637" data-original-width="2048" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQUzzNjXiD6bTw4r2zkNHi6FdgU-d_iDD_NYjQh5YA_tl6q8NXzpYnKWeoadyqHK_aA0QU3dVOtseQemDZ0QDqFv2uiz_G5U3MS9mcu2MBnRTn8r4fVenXeQ83m07E0ZMKGidlt8_q/w640-h512/P1120600.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>I'd fished a drop off to the extent of my ability to wade (the current as almost lifting me off my feet) and turned upstream to struggle back to the top if the run where the boat was anchored. Greig moved down while I kicked back, hiding from the wind. Inevitably he hooked up. He's a bit of a legend like that. Total legend actually. Between the lads they orchestrated the landing of the fish, a great brownie. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7cz2IXFV3tmMGZApw5Bw6rgrrx6hWx2idCDY_SSyyORBeQJBQk8ogzofq3d6AbuPHHovEgA3hk8eO413XAjwk0TBDJaaIlIQlRK06ucJ4WEt-hNRkjqPyb6haJbygCuPzKqH73WYN/s4608/P1120638.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7cz2IXFV3tmMGZApw5Bw6rgrrx6hWx2idCDY_SSyyORBeQJBQk8ogzofq3d6AbuPHHovEgA3hk8eO413XAjwk0TBDJaaIlIQlRK06ucJ4WEt-hNRkjqPyb6haJbygCuPzKqH73WYN/w640-h480/P1120638.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6tYFX2IAZta9ZXGc_hixS5czh-ueg6mpDIRyMbkiOMSdXjeYVp8-QKsiwCUct8Cd9bLOkq3p7ESPnJhoFVR6iy6d1AKbHh2hSdUn1axucGMsIf3meCOOZN0ATSqyNLRzI7MdMsVC/s4608/P1120675.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz6tYFX2IAZta9ZXGc_hixS5czh-ueg6mpDIRyMbkiOMSdXjeYVp8-QKsiwCUct8Cd9bLOkq3p7ESPnJhoFVR6iy6d1AKbHh2hSdUn1axucGMsIf3meCOOZN0ATSqyNLRzI7MdMsVC/w480-h640/P1120675.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>A great bonus of traversing the river by boat was that as we found pods of fish on the downstream run we'd motor back up and fish down. Did I mention the wind? My face had begun to sting, frizzled by the wind and sun. I had my parka hood up. It felt like snow was in the air. Time crept by. Cast-swing-step. Downstream we marched, lost in thoughts. Too noisy to communicate. Inexorably we closed in on a dogleg in the river. Tall trees grew on the far bank - the near bank was high. It was like entering a quiet haven as the wind raged on and the trees bent. In the calm I realised I'd been spearing my casts with too much top hand, undoubtedly a defence mechanism against the wind. And now I was able to cover the water, landing the fly on a tight line. And 3 fish responded in the next 10 minutes. Having had the flurry and then lost the fly deep in the bowels of the pool on an unseen snag, I retreated and the other guys fished down and through, picking up a fish each. </p><p>Magically, the wind began to ease. And it had to or we were in for a slow trip back upstream to drop me off; crossing the lake 3 up in the small craft would have been suicide in that wind, and I'd told the fellas I'd be happy to jump out and walk back up to the truck. We arrived at a final bend and took up possies. I went down around the bend and found a run completely studded with snags; a fallen tree centre river had created a nice downstream lie if I could get the fly through the mess. As it turned out the seam on my side of the tree was pretty clear and I could get a nice swing and shortly a nicely coloured jack ate, and was landed.</p><p>I was now officially stuffed. I wandered back upstream, passing Jas who reported the loss of one fish and when I reached Greig we took our rods down and launched the boat. The lake crossing past the delta was stress free, if a little damp from waves on the beam. By the time we unloaded and cleaned the boat and got going, Jas was looking jaded, he'd really felt the cold through his waders from our constant immersion, the high banks not allowing an easy exit from the water. Back at base we got warmed up, grabbed an evening meal and hit the hay early. </p><p>Sunday</p><p>Jase looked fully recovered. It was 6am in AB's kitchen and I felt rocked. My roomie had come in later, hit the hay and started snoring with great resonance. It was a while before I remembered that my Bose noise cancelling phones were in my work bag - so I grabbed them, and after a while drifted back off. None the less I was feeling a tad shabby. We drank tea, formed a plan. I wanted to fish the Boulder Pool, having not visited all year. Scene of my first hookup on a Spey rod, it will always hold a special place in my heart. Plus, Rob had reported over dinner that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jWt4v3ug3FQ" target="_blank">he and Johnny had fished it with great success</a> while making a clip about their upcoming clinics. </p><p>I dropped Jase at the Blue Pool car park and drove down to the wee bypass above the Boulder. Above me in the lower Blue, an angler wielded a spey rod. I waded the rock garden above the Boulder and arrived with great expectations. An hour later I'd fished what I consider the most beautiful pool on the river for one jaded and skinny slab. Yet fish were moving; splashing at emergers. Mayflies lifted from the surface. And me.... well did I have a single wee wet on hand? Nup. I was like the proverbial fish out of water. As I made my final few casts, the angler who'd fished the Blue arrived at the head. I reeled in and moved up to meet Atu, a guy I'd seen on social media. He mentioned that we was struggling, hooking the bottom with his T-14 tip and weighted fly. That took me back a few years. It had taken me a few seasons and plenty of conversations with experienced guys to get through my head that 10' of T-8 is plenty enough tip in the Tongariro. Exceptions I guess are when the flows reach 40 or more cumecs, when I'll step up to T-11 and perhaps an intermediate head to slow the swing through holding water. Which reminds me... I was listening to Trevor Covich on the Wet Fly Swing (you should really take time to listen, do yourself a favour) podcast and he mentioned something that resonated later... when the steelhead water is high, he's focusing on swinging out the quieter edges in shallower water because that's where the fish will be. As the level drops, he's forced into fishing heavier because the fish will retreat into deeper water. Think about that. The inclination to try and hit the buckets at the expense of taking on the riffles is real. The struggle is real. My catch rate has improved (but that's also experience, better fly presentation etc) and importantly I'm not losing half a box of flies on the bottom of the river every day.</p><p>I wandered upstream, arriving in time to get a bird's eye view of Jase hooking a great fish in the Pig Pen, from the tall bank I stood on the view was epic and the fish flashed downstream in he blink of an eye, before simply blowing him away. Pesty called and we rolled out to meet him at the Trout Centre. I pretty much figured that with a time in mind to get away, that I'd focus on one run and fish it thoroughly. we call it the OTHP (Over The Hill Pool) which actually isn't a pool, its a nice run that fish hold in. Its changed a lot since I fished swung a fly through 5 years ago, the true left of the run having filled in so that the run is able to be crossed easily if you wanted to. Fish can hold anywhere in the run, and they do. And, by the time I'd finished, seven fish had hit and 5 had seen the bottom of my net. Another had thrown the hook on a magnificent jump. The other had harassed the fly but avoided the hook. One of the fish landed was a really large jack, probably in the >6lb range, wearing colours that suggested he'd been waiting for just the right hen to arrive.</p><p>He splashed me as he swam away. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppbgP_h8ZHbawCSNbbf4pZVXkfkTNwFsxX6OKzWUcDH9-Q9pR1AhqWYoWtGhdgFcQtvlgOHuyCActhXUXaXgFR63N4cdTFcPgryI6wq7wKteKdp47oL0lOmpZ4_OGo2sBtCSumlc4/s2048/P1120679.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjppbgP_h8ZHbawCSNbbf4pZVXkfkTNwFsxX6OKzWUcDH9-Q9pR1AhqWYoWtGhdgFcQtvlgOHuyCActhXUXaXgFR63N4cdTFcPgryI6wq7wKteKdp47oL0lOmpZ4_OGo2sBtCSumlc4/w640-h480/P1120679.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-61472306233720365082020-08-11T19:46:00.001+12:002020-08-11T19:46:29.376+12:00WAB! (Welcome Aboard Bat); recreating the past<p>There are those who argue that the Taupo fishery contains too many trout, that they have eaten the ecosystem out of house and home , and that as a result the remaining fish are small and skinny. I just don't know enough to comment, but the fish size seems to change year to year. (In 2017, we broke out the 5 & 6 weight Spey rods and still got dealt to by enough fish to keep it interesting). What I do know is that since 2015 until the weekend just passed, I have killed a sum total of 5 trout (all fat silver spawners) and have smoked every one of them. All that was about to change... for quite some time the lads had discussed recreating one of those old time black and white 'kill shots', the type where stern faced, hat wearing mustached types stand behind or holding their fishy kill. Kind of anti catch 'n release, kind of grotesque and way the hell out of step with the modern mentality. When killing fish, we refer to it as 'WABing', where WAB stands for the Welcome Aboard Bat (or priest) - the mini club used to kill the fish with a blow to the head.</p><p>So we were on a mission. A kill mission. Hell, I'd packed a fluffy indicator rod. And egg patterns. And split shot. My first fish of the weekend was 'scratched up' as we call it. But I'd quickly grown bored of using an outfit mismatched for the task at hand and after a while traded it in for my #s Trout Spey HD, and began to swing the run below the hole we'd been 'nymphing' (egging with split shot) while Jase went on to beach and kill 5. We were on mission. Later, Jas, Tim, Layla and I headed to the TT, a smaller river. We expected that with a bit of rain and some colour in the water that we'd do alright. We left our jackets in the truck and set off in bright sunlight. As we'd begun to fish, rain bearing clouds closed in and soon a torrential downpour was upon us. I was glad of my merino layers. We swung flies on the light Spey rods and all caught fish. Tim landed a beauty which went in the kill stats. It was a nice change of scenery. The weekend conditions were akin to combat fishing. Anglers occupied every pool. I'd walked a long way to get to my chosen water and fished it as carefully as I could for 3 plucks and one (great) fish landed. I'd planned to walk up to the next pool which had treated me well of later, fish that, then come back down. But once up there I found a guy waist deep and left him to it. At the truck it was decision time.. where to go to find more fish? Upstream the gates were locked and no one was parked so with lab in tow I set off on the brisk 200 min walk to my chosen water. Not an angler in sight. Nothing like a walk to separate men from boys. My waders were leaking (again) but the sun was out, and despite the gusts I was able to pin good casts out. The pluck on the fly turned into a good set and the fish on the end burned line out. A good fight came to an end with fish in net and he became a stat soon after. Downriver, the town pools we frequent were surprisingly free of anglers (its challenging water) and on 2 trips down the pool I took 2 more fish, a sweet fat hen and a dark silver jack. I fished on, only finding one other fish worth adding to the pile. At base I cleaned mine and the other guys' fish and added them to the chiller. Then I set the fire and dried out my waders and wet trousers, dried the dog, showered and grabbed a beer. We'd agreed to be ready at 3.30, dressed to kill in op shop clothing. The boys rolled in and we set off. We arrived at the same time as a DOC ranger - photographer found! At first he was taken slightly aback before joining in the spirit of the occasion. He first wanted some shots for his Dept's website and then took shots of us in full garb, and made a great job of it.</p><p>The results are quite outstanding really. A job well done.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQoO3qh68P5U9WUg2n8zLVO24Mj3-_PMtNQ5nNcasa9z989FhMUa0ZNxXiBMLWcH19zEAxs8DTGem9MoktIqURr9vH2kiVQ0Z5koE0RZluP3J7JvFq91nx3i77k-kWa_CUZr6dEd8/s2048/IMG_5392.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="534" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMQoO3qh68P5U9WUg2n8zLVO24Mj3-_PMtNQ5nNcasa9z989FhMUa0ZNxXiBMLWcH19zEAxs8DTGem9MoktIqURr9vH2kiVQ0Z5koE0RZluP3J7JvFq91nx3i77k-kWa_CUZr6dEd8/w800-h534/IMG_5392.jpg" width="800" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-4597009443817560462020-07-28T07:36:00.001+12:002020-07-28T07:36:42.917+12:00Crowds - heralds of good fishingBack in the '80s when I was a 'young fella', I remember seeing the pools of the Tongariro bristling with anglers and it was common to see most hooked up at once when the fish were running. Of recent times the river has undergone a sort of renaissance in that fish size and quality is returning on a more consistent basis and as a result there are more people fishing. And judging by some of the 'casting' on display, it looks as though a fair number of beginners are getting into it. This sort of pressure leads to some interesting behaviour and the old 'upstream vs downstream' arguments arise from time to time. There are well published etiquette rules so I'll leave that alone, needless to say if I want to fish a pool already occupied, I always ask first just to get the other angler's intentions sorted. And anyway, its not really 'combat fishing' of the sort you see photos of from overseas, where you might have anglers shoulder to shoulder flailing at any particular stretch. That would be worse than awful.<div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxuw1Ti7a-76DuH8-WVQJQHd0FVJpjoJBpNWk7OXmgxnWoAsvGgHj_awZFHlyQum-VMzi9CiYN9Bp39sLFYh6TGMZYiBnGY7lHWf8vTOfD7wHB8UG50nhPqm03ECWHmQiDmWbS8ab/s2048/July28.9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxuw1Ti7a-76DuH8-WVQJQHd0FVJpjoJBpNWk7OXmgxnWoAsvGgHj_awZFHlyQum-VMzi9CiYN9Bp39sLFYh6TGMZYiBnGY7lHWf8vTOfD7wHB8UG50nhPqm03ECWHmQiDmWbS8ab/w586-h781/July28.9.jpg" width="586" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdWJHIzEMRIw_X5JYZlKXdG8LMCyuvwqB872efgDyna11yxeh_DOGL7m2QRpx4uDtcBdXZ_Jsv8tONmDxmAHa4QZJF7Q9bikkSz_VfcWxgXE3x3HHKw8jFqDMp8TepCJdQkV8rF8v/s2048/July28.13.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTdWJHIzEMRIw_X5JYZlKXdG8LMCyuvwqB872efgDyna11yxeh_DOGL7m2QRpx4uDtcBdXZ_Jsv8tONmDxmAHa4QZJF7Q9bikkSz_VfcWxgXE3x3HHKw8jFqDMp8TepCJdQkV8rF8v/w625-h469/July28.13.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVBAvEwTTgSsiJpnMDjAuOfdwUL5fXSjGuWCrtzCCJ1EhQwHdIOgfu3K9fw7Fjdm2HLW6OsvOT4pqFMqrFCt9aaP8n24B2g3fK0i-zAed6ztjamxM0u9Vx3vmgJZ85iAi8Zz_ykro/s2048/July28.12.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhVBAvEwTTgSsiJpnMDjAuOfdwUL5fXSjGuWCrtzCCJ1EhQwHdIOgfu3K9fw7Fjdm2HLW6OsvOT4pqFMqrFCt9aaP8n24B2g3fK0i-zAed6ztjamxM0u9Vx3vmgJZ85iAi8Zz_ykro/w625-h469/July28.12.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8YDcVkpWtz2GSnSjHrrkyK-qe9UZYiXL85I3NUeZX_HcCsLXJbVQ83XtKfK5Vn1MIn2PJkQ8AcBskBem-oEpfXayuevnewrf0PPOLii0K9FF9ePVW1wJ6jnbKDajhSAXW4spMZfp/s2048/July28.5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq8YDcVkpWtz2GSnSjHrrkyK-qe9UZYiXL85I3NUeZX_HcCsLXJbVQ83XtKfK5Vn1MIn2PJkQ8AcBskBem-oEpfXayuevnewrf0PPOLii0K9FF9ePVW1wJ6jnbKDajhSAXW4spMZfp/w625-h416/July28.5.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQDgDl813zY0_2CbWg8uA__1-EhytIsjmGQygZY8whoHgbg6pnN-Wc4RF0ek5A-VBB-lKM2FHktXSUUoWMMA8wCqD95TO8q7O82jmtCk6r3ftUIXuVo_r4LFsnMt7V9V_O3GISeZmB/s2048/July28.10.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQDgDl813zY0_2CbWg8uA__1-EhytIsjmGQygZY8whoHgbg6pnN-Wc4RF0ek5A-VBB-lKM2FHktXSUUoWMMA8wCqD95TO8q7O82jmtCk6r3ftUIXuVo_r4LFsnMt7V9V_O3GISeZmB/w625-h416/July28.10.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiletVIlx_6vx5jVJ2aE31e1Gi0MbGrSXljnTVU3YSc8fakqZf2_LCyuPQCetmSWWGmfeAx2_MADXgIWNzOGRtZNTvoDuy_GaZVSdAlw-6epumALA4l7sSe_KDv9xIzftimjyDjFAJJ/s2048/July28.6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiletVIlx_6vx5jVJ2aE31e1Gi0MbGrSXljnTVU3YSc8fakqZf2_LCyuPQCetmSWWGmfeAx2_MADXgIWNzOGRtZNTvoDuy_GaZVSdAlw-6epumALA4l7sSe_KDv9xIzftimjyDjFAJJ/w625-h416/July28.6.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOO02sdpiBjl8xUCcMcvSx_Bn4NyCVqlztTK2OqrL91mnoY709bCwFWXuPtvIDPaCGofL2b4z-sS_gcJZMagEx8lxmccfmFCFeuOON3UPRFsOUJh1I5RAikCEpzDvzOjyngI3WRzM/s2048/July28.3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="976" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOO02sdpiBjl8xUCcMcvSx_Bn4NyCVqlztTK2OqrL91mnoY709bCwFWXuPtvIDPaCGofL2b4z-sS_gcJZMagEx8lxmccfmFCFeuOON3UPRFsOUJh1I5RAikCEpzDvzOjyngI3WRzM/w733-h976/July28.3.jpg" width="733" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>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,<i> anything</i>, 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. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4UlxnEeAV-5dHPbcFlLe_KT6RY3wLb0unhpZ8OQnUlWq0ovmQ7U1VXuaFl15-ErndWLtPOdv7cUh6188S0Lt_O_HmYFeC3FNNDdig_2QjzrgfENNELjTRTT82iXBWzzmY77zszT4/s2048/July28.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1621" data-original-width="2048" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho4UlxnEeAV-5dHPbcFlLe_KT6RY3wLb0unhpZ8OQnUlWq0ovmQ7U1VXuaFl15-ErndWLtPOdv7cUh6188S0Lt_O_HmYFeC3FNNDdig_2QjzrgfENNELjTRTT82iXBWzzmY77zszT4/w625-h494/July28.1.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>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. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7C7lLNS4kQHhi7ATe1RsvEoVzGsGMBS4gib1eRdxm-IAupIr7aLY-AosRMNTlNISAIP1K6bxJLvNCFX8HR2ZLAwrpJOv6B6qWox7lsPXjrMMTI-tP0pXAYpepq591LrkFqpz6QSCe/s2048/July28.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7C7lLNS4kQHhi7ATe1RsvEoVzGsGMBS4gib1eRdxm-IAupIr7aLY-AosRMNTlNISAIP1K6bxJLvNCFX8HR2ZLAwrpJOv6B6qWox7lsPXjrMMTI-tP0pXAYpepq591LrkFqpz6QSCe/w625-h469/July28.2.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRpp84yhN22Mx45K-V3KgBesiDpy3KuhkuqmCZRh5FltfE9YMSmhjeqkBAOwgoy2wz5lTksSJy2X6XsrQvIRSm83Yc8mGwffHqOCwe-ayMSK5vhCxq0vZqWPxd4kCw7UwJl7vnXvjx/s2048/July28.4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1634" data-original-width="2048" height="499" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRpp84yhN22Mx45K-V3KgBesiDpy3KuhkuqmCZRh5FltfE9YMSmhjeqkBAOwgoy2wz5lTksSJy2X6XsrQvIRSm83Yc8mGwffHqOCwe-ayMSK5vhCxq0vZqWPxd4kCw7UwJl7vnXvjx/w625-h499/July28.4.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>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.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-3678942367905088922020-07-17T11:33:00.002+12:002020-07-27T07:58:15.025+12:00Scaling downThe most interesting fly tying journey I've taken over the past few years is the redevelopment of steelhead (swinging) flies, especially the scaling down in size to accommodate our local winter lake run fish. A 4" fly here will get eaten, but a 2" variant of the same fly will get a hell of a lot more takes I've figured. In terms of down sizing, there are a few considerations -<div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Flies incorporating shanks and swing hooks are limited to a certain small size.</li><li>Materials used have to be down scaled too - trimmed, or in the case of natural materials such as furs and feathers, much smaller variants used.</li><li>For deep buckets, runs and pools, you need to get down in the weeds - or at least get your fly in the fish zone. Microspey in itself limits the size of tips that can be used, so getting weight incorporated in smaller flies needs to be thought through.</li></ul><div>Answering the shank & swing hook challenge is easy enough. 3x and 4x long shank hooks allow for single station flies to be constructed. Upside is that flies are scaled correctly. Downside is that one of the key benefits of shank & swing hook flies is that the hook can be changed out if it dulls or is damaged. We lose that advantage. But we'll get more eats so its a win. Alternatively, trimming the shank and running the swing hook directly at the back of the shank is an option, albeit a more expensive one.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8I-2k8AyLEmn225t1Wo2O-KR_UlpS4bTX87BSKWC0DYtrsrA9DkfV8EB3wzi8gF3ViI3-ARzkqW8pPrYF3JHlsXjEoT_K3R9bJX7TM62TMFsvwgJJEfEbfsd3qAlBTSPaMvlBM0o/s2048/17july20.1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1082" height="1220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit8I-2k8AyLEmn225t1Wo2O-KR_UlpS4bTX87BSKWC0DYtrsrA9DkfV8EB3wzi8gF3ViI3-ARzkqW8pPrYF3JHlsXjEoT_K3R9bJX7TM62TMFsvwgJJEfEbfsd3qAlBTSPaMvlBM0o/w645-h1220/17july20.1.jpg" width="645" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Scaling down materials is a much more difficult ask. Zonked pine squirrel and mink replace rabbit. Arctic fox & US possum can be trimmed at the butts. Synthetics require different treatments though, materials such as aqua veil can easily be trimmed back and once proportions are figured, and winging materials reduced in volume as well as length to retain proportions. Once you get the hang of it, (I write down measurements until I get the knack) its not too difficult. Tungsten dumbbells in small and medium size can be secured from tungstenbeadsplus.com. A range of tungsten beads in all sorts of sizes and colours can be sourced locally and globally relatively inexpensively. More difficult is the question of feathers such as schlappen and guinea fowl, which play an integral role in a number of patterns. Searching out and finding smaller feathers is a task in itself, but worth it when you can turn out a pattern half the size of the original. Often times it means using more of the tips of feathers than you might with larger flies, as you would if tying tiny dries.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh633x5r2ktE2SpjqwggLpzEEmr9a-Y_OsPFP5bbi53YLBuZKgr5NVYTqYPbA6FM3ii6wICSYbR7qXBx4aIQ3cHXU7rntSp3nu7nf4zvZdGu4TbphKhBwEEzOwq4sNY6vUO4XOuSzp9/s2048/17+July+20.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh633x5r2ktE2SpjqwggLpzEEmr9a-Y_OsPFP5bbi53YLBuZKgr5NVYTqYPbA6FM3ii6wICSYbR7qXBx4aIQ3cHXU7rntSp3nu7nf4zvZdGu4TbphKhBwEEzOwq4sNY6vUO4XOuSzp9/w781-h586/17+July+20.jpg" width="781" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I have to say that it helps having mates who are in this game too. It would be fair to say that between us we've scoured the globe for materials and patterns, and we've amassed a stupid amount of stuff. (I wonder if the fish appreciate the lengths to which we've gone?!). Because tying is such a small market here, and streamer/intruder/steelhead pattern tying even more niche, its really not possible to source what we want and need locally. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGsH2xbkOLo-TSG7pXniAq7F6dqEeTze71CqZ2hONp_jtaYdKSwNd9rmgdbFOf3hh2eeaZ1vRxbLCcl9UmPfQ37jOYNwoeF9BYOja391flPygaisy-QUWgLjzXsQxsdwwFtyg-qiE/s2048/17july20.3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGsH2xbkOLo-TSG7pXniAq7F6dqEeTze71CqZ2hONp_jtaYdKSwNd9rmgdbFOf3hh2eeaZ1vRxbLCcl9UmPfQ37jOYNwoeF9BYOja391flPygaisy-QUWgLjzXsQxsdwwFtyg-qiE/w625-h469/17july20.3.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgru70zpsMwIQtQNF1DeGgBK1hYZV4_iKud-uDr2EEYW8cRV9685dQ29zJ-NVmKoHz8RRg29n6SWPaX_yxX0xrf3gBuM-qkAA71OF_01NzbExxtRIYGVKxrWR2djW3QKGrvu1oBLVpX/s2048/IMG_2032.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgru70zpsMwIQtQNF1DeGgBK1hYZV4_iKud-uDr2EEYW8cRV9685dQ29zJ-NVmKoHz8RRg29n6SWPaX_yxX0xrf3gBuM-qkAA71OF_01NzbExxtRIYGVKxrWR2djW3QKGrvu1oBLVpX/w625-h469/IMG_2032.JPG" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It may seem a lot of bother to go to, when you could easily tie on a gold bead olive Woolly Bugger, but the fact is that the other guys swinging flies are probably doing exactly that, and in my opinion I'd rather fish a pattern that flows better, moves better, looks better - and get better results.</div></div>Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-89007944750321644832020-07-14T09:54:00.000+12:002020-07-14T09:54:03.418+12:00Cool winds, rising waterI'd left home at 18.30. I didn't want to feel rushed, as it was the first swinging trip of the winter for me I wanted to be thorough in my gear packing. When you're at it all the time , getting everything aboard is pretty much second nature. I was close to an hour out of home when it hit me - I hadn't packed my wading staff... I'd been thinking about pinching down hook barbs with my pliers when I realised that my belt that the pliers live on were attached to the belt to which my fold down staff is also attached... and the belt was still at home, hung behind my office door. Not a critical oversight; with a recreational water release we hadn't planned to cross the river anyways, as it would rise to ~50 Cumecs so crossing would be out of the question. <div><br /></div><div>Layla and I would meet Jase at Oruatua where we were staying. It was pretty late by the time I rolled in and Jase was already there. We got set up, put together rods, got the dog bedded in the wash house. It was very cold so I was glad of the super warm sleeping bag I'd got for my birthday. And I set the alarm too early. I was up and about at 05.00... the sun wouldn't rise for another 90 minutes... and we don't really fish the more social pools where guys line up pre-dawn to get the hot spot.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even so, it was too dark for me to tied on a fly when I reached my spot. With dawn glimmering, the trees swayed in the cool breeze blowing from the snow capped peaks and that's the beauty of fishing the Tongariro in winter - its proper cold. Compounding the lack of light was my fingers freezing up. Not that dead still icy cold of a hoarse frost, but the severe southerly wind chill that slowly steals body heat. Only 2 days later I do remember tying up at least 2 new leaders on that first run though... twice I broke off at the leader to tip loop, my biminis breaking both times on snags. I'd put the 360 grain intermediate head on, paired with 10' of T-12. The Sage One 5110 works well when there's breeze to deal with. As the sun came up I settled into a casting rhythm. Upstream, Jase worked a seam that hold fish regulary and is often overlooked. It took about an hour to work my run properly and the hit when it came sent my pulse rocketing. It was in heavy water a few feet above a snaggy mess of drowned trees and thrashed on the surface revealing a shapely wedge tail. I coaxed the fish upstream, inch by inch. Again it raced downstream, stopping before it hit the snags and finally I managed to bring the fish to net, a beautiful chrome bright hen that splashed me on her way home. At the truck we debated where to go next and decided to head downstream to fish water that I'd last fished immediately prior to lock down.</div><div>The walk down is pretty relaxing and as the day was warming I'd ditched the puffer jacket in favour of a hoodie. We were surprised to find another angler at the first big pool, so pressed down to the next. Jas gave me the option of going in first and second cast I hooked up on a fish that dragged downstream before leaping. It was quite dark in colour but still strong and shapely, and fought gamely to the beach.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVG-YEDCgpzWwtnUXEoZR1-fRXMvGPdBJHZTLUlITWhrwjv5Mtk4H56G_d60qog3YgvK41e_bwOdCeVU_8jPX8h4mO8PS-NUjFa3JZLhC4uUrMiaY4YflAZ6yWBfe5O57uERKHIvIX/s2048/12+July+20.6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVG-YEDCgpzWwtnUXEoZR1-fRXMvGPdBJHZTLUlITWhrwjv5Mtk4H56G_d60qog3YgvK41e_bwOdCeVU_8jPX8h4mO8PS-NUjFa3JZLhC4uUrMiaY4YflAZ6yWBfe5O57uERKHIvIX/w625-h469/12+July+20.6.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Somewhere shortly thereafter I hooked the far bank and lost a fly, or a leader or both; ultimately I bent on a scaled down pink Senyo's Slim Shady. The hit when It came ripped line and the fish charged downstream. The fight dragged on and with each run I hoped that the hook had taken hold in the gristle of the fish's mouth rather than a softer spot. Each time I brought the fish upstream it ran back down into the current and this happened time and again... finally I coaxed it into slacker water and Jase scooped out a beautiful chrome bright hen of close to 5lb. After a few shots she sped into the depths. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx_DHVrp1-muUdkcnXm1qn65z0nGBuYuFlJwnDqK_uh4W_JAqvv0HvwrV_ItsM21V3lczUDbDS8tqSuxymsEGcFosH9iSIikecXJjnyuQV6PLw71x2w-7gTOKOOUmQfjxLQKHbyibn/s2048/12+July+20.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1794" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx_DHVrp1-muUdkcnXm1qn65z0nGBuYuFlJwnDqK_uh4W_JAqvv0HvwrV_ItsM21V3lczUDbDS8tqSuxymsEGcFosH9iSIikecXJjnyuQV6PLw71x2w-7gTOKOOUmQfjxLQKHbyibn/w685-h781/12+July+20.2.jpg" width="685" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I continued to work down into the tail out while Jase headed downstream. </div><div><br /></div><div>The river began to deepen as I edged along a sand bank, and at my limit I reeled in and headed off down to catch up. The run below was beautiful. I followed Jas down and he caught a couple of crackers. I was back in snag mode... hooking the far bank, trees, well anything really. I was simply rusty. The recreational release hit us just before midday, with the water rising quite fast. We exited the river and walked back to the truck. Coffee, ham and cheese roll, duck bier stick - lunch of champs. Layla sniffed around and grabbed tidbits that we threw her. At the bridge pool we pulled in. The water was murky but fishable. Jase headed into the pool proper while I moved into a back water further down. Changing out the tip to account for the shallower water I began to swing. Nothing. Nada. I went through again. Jase crossed the bridge and entered the water on the far side. Nothing doing, so it was time for a move downstream. There are a couple of bypasses that the fish take which give them gentler passage so when we'd conferred earlier we thought we'd give it a nudge where they joined with the tail out of a large holding pool. Back to the T-12 tip. I pumped off shoulder casts out (the wind had gathered strength) but found nothing in the tail out. A few yards downstream in a gutter the line shuddered and a fish thrashed the surface. Well aware of its surroundings it refused to leave the heavy water and threatened to charge down the rapid... if it did I'd be left standing and now I wished more than ever for my wading staff. I wasnt keen to enter the torrent to forced the fish into the near bank where the water was softer and eventually coaxed it up to the net. Across and up the river, a line of guys fished the 'Troll Hole' and it looked like nothing was doing up there. The water remained high but definitely fishable so I imagined that as fish ran through they'd begin to hook up.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXMnME6ykQQaZ9erdjLG5tq05gHcyNoNfB9wF0K0T9h82RFEoK1yqu30bKC-WguqML5uGf3-D07OpseussMdstYE4VWyEqqLvCbkn0IKlr8-cunaE_Hwo_XwYGjNU8jEsIpF5vtHG/s2048/12+July+20.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXMnME6ykQQaZ9erdjLG5tq05gHcyNoNfB9wF0K0T9h82RFEoK1yqu30bKC-WguqML5uGf3-D07OpseussMdstYE4VWyEqqLvCbkn0IKlr8-cunaE_Hwo_XwYGjNU8jEsIpF5vtHG/w586-h781/12+July+20.1.jpg" width="586" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'd cast a few more times when again the line came tight. This fish seemed more docile and came upstream immediately. I'd taken my net out when it woke up and screamed away. Again I was faced with the delicate balance of stopping a raging fish before it made the rapids, without breaking it... the hook pulled. I worked the water again, carefully covering the bucket but that was it. Back at the truck we made the call to fish the Hydro, one of the most popular pools on the river. Three guys fished ahead of us. Greig appeared on the bank and we had a catch up before combing our way down the pool. Nothing. That was our day. Venison, Vietnamese coleslaw and spuds for dinner. Layla stretched in front of the fire. I slept like a baby. </div><div><br /></div><div>And awoke at 5. Old habits. Dog fed. Kettle on. We'd be leaving the house this morning so post breakfast we got the gear loaded in our trucks, cleaned up the house and left in the darkness. This morning we'd swap around, I'd fish the runs that Jas had covered first yesterday and he'd cover the water I'd fished. I entered the lower of the 2 runs, and fished it so so carefully. Not even a tap. Up to the top run. Here I landed a chrome hen fish, hooked and lost another fish and had several hits that didn't hook up. Back to the lower run. Right at its tail out I briefly hooked a fish that simply let go. Moving down to the top of the run Jase had fished I'd barely entered the water when Pete appeared. We stood on the bank chatting and Jase came up. Then I wandered down to a favourite pool. Right about where I thought a fish would be, it hit. And I gained no control whatsoever. For 10 minutes we played each other, the fish never relenting. Up and down the tug of war continued...the hook pulled. I prefer to go hard in order to bank the fish in good condition for release, but maybe I was going too hard? The next fish hit and took to the air. 2 more fish took and were brought to the bank. Then Jase jumped in and snatched a fresh little chromer. On the road to the lower river we ran into Greig coming the other way - he'd fished the runs we were heading for and had one well. We parted ways and continued down. In the pool that had coughed up for me yesterday I had 4 hits and not a single hook up... they felt tentative. Hard to say why or how fish take flies at times but I couldn't connect. After a couple of hours I caught up with Pete and Jase; they both reported hits but no hookups. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQN0-HaV1U2eOi9a9e6TaJCs0XJooeOSolKb1_I7cbAagpgq6TbV-7ybYjTBYIYtjZBhG07PX8td41J_09hQOEkO1ApTqLT9c4TYOSNz1OVj2ES0Zu4IBXqP8_6xb_4GZTyMkiVWe/s2048/12+July+20.3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYQN0-HaV1U2eOi9a9e6TaJCs0XJooeOSolKb1_I7cbAagpgq6TbV-7ybYjTBYIYtjZBhG07PX8td41J_09hQOEkO1ApTqLT9c4TYOSNz1OVj2ES0Zu4IBXqP8_6xb_4GZTyMkiVWe/w625-h469/12+July+20.3.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCNOP3RnWmDdlVh4ra9WIoYXcyaZOED7Qv6dX5i7Kynm59REtp8qW8Mhqq5CgavGSaGrvcgGscaH0_Uw1vc9RujMkIR5NWc4GI2YwTJlj10mFqUuIcSpjMTvdlH4TJQlR5y3N6FZh/s2048/12+july+20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCNOP3RnWmDdlVh4ra9WIoYXcyaZOED7Qv6dX5i7Kynm59REtp8qW8Mhqq5CgavGSaGrvcgGscaH0_Uw1vc9RujMkIR5NWc4GI2YwTJlj10mFqUuIcSpjMTvdlH4TJQlR5y3N6FZh/w586-h781/12+july+20.jpg" width="586" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At the truck coffee was brewed. Home time was the call.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-50174934107052880902020-07-07T07:17:00.001+12:002020-07-07T07:17:43.556+12:00Scoot n' shootSaturday. With a sick daughter and a bunch of chores stacked up and not getting any of my attention during the waterfowl season, I had a list of things to get done. On top of which I needed to help Tim with moving some of his furniture into his new house. While SWMBO went to an early meeting I got stuck in; clearing a few errant tasks before she returned. Then a trip across town, furniture moved. Back home. Grass cut. Leaky sunroof on truck sealed. Strafed decoys (grrrr) repaired (WHO shoots irreplaceable Body Language decoys anyway????). Another Grrrr just for good luck. By late afternoon I was pretty much on top of stuff. <div><br /></div><div>SWMBO could see the look on the Black Piranha's face. She was restless. She wants to hunt hard at this time of year. It wasn't actually my suggestion that the dog and I go hunting. I put a call in. Craig said that birds were thin on the ground and very flighty. Today he, Mitch, Mick and Jethro had worked hard for one bird bagged. None the less, I packed dog and human lunches, prepared my vest with an ammo top up, GPS and added a small folding knife and a couple of OSM (One Square Meal) bars. I'd felt fit the previous hunt, so no dramas on that front. </div><div><br /></div><div>Its a three hour drive to Craig's and I'd want to be there close after sunrise, mainly to catch the birds out sunning after overnight rain. Just after 8 am I arrived and caught up with Craig and Kathryn. Craig gave me a rundown on the previous day's activities. He'd seen 3 birds and shot one, the other guys hadn't taken a shot. He gave me a pointer on where to start and after parking the truck I set off behind a very excited Labrador retriever. We'd gone only a short way beside the river when with a huge amount of quacking and wing flurrying a mob of ducks took to the air. Layla sped her pace, nose to ground and I was convinced the duck scent had wafted up to her.... no marks out of 10 for me when she bumped a rooster that gave me no chance to shoot. Mental uppercut. Chance blown... but he'd flown down river rather than across, so maybe we could pick him up a little later. </div><div><br /></div><div>This stretch of river is great for bird holding, for exactly the same reason as its a pain for fly fishing - overhanging cover. Trees, blackberries, steep banks, deep water. Ugly, ugly, ugly for angling. But oh such beautiful territory for pheasants. The grass was damp so any scent held would be recent. We approached a corner shaded by a large macrocarpa, beneath which was strewn fallen sticks, grasses and flood debris from a high water event. We worked around and into the shaded area. When the bird launched he'd put the tree between us and away he flew making a small series of clucks. Back where we'd come from; clearly he was comfortable on his home turf. I'll use that against him later in the season.</div><div><br /></div><div>And now we left the tree cover for more open area, with the river separated from the stock paddock by a fence. The fence was festooned with growth, good cover for holding birds. and we hadn't gone far when Layla lit up - there was no doubt that she'd hit a pheasant scent. I got into position while she drove hard into a patch of dead blackberry and a cock bird burst out. He'd cleared the far bank when the oz of #5 hit him flush. Layla marked him, then launched into and swam the river, dragging herself up the far bank, nabbing and bringing the bird back. All in all some really good work on her part. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcQOJM1pxZIGuWrpNB7rT9f94v_L0_hpl82wnPiE7fg7zbLJL18eMDRQ-VCR74zfQrU3qbS3knWGYCgDqutgANm-x2Ca2CtUF5ZGyax53ddXcOR1lJYn7vt4B9PglMIgVRcErHPqmn/s4608/5+July+2020.4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Wet dog & bird" border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcQOJM1pxZIGuWrpNB7rT9f94v_L0_hpl82wnPiE7fg7zbLJL18eMDRQ-VCR74zfQrU3qbS3knWGYCgDqutgANm-x2Ca2CtUF5ZGyax53ddXcOR1lJYn7vt4B9PglMIgVRcErHPqmn/w611-h460/5+July+2020.4.jpg" title="2 wet tails" width="611" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">2 wet tails</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2250" data-original-width="3000" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixCgErE3SHVdNXl0APENvNKuPAezlsL4PY6qfN2u3dhlJDtdl279zYDrMvVQdPLQEstPjFxhU8CdeiHmrXB0QGUK2f5wYwv1vn4w3rWj97tSDdXA4-IF5mA6VALYmmOfVUra4xMnN_/w625-h469/5+July+2020.3.jpg" width="625" /></div><div><br /></div><div>On we went covering a range of territory by the river, all the while ducks and grey teal flushed ahead of us. Through a copse of young trees we pushed, no pheasants at home. Every patch of gorse and scrub was covered. No pheasant. finally we arrived at a bend of the river. Here it turns 90 degrees, and a large tree sits prominently on the bend. And here in the past I'd been undone by a nice bird. Layla was hot. We closed in together and the bird that exploded was safe within a few seconds of flight, I simply couldn't get a bead on him and he made cover. Not only that but across the river, another bird took to the air, cackling his goodbyes to me. 4 birds seen in the first 90 minutes. </div><div><br /></div><div>We worked back towards the truck taking an alternative direction but saw nothing further. With plenty of time on my side I'd figured on trying for birds I'd seen a few weeks ago. At the road we came up behind Craig who was moving his cattle into a new paddock. I stopped and let him know my intention to head to the next farm and try the gullies I'd hunted last time. I parked the truck and was donning my hunting vest and figuring out my next move over a refreshing drink and cheese roll, just taking in the scene. Sunny day, slight breeze, cool air, just a lovely winter's day. As I watched a hawk cruise low over a turnip crop to my surprise a cock bird spooked by the harrier leaped, flew 100m and set down in a gorse clump. Gun ready. Bringing the dog to heel we moved over as quietly as we could, even so the bird took to the air with a huge cackle well out in front and my shot only winged him so he hit the ground running. Over the brow of a hill, through a fence. Layla stopped dead at the fence, unable to get through. Puffing, I arrived on the scene and boosted the dog over and she took off, nose down... and was gone for enough time for me to have to cross the fence myself and go looking. I found her in the next gully, wandering back with a very live bird in her mouth which I retrieved her of. 2 birds in the bag! </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheE0adbSNOC6tRtLrmmrknMf-6c9MKqiPlCCe_WskRpUbP6qD5jP77DamsclwTAujHucaCjwDpXr9aqVcaKjqcbSrhqQUeKUDPbv9NxoCVv-nebPwuJNuheNVtgSGB_91Ft28f7kzG/s4032/5+July+2020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheE0adbSNOC6tRtLrmmrknMf-6c9MKqiPlCCe_WskRpUbP6qD5jP77DamsclwTAujHucaCjwDpXr9aqVcaKjqcbSrhqQUeKUDPbv9NxoCVv-nebPwuJNuheNVtgSGB_91Ft28f7kzG/w586-h781/5+July+2020.jpg" width="586" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>My legs were feeling it now; as opposed to the last hunt I was feeling pretty shattered. I'd figured a plan but had slightly miscalculated my path and ended up climbing up through a steep gully that I'd intended to push <i>down</i> through ... Layla had hit no scent at all on the way up, yet last trip we'd bumped a few birds here. At the top I took a few moments to get my breath back. Time for my final fling. A hillock coated with gorse. Sheltered at its high point by a large tree, providing dry cover. North facing slope to catch the winter rays. Food, warmth, shelter from the wind. And as I knew from last time, a hangout for at least one bird that had flushed unseen with that throaty wattle warble of a cock bird. Quietly with dog at heel we entered from a steep bank above the tree, dropping down into the shaded shelter zone. And Layla's nose hit the ground, she pushed in through the gorse cover and emerged before circling back. The way she charged in to the scrub the second time, I knew she'd seen the bird... and she pushed it hard so that when he boosted from the gorse thicket he presented that perfect oncoming overhead shot that gunners love so much and at the shot he folded, stone dead. Beautiful. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtdv8i5fDLeb_cQM7oj2PtTSRei4rPgKIJUVNphU02X6iJkhKMa5QFDTNCu0brYJIQaY56Fnt_AurphA5epKArew-ZpE4YxmQZa1ewWJ9X-fK5BnjgAMxxnJUCI90h7zgujH53GYN-/s3511/5+July+2020.5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3431" data-original-width="3511" height="611" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtdv8i5fDLeb_cQM7oj2PtTSRei4rPgKIJUVNphU02X6iJkhKMa5QFDTNCu0brYJIQaY56Fnt_AurphA5epKArew-ZpE4YxmQZa1ewWJ9X-fK5BnjgAMxxnJUCI90h7zgujH53GYN-/w625-h611/5+July+2020.5.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXb-HAGEPOVSb39Q84puwmlMm5YIpPwhhMT06shsGx-FFEV1Gw57H9QohmLtuBFoB8TX5UPCUjWXpuX8I1tMJifhqlDTPkynOH8I1Mtn2aEytLIEso0K1RzAbDNJrkBe6A7sDC_TO/s2976/5+July+2020.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2519" data-original-width="2976" height="530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCXb-HAGEPOVSb39Q84puwmlMm5YIpPwhhMT06shsGx-FFEV1Gw57H9QohmLtuBFoB8TX5UPCUjWXpuX8I1tMJifhqlDTPkynOH8I1Mtn2aEytLIEso0K1RzAbDNJrkBe6A7sDC_TO/w625-h530/5+July+2020.2.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Done before lunch, finished with a highlight bird. As I wandered back to the truck, Layla continued to hunt, and I stayed close as she covered thickets of gorse. From a prominent point a cock bird saw us and jumped at least 200 m out, undoubtedly one of the birds I'd been told about - spooky and flighty.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the truck the dog and I shared lunch and talked about the morning's hunt. She agreed that she needed to work closer in early in the day. I promised to touch up a bit on my shooting, that second bird had been a bit of a rusty effort. We both agreed to split the ham, tomato and cheese rolls 50:50. She agreed that a swim in the river to wash some mud off her coat was a good idea, and that for me to throw sticks for her to grab was even better.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm6YvJYZnFX1HRHjQ4jWk4Wty6QbPW0sKQ1UgwBW7Ayk4OB56nSh53pCq2eme-Di50fi-UDexbthyFp-FxoPDLZ7_xwA9I_Qb3eTCLN6FFCHevHCpkAJi8TlD9ZRmc_Ucc7PYOGi3y/s4608/5+July+2020.1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm6YvJYZnFX1HRHjQ4jWk4Wty6QbPW0sKQ1UgwBW7Ayk4OB56nSh53pCq2eme-Di50fi-UDexbthyFp-FxoPDLZ7_xwA9I_Qb3eTCLN6FFCHevHCpkAJi8TlD9ZRmc_Ucc7PYOGi3y/w625-h469/5+July+2020.1.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>After that, we headed home.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-35575646679529423872020-06-17T12:57:00.022+12:002020-07-07T07:23:04.390+12:00Bird season<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="helvetica">Fish and Game NZ has some really good staff. Really, <i>really</i>
good. Our local Gamebird Manager is one of them. According to word around the
traps, he’d been the pivotal guy in thinking about the where’s and how’s of a
gamebird season happening post the Covid-19 lock down – what would be allowed
and when. I’m sure that the trepidation I’d felt around the relaxation of NZ’s
lockdown level was shared by each and every game bird hunter; many of whom had
already endured missing the deer roar due to lockdown restrictions. Daily the
Covid infection stats were posted – and daily the hope levels rose in direct
inverse proportion to the ever-declining numbers being posted. And then – the
season was posted. We’d start on May 23 and go through until the final weekend
in June.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the one hand we’d get a
longer than normal season, on the other, the trade off is that we’d encroach on
the all-important start of the breeding season as birds paired up in June. Its
worth reflecting here on all the birds had endured; a wet breeding season
(ideal!) followed by an enduring country-wide drought<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and in our region, mass outbreaks of
botulism. The drought had in no way abated and the stream feeding our ponds was
as low as I’ve ever seen it, not at all helped by the massive leak in the weird
that directs water to us. We’d patched it as best as we could but the hole was
massive so the fix is definitely temporary. Camo day, where we dress the
maimais was hurriedly arranged and thanks to Matt & Larry we were able to
source enough ti tree to get it done a week before the season. Still no rain.
Guys were saying that with no water they simply wouldn’t hunt this year. Our
water was a brown murk, quite unlike the black clear tannin stained water we
usually have. No, nothing about this year was going to be usual. Our Aussie
contingent were barred by closed borders. Ducks were simply absent from the
swamp. Nothing at all about this seemed normal, yet still the big day loomed. <o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><font face="helvetica">Week 1<o:p></o:p></font></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="helvetica">I’d drawn up the shooting roster for our crew, and it goes like this. No
hunter can open on a pond they’ve hunted opening day on within the previous 2
years. And, no pairing can be the same. With reduced crew it would be a challenge
and I ended up pairing 2 oldies (Tom - mentoring his grandson Connor, and dad) which
generally isn’t ideal. I’d intended to shoot only mallard drakes. At shooting
time, it was pretty quiet, a few shots from up and downriver rang out. My first
visitors were protected grey teal which alighted on the dark water with a
‘swishhh’, quite unlike the splashy touch-down of our dabbler species. Our
ponds are loafing destinations so generally don’t hold overnighting birds in
numbers, hence our shooting starts a little later than other places. The sky
brightened and birds began to appear, however it was 7am and with nothing in
the bag as yet I decided to take a grey duck that ditched into the decoys and
presented an easy going away shot. I was a bit nervous about my shooting, as
I’d really not used up much ammo in the off season. I needn’t have worried as I
shot pretty well on incoming ducks, finishing my bag with 5 mallard drakes, a
couple of greys and a couple of mallard hens. In between my shooting, I’d
watched duck after duck pitch into the pond Andy was tagged to hunt – but he’d
decided to join up with Paul and they had a steady stream of ducks go in. I
called Matt over to shoot while I called and he soon filled out his bag. </font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font face="inherit"><br /></font><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl7c1BTp3_NRqOeQlVWAzaUNqn4YfhkukuMgMr-5159mV3KYXj_aJLy4X196sQsq7Ny3AIRPRq7xHHjcGr_hL60Gr56u6_eA-BwEWprwN3p4Vz4aPI71qfwuJzznVbosJ5uhQ5SOGc/s4608/L11.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="inherit"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl7c1BTp3_NRqOeQlVWAzaUNqn4YfhkukuMgMr-5159mV3KYXj_aJLy4X196sQsq7Ny3AIRPRq7xHHjcGr_hL60Gr56u6_eA-BwEWprwN3p4Vz4aPI71qfwuJzznVbosJ5uhQ5SOGc/w625-h469/L11.jpg" width="625" /></font></a></div><font face="inherit"><br /></font><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVVHp0lybJ23t5AmCAZs6hTGAF1bmjsfSA7eZuLlMtku8jsufrezmb7YYMI8X0_P2uhzX0H_0aktQA-iOwgFtoKza2DKKlLpnCSESRbU7W5c-H6ZZ8zse6D_fZEzbailAeVWSaSkl/s2048/L10.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><font face="inherit"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLVVHp0lybJ23t5AmCAZs6hTGAF1bmjsfSA7eZuLlMtku8jsufrezmb7YYMI8X0_P2uhzX0H_0aktQA-iOwgFtoKza2DKKlLpnCSESRbU7W5c-H6ZZ8zse6D_fZEzbailAeVWSaSkl/w586-h781/L10.jpg" width="586" /></font></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="inherit">Gimme 5 girl!<br /></font></td></tr></tbody></table></div><font face="georgia"><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></font><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><font face="helvetica">Our
combined bag of 75 birds for 8 hunters was a pretty good return. The following
morning Andy and I teamed up and hunted Watson’s, where we bagged 15 for the
morning before we left to get the ducks cleaned and help the members departing
to pack up. The birds had decoyed well overall, despite it having been a
quietish morning for us. Matt reported that he should have easily taken a limit
but finished on 7 or 8 birds, I can’t quite remember. We processed and packed
the birds, keeping aside the fat mallard drakes for plucking. The birds were in
great condition on the whole, with many sporting layers of fat between flesh
and skin. As we cleaned the birds, ducks continued to flight and circle the
ponds. I estimated an easy task to finish my bag off that afternoon, but was
proven quite wrong as I didn’t pull the trigger at all, partly because with an
impending northerly blow I’d planned to setup on one particular pond that
offers protection and cover from a big northerly blow. With dad and Matt’s help
we moved the setup and got a really juicy looking spread worked out. With 2
jerk strings, and 30 FFD’s set in to observe the impending wind, it felt like a
winning setup. And so it proved. We took turn about shooting (the maimai is
tiny and not really suited for 3 people and 3 dogs). </font></span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><font face="inherit"><br /></font></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59rFIkGBOzdsoE0vnhUHYjGf9tPnPgoxwFmGTE8y9KB9VSZ0TwhNyVIKL0U0TrOJZjfJUX2q7xR-KxgDJ2UgKNWs-zlYbAgtxZd2HjHw1ZNBQaHCzNR_z8bmmgKftd1DLiB5JM4hu/s4608/L6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="inherit"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59rFIkGBOzdsoE0vnhUHYjGf9tPnPgoxwFmGTE8y9KB9VSZ0TwhNyVIKL0U0TrOJZjfJUX2q7xR-KxgDJ2UgKNWs-zlYbAgtxZd2HjHw1ZNBQaHCzNR_z8bmmgKftd1DLiB5JM4hu/w586-h781/L6.jpg" width="586" /></font></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><font face="inherit"><br /></font></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><font face="trebuchet"><br /></font></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><font face="helvetica">The wind grew and rain
spattered down; passing ducks either pitched in or circled a very few times
before committing and the tally grew nicely. By late morning we had 21 birds in
the bag, and both dad and Matt elected to return to the hut. Within minutes a
large group of ducks passed and responded to my hail; cupping up they swung in
and I took 3 to finish up my 10. Matt soon returned but action had slowed
somewhat as had the weather so we lifted the decoys and reset them in the Puru,
where Matt and dad would mostly hunt the rest of the week.</font></span></div></div><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="helvetica"><o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><font face="helvetica">Week 2<o:p></o:p></font></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="helvetica">With most of the crew absent for the second weekend, we’d
invited Richard, Tony and Chewie for the weekend. Chewie was able to arrive mid
week; meanwhile I watched the forecast closely. A stiff easterly was forecast
at sometime on the weekend so I made the call to stack out The Park, a fine
pond with a large maimai and plenty of cover from the easterly wind. We could
shoot 3 up and take turn about without any dramas. I rolled in on Thursday
night; Tony and Richard would arrive Friday. We had a good little hunt on
Friday before the fellas arrived. Saturday was spent in the maimai for 20 odd
birds with a lot of story telling going on; and finally the wind arrived on
Sunday morning, providing an amazing hunt including a good bag of spoonies. As
we began to pack and tidy, we were visited by a few of dad’s mates who we
invited to shoot the ponds while we were away and at that stage season’s tally
was just over 250 birds, a strong return for 17 day’s hunting. <o:p></o:p></font></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><font face="helvetica">Week 3</font></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="helvetica">The third weekend saw a change of scenery. Richard and I met
up at Parakai and headed out to the farm, picking up an extra quad to
complement Richard’s. Matt and Dave arrived shortly afterwards and we headed
off to setup our decoys in a well picked over maize paddock, sewn with what we
later discovered were radishes. With not a kernel showing we didn’t really
expect a frenzy of birds. <o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="helvetica">That evening we were in our blinds early. As the light began
to drop, birds took to the air. The first 4 to pass split into pairs and buzzed
in. It was simply amazing to see the aerobatics and while we missed 2 of them
it was pretty satisfying. The next group were even more spectacular, peeling in
on cupped wings. The final paid dropped in out of the murk as I called and
called to encourage any passing birds and we took them both. At 6 the hunt was
over, we collected our 7 birds and headed back to the hut. A spotlighting
mission for fallow failed to turn up an animal, and it was late in the evening
by the time we turned in.</font><font face="inherit"><o:p></o:p></font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNo-CRS2g3-cGGVaU1Xk0bguRB8SoHaYtxJC9hURuKYRIleCpE2pWAv9l5BZrsPljofTqBqnbhwoAhKaaeL2MTEbydjylD2tPvIYpo_h6IcnCkISCqpnZAg92m9a7n6zD-ifE24rCB/s4608/L9.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="inherit"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNo-CRS2g3-cGGVaU1Xk0bguRB8SoHaYtxJC9hURuKYRIleCpE2pWAv9l5BZrsPljofTqBqnbhwoAhKaaeL2MTEbydjylD2tPvIYpo_h6IcnCkISCqpnZAg92m9a7n6zD-ifE24rCB/w586-h781/L9.jpg" width="586" /></font></a></div><font face="inherit"><br /></font><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><font face="helvetica">We rose well before dawn to hunt deer, Dave and Richard
heading to an adjacent farm while Matt and I headed to a nearby spot. We parked
the quad and waited for the sun to come up… waiting, waiting.. and with enough
light available to be able to discern our prey we began our stalk. The first
gulley system held nothing, and as we glassed the cover we failed to come up
trumps. At the head of the gulley we alighted a ridge and I poked my head over,
spotting a mature fallow hind. We hit the deck, where I chambered a round into
the Howa mod 1500 .223 and set upo the bipod. Crawling forward I settled the
cross hair on the base of her neck and cleanly dropped her. Matt hissed that
there was a spiker there as well, and while he wasn’t confident with the shot I
got the scope on him as he stopped moving… only to take 3 hurried steps into
cover. Matt went back to collect the quad while I dressed out the deer, after
which we traversed the farm to see if we could find another animal. With no
luck as it turned out. Back to the hut. Food replenishment.</font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><font face="helvetica">Post breakfast with Dave leaving and Tony arriving, Matt and
I set off to walk up a pheasant while Richard headed up to collect Tony and say
goodbye to Dave. There’s a favoured bank adjacent to an overgrown low-lying
paddock, that provides shelter from the wind. Matt took his old boy Zulu to the
top while I pushed Layla in from the bottom. 2 pheasants took to the air almost
immediately, but I couldn’t discern gender; and Matt didn’t see them. We
continued when from under a bush a grey duck burst out; the little Merkel
boomed out and the 1oz of #5 caught the bird flush. Shortly another pheasant
pushed out well ahead of us, landing out in the paddock and then another
popped, back tracking and avoiding Matt’s shot. By the end of the bank we’d
seen between 4 and 6 birds, dep[ending on whether you were speaking with me, or
Matt. I called him up on the walkie talkie and told him I’d try and cut in on
the bird that had taken to the paddock. In the stiff breeze Layla caught his
scent amongst the heavy rushes, and bumped him cackling into the air. And I
clean missed, twice! Not a difficult shot by any means. Layla chased the
disappearing bird before returning to give me the stink eye.<o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><font face="helvetica">At the hut Tony settled in, while Matt and I headed up to
collect our decoys and scout a spot for the evening’s shenanigans. We selected
a low paddock with new surface water and got our decoys and blinds set up with
the prevailing wind coming over our left shoulders. It was a pretty ideal
setup. And so it proved, the afternoon hunt was a cracker with nicely decoying
birds, greys, mallards and the occasional parrie joining the pile. What a productive
wee spot! After our evening meal it was time to saddle up and head out for deer
again. It was a spotlighting mission, although with a huge moon overhead I
thought it may be possible to read a book without any artificial lighting. Tony
and I took a deer each and I missed another. It was a tired group that arrived
back at the hut to a clamour of dogs and we hit the hay. I slept like a baby
for what seemed like only minutes before the alarm called us back… and soon we
were in our blinds again. Matt had opted to take a rest; he works strange
shifts so his internal clock would be pretty stuffed up. The hunt was
interesting, and we picked up a dozen birds before the flight was over. Packing
up is always a bit of a downer after a great hunt, but with a concerted effort
we cleaned up the birds, got the hut ship shape and packed our gear. With quads
fully loaded we made it back to the trucks.<o:p></o:p></font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiblhDt-Jf-QIWZu23WYwR2bEMirdBmJjQyykz1Q5AdAx-f_diVSB98GovRKDoOxJkFMT3L80YmAxU_XqsSa2SPAqpnqneue1B2N3CIUwYGyPj4vhmZspbL4nbpT1bRx7fXmReGHSF4/s4032/L8.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="inherit"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiblhDt-Jf-QIWZu23WYwR2bEMirdBmJjQyykz1Q5AdAx-f_diVSB98GovRKDoOxJkFMT3L80YmAxU_XqsSa2SPAqpnqneue1B2N3CIUwYGyPj4vhmZspbL4nbpT1bRx7fXmReGHSF4/w625-h469/L8.jpg" width="625" /></font></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="inherit"><br /></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><font face="helvetica">Week 4<o:p></o:p></font></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="helvetica">With my birthday falling on the Saturday, I’d promised the
family that I’d take them out for a family dinner. Not that I’m particularly
interested in town, or town stuff, but fair is fair. My parent has pencilled in
a visit on Sunday but had called to wish me a happy day and let me know that
they couldn’t visit. I guess that my wishful thinking paid off when SWMBO told
me to go hunting! A quick call to Craig and it was set. Layla loves hunting
pheasant and having missed a whole season due to my long convalescence she’d
got pretty rusty in terms of working in range – I’d spent a fair bit of last
weekend’s pheasant walk telling her about her parentage. I’d set the alarm for
4.45 but was awake before 3am so decided to get up and go. Dog fed. Me fed.
Coffee made. Thermos filled. Lunch, electrolyte replacement drink, snacks.
Craig’s place is a fitness test – would my preseason exercise pay off? My last
haul around his farm had left me sore and half crippled (that was pre op and my
hip was playing merry hell). The drive down was pleasant, the Huntly bypass
cutting out traffic jams and shaving 15 minutes off the trip. I’d stopped in
both Pirongia and Otorohonga for mini breaks and an ill fated attempt at a
snooze. I felt pretty bloody tired when I rolled into Craig’s at 07.30. Old
mate Tim was there, as part of his extended road trip, and it was great to
catch up. The boys had hunted the day before for 4 pheasants between them and
Craig explained that the birds were both flighty and well spread. I mentally
prepared a game plan. 1. Avoid the well-trodden easy areas (i.e. tackle the
hills and steep gulley’s) 2. Go as fast but quietly as possible 3. Go into the
crazy little nooks that most people would walk past <o:p></o:p></font></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><font face="helvetica">It felt great to stretch out, and soon Layla was covering
ground like crazy – and if she’d been a naughty so-and-so the previous week she
was now listening and working with me. And, in one of those nooks described in
3. Above the plan paid off. Layla snookered a cock bird in a thick clump,
driving him against a rock buttress and despite him putting a small tree
between us my shot caught and dropped him. And in that moment the world was
perfect. The months and months of graft and rehab had paid off, I was back
walking the hills behind my girl and we’d delivered. What a bird! Heavy, large
spurs, a trophy! <o:p></o:p></font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2-LyX5PtEVRvvg1oyfIIB2rnvH3dY_TSuudf3CFq0XBShtWYX8O9d8UaevsVRbYZd-f2-tZVsxGscz8aOGCqIHbTssEgOAuti6jfpg66wEAMV3wvcD-ZY_vXsasNxM_08jqC9CyS/s4608/L7.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="trebuchet"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="4608" height="469" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2-LyX5PtEVRvvg1oyfIIB2rnvH3dY_TSuudf3CFq0XBShtWYX8O9d8UaevsVRbYZd-f2-tZVsxGscz8aOGCqIHbTssEgOAuti6jfpg66wEAMV3wvcD-ZY_vXsasNxM_08jqC9CyS/w625-h469/L7.jpg" width="625" /></font></a></div><font face="inherit"><br /></font><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXE_3F56psj45oy_GEZ0BlE9iglS6PPfRKz-MP2eDxFjkqYgn5KWQMJ20GgeHxYnWjbzonQUWlcU6LXj_NIuErgCAG4jVJIJs7Mm-MuGAccg2ZDzvvE_9EYLBV4nlpNUmkbSP2qlpd/s1440/L3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="inherit"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXE_3F56psj45oy_GEZ0BlE9iglS6PPfRKz-MP2eDxFjkqYgn5KWQMJ20GgeHxYnWjbzonQUWlcU6LXj_NIuErgCAG4jVJIJs7Mm-MuGAccg2ZDzvvE_9EYLBV4nlpNUmkbSP2qlpd/w625-h625/L3.jpg" width="625" /></font></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="helvetica">Back on the trail. It would be a couple of hours of scouting
before we next found birds, during which time we routed goats and at one stage
what I thought to be a fallow. I glimpsed a white flag tail entering the bush. Finally
at the base of a steep gulley 3 roosters jumped, well out of range and set
sail. Given the steepness of the territory I felt that they may not have
crested the head of the gulley, so set about climbing up and out before
circling to the top of the ravine. There I sent Lalya in and she quickly bumped
a hen bird. After an age there was a clatter of wings and a rooster boosted. If
I say it was a long shot I’m not fibbing, but the bird dropped like a sack of
spuds. I sat on a tuft of ferns listening as Layla (panting heavily) worked her
way down towards the bird. After several long minutes I heard her return, gasping
for breath through a feathery load.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
topped the ridge and lay down for a rest before picking the bird up and
bringing it to hand. If the first bird had been satisfying, this one was marvelous for the dog work alone. And man was she a happy girl, grinning from
ear to ear! </font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkbBPcxjPppt2xsCLgdaC_X6qGJDXAY1JTM-ZV13fNa3Ne1E1-TQoRyVC1E5DUqZoE2YM_ZNi9ah8es4TGpEfkc-70BroLPh4k4gxlUuorL7HWC9X94vGh0JGdS43_tKNuARO4Rr_/s1440/L1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><font face="inherit"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkbBPcxjPppt2xsCLgdaC_X6qGJDXAY1JTM-ZV13fNa3Ne1E1-TQoRyVC1E5DUqZoE2YM_ZNi9ah8es4TGpEfkc-70BroLPh4k4gxlUuorL7HWC9X94vGh0JGdS43_tKNuARO4Rr_/w625-h625/L1.jpg" width="625" /></font></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><font face="helvetica">A circuit back to the truck brought no further birds. Coffee,
re-hydration formula, snacks for dog and handler. Then off again. We’d be moving
through heavily hunted territory, so I didn’t really bother about covering too
much of the ground; instead the dog and I crossed the river and set off towards
what I hoped were greener pastures. The cock bird that jumped was a marginally
difficult shot, but I’d hit harder and really should have done better than
emptying 2 barrels well behind him… given that I’d been told that this area had
been hunted the previous day my guard was too low and I’d been caught out.
That’s the largest part of the the deliciousness of pheasant hunting; the
adrenaline surge invoked by the clattering of wings and cackling as a bird
launches. The area that I’d hoped to provide the limit bird was empty but given
that I was still feeling pretty fit I decided to roll the dice on a final
circuit involving climbing to a high point, and then working down through a
dense gully. It’s a bugger of a walk as a good part involves crouching and
avoiding overgrown gorse and scrubby ti tree. Layla was out of my sight for
most of the first part of the expedition but finally we arrived at the head of
the gully. Its of paramount importance here to remain totally quiet; no
whistling the dog, careful footsteps. Layla lit up and headed up into the thick
scrub. The bird that popped was dark but otherwise indistinct and totally
silent, I picked it to be a battle-hardened rooster. And further down the dog
picked a hot scent that led slightly back uphill. I turned to follow the hound
and had taken no more than 3 steps when a cock bird took to the air 30m
downhill of us. I took one snap shot but it was futile. At that, with 14km
under the belt and with midday approaching I called it. With a 3 hour drive
home, arriving completely exhausted didn’t appeal.</font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0f0IpRTL-McyG29PdLrA8iXwdYVm5cwIFMTiTnV8bEYEsYCNyj7taec2CseWE60JvWwNyHzV9BJbKXTW90yRxr5ReCMmnMfJeTUsuuNdHW37ccrRPktPewmB9fY0A7gA-6oxBwgM/s4032/L5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0f0IpRTL-McyG29PdLrA8iXwdYVm5cwIFMTiTnV8bEYEsYCNyj7taec2CseWE60JvWwNyHzV9BJbKXTW90yRxr5ReCMmnMfJeTUsuuNdHW37ccrRPktPewmB9fY0A7gA-6oxBwgM/w469-h625/L5.jpg" width="469" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgir0HaOlzl8V-I48pp_LbLy8ahKYkseTH-wb8OeRoXsIOlP8AubONfp_ZIh8kWm7aZR_arVsGHkQb_IEQjenEKvpAody08FrYCFEOSShcYDAWOeyNkH3kb0a5pKDkdsTZ1KPa3FQFF/s3520/L4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3520" data-original-width="1980" height="781" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgir0HaOlzl8V-I48pp_LbLy8ahKYkseTH-wb8OeRoXsIOlP8AubONfp_ZIh8kWm7aZR_arVsGHkQb_IEQjenEKvpAody08FrYCFEOSShcYDAWOeyNkH3kb0a5pKDkdsTZ1KPa3FQFF/w439-h781/L4.jpg" width="439" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivzJSRew_401kSFiwQKnneE7RBsR-Ba1KUV824VRsbpF6HDoMyxGhM4vyH1pxQt2SUBN47kSnklJwTZDY0dYwKqBLs82_7agUw-i41o27oABuzQwh6_pEFgC2mhFgOuY-mQx8hX7x4/s1440/L2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1439" data-original-width="1440" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivzJSRew_401kSFiwQKnneE7RBsR-Ba1KUV824VRsbpF6HDoMyxGhM4vyH1pxQt2SUBN47kSnklJwTZDY0dYwKqBLs82_7agUw-i41o27oABuzQwh6_pEFgC2mhFgOuY-mQx8hX7x4/w625-h625/L2.jpg" width="625" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-20273107315356356562020-04-05T15:56:00.001+12:002020-04-12T21:31:37.539+12:00Lockdown<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15.6933px; margin: 0cm 0cm 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I was away when the lockdown was signalled. I’d taken the chance to grab a weekend to target big brown trout in the Tongariro. For context, the boys had been getting stuck into the brownies but I’d been on other tasks for a couple of weeks, so couldn’t really do much. Karl’s place was free, and Rob had made contact as he’d be staying there as well. Rob’s more or less full time guiding now, and the closing down of borders had put paid to his season with customers pulling out. Its been the same across the whole guiding industry here, overseas customers drawing a line through their trips with cancellations abounding. Rob’s one of the most talented anglers getting around the place and we’d never fished together so decided to team up for a spot of relaxation. With half a day off work I got into Turangi early enough, grabbed some groceries and headed to the Pest Palace (as we know Karl’s place). Rob rolled in soon after and with the dog fed and watered we got ourselves ready for a swing mission.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We chatted about anything and everything as we pulled on waders and set off down the track. The water was cool, low and clear and I set the Sage Troutspey HD #3 up with a skagit head and slow sink tip, a 10lb leader and a lightly weighted fly to swing the soft edges. The stars were brilliant and Elon Musk’s satellite chain soared across the sky, brilliantly lit against the unspoilt darkness. We swung the pool from top to tail. I felt sure that if a brown was present, then surely it would have taken. Having said that, the Commonwealth Fly Fishing champs had just concluded, and our pool was definitely a beat in the comp, so maybe every fish in the pool had been disturbed. We made our way back to the truck and set off for the lower river for the final 2 hours. As I waded out to fish the Troll Hole as we call it, a sizable brown swam slowly from the shallows in the glare of my headlight. And that was the only fish I saw all night.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Back at base we had a cuppa then hit the hay. Neither of us were keen for too early a morning so it was daybreak before we emerged. We headed to the lower river. The crossing had changed since summer, with a deepened gut that will be troubling come high winter flows.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. perhaps this part of the river will now be cut off? Immediately and despite overcast skies, we began to spy large browns, deep torpedos under the banks and mostly safe from our attempts to get flies to them. The banks were overgrown with tall grasses and blackberry and as we smashed our way upstream our energy was sapped. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the deeper pools we stopped and swung flies deep into the emerald green, where eager and fresh rainbows took the flies and raced downstream. After the reticence of the browns, fat and fresh rainbows taking the swung flies was a welcome break in the hunt. By the time we returned to the car we were ready for coffee. </span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The coffee stand serves a high standard of caffeination, and with coffee and a muffin onboard we were ready for the next part of the day after a rest. As darkness approached, I made my way to the chosen. At the head, a chap was already in position with a Spey rod in hand – the Speymeister himself – Greig was already in position. We elbow bumped per COVID precautionary greeting #4, or something like that. As we chatted, another bloke approached and promptly set up in the tail of the pool. That’s the Tongariro for you. Greig had a slow sink tip and very lightly weight black rabbit tube fly. I set up with a lightly weighed sculpin with a yellow body. As the sun dropped, we combed the water. Skagit casting in complete darkness requires consistency and trust as you can’t see the anchor form, and as we were river right a reverse snap T sufficed to get the fly out. The first hint that Greig was hooked up was the surface splash of a weighty fish. Greig, also fishing a #3 Sage Troutspey HD, laid into the fish and reeled in and stepped downstream to help him. I tailed the beast in the shallows and we set to work with the tape measure, laying it along a healthy 26.5” jack fish before attempting to secure some photos. I didn’t do a very good job of that and was quite disappointed in the result. We fished on and soon I had a hit and played a smallish rainbow to the bank where she promptly spat the hook. After another hour the effect of the day (and previous night’s) activities was taking its toll and I reeled and walked back to the car parked near the town bridge. I knew Rob would be there somewhere lurking around and he called out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The next morning we’d decided to keep close so we’d be able to get out of town early. Overnight, NZ Government’s COVID-19 plan had been enacted, non-essential travel would be closed down under later phases. Swinging the own pools coughed up a couple of fresh little ‘bows, while a couple of fish attacked the fly but missed the hook point. It was pretty relaxing with not another angler in sight apart from Rob. We caught up and wandered back to the house. Packed and tidied it was road time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Great weekend Rob<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-11993524872892218682020-03-14T17:17:00.002+13:002020-03-27T11:39:16.144+13:00Next stop<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The world has suddenly gotten very
complicated.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-AU">When we left for Cuba, the COVID 19
outbreak was pretty much contained in </span><span style="background: white; color: #222222; line-height: 107%;">Central China’s Hubei province, in the city of Wuhan. Travel bans were
not being talked of to any extent. 4 weeks on from our return and the universe
is upside down.</span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I know a few kiwi dudes who’ve fished Cuba.
Good mate Nik had hosted live-aboard trips to the Isle of Youth (Isla de la
Juventud). Dougal (71 permit notched up) has been several times. Ian went a
couple years ago with Nik. When old mate Simon moved to Montana a couple of
years ago it was to chase dreams and a woman, maybe not in that order or maybe
they are the same thing. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Si’s ended up working for Yellow Dog, as
their specialist for NZ and Cook Islands, but had the opportunity to take his
regular guests and friends on a trip to Cayo Cruz and reached out. It didn’t
take too much convincing to get a bite and a confirmation. Jas was also in - we
fish together a lot and generally have each other covered for stuff like flies,
lines, other bits n pieces that we may need or have forgotten. Slowly our
itinerary came together. The party comprised 11 guys, 2 expat kiwis, 7 US
citizens, then us. The trip outbound was arduous. Auckland – Houston – Totonto
– Cayo Coco, bus ride to Cayo Cruz. Roughly 36 hours. We arrived 18 hours
before the rest of our contingent, giving us time to settle in to what was
quite a nice hotel, take a swim in the pool, and get the lay of the land. We’d
taken an AirBNB in Toronto to try and grab a few hours sleep but were both a
bit wired. The shower was good! The -12 degrees c outside at 3am, was not good!
<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">That evening at dinner we ran into the very
few other guests staying, Vicky and Barry, a worldly English couple, 3 Finns
and then we saw a very familiar face. Matt Harris, the famous fly fishing
photag and a mate were at the bar. Before long, we had a robust discussion
going that involved numerous rums, a few packets of the local Hollywood
cigarettes and over the hours we discovered mutual friends, places we all knew
and talked through permit tactics. They’d had a tough week with very little
permit action, and given their experience in permit chasing it sounded pretty
dire. But the one thing I know about fish is that one day they are down and the
next up; and no matter what, they have to feed at some point. Matt and his bud
left the next morning, and our fishing week was on.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Jase and I paired for the week with our
guide Coba, who works for the Avalon outfit. They are an efficient and well
drilled operation and our hotel was only 200m down the road from the marina.
Our skiff, a 16’ Dolphin was armed with a 70hp yammie 4 stroke and made for a
super-efficient fishing platform. The marina was in an arm of a channel that
drained large flats and the tidal movement was impressive to say the least, I
estimated 4-5 knots of current when in full flow. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiac9sIdpS4ZnzR_gmWoaVFUTWCSv8nC8waNPnomgIkQjaZI5-RXtZ_Y9cTLROVndhyv8VqLJBVNIEPKzsC1Vc7x-z5m0eH3rLBfqWiLe_lexgpn9avoxSsopmfQYN7qJsBrb1Ylevs/s1600/P1110638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiac9sIdpS4ZnzR_gmWoaVFUTWCSv8nC8waNPnomgIkQjaZI5-RXtZ_Y9cTLROVndhyv8VqLJBVNIEPKzsC1Vc7x-z5m0eH3rLBfqWiLe_lexgpn9avoxSsopmfQYN7qJsBrb1Ylevs/s640/P1110638.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikk4avdf_TXGPuICpwk1GWfIonPFJk7MOOn7VLr-dBiKUmaiSiMWuODfHYO63F6c-5pVe2r4jss2JDJbGXtOmkJc18MIApEC1J64p9Czmtaq6Dc4sBTPJMoiYli0cAz59asMBAvN5R/s1600/P1110642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikk4avdf_TXGPuICpwk1GWfIonPFJk7MOOn7VLr-dBiKUmaiSiMWuODfHYO63F6c-5pVe2r4jss2JDJbGXtOmkJc18MIApEC1J64p9Czmtaq6Dc4sBTPJMoiYli0cAz59asMBAvN5R/s640/P1110642.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We found ourselves in a rotation-based
program, each morning fishing an assigned area then in the afternoon the guides
had freedom to take us to any location they saw fit to based on their
knowledge. Mangrove cays with channels, large coral flats, enclosed flats – we
saw it all on our travels throughout the week.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5342yjWnkWW9lfM76Yynzkks4PzfFXzJZ26sCuOdKzywonCDjZYdgtTJukqmRvwTQuPseDPeTMmrZM811FV9d__zH-22StNVbjbOpM9uF4N36X5nVJEClBLfRJ-AQek9YaCMo8QL/s1600/Photo+Feb+09%252C+9+51+13+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB5342yjWnkWW9lfM76Yynzkks4PzfFXzJZ26sCuOdKzywonCDjZYdgtTJukqmRvwTQuPseDPeTMmrZM811FV9d__zH-22StNVbjbOpM9uF4N36X5nVJEClBLfRJ-AQek9YaCMo8QL/s640/Photo+Feb+09%252C+9+51+13+PM.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had the first permit shot, at a pair that
swam out of the mangroves and over my alphlexo crab without paying it any
attention. I was pretty hyped but felt I’d made a reasonable cast so was
disappointed that the fish paid not a jot of attention to the fly. Our first
Cuban bonefish each came soon after. The flats were varied and wonderful, from
ankle deep to maybe thigh deep and the bones were quite unlike the big shy
South Pacific versions we’re used to. Cabo wanted that fly to land in the
fish’s face… and they ate. On one occasion, we stalked a large bone cruising
with dorsal and tail out of the water. Coba told me to hit the fish on the
head. I put the fly a metre ahead and he got quite annoyed. The cast that
should have spooked the bejesus out of the fish instead elicited a massive
strike and the bone carved rooster tails of water through the mangroves. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_bVZ1dGTfy5sSaFlMMCWJV4-qOglLktudO9VchgZqZ6H8i5kKtYQMJ0qkSBDGMtleEnUiioMAXJz7Q8PIXTm_vM5M94fV29WciQcHh-c6G3xaxzjdkexCMXt0yYxByOR0gJsyQvS/s1600/Photo+Feb+08%252C+11+02+40+PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw_bVZ1dGTfy5sSaFlMMCWJV4-qOglLktudO9VchgZqZ6H8i5kKtYQMJ0qkSBDGMtleEnUiioMAXJz7Q8PIXTm_vM5M94fV29WciQcHh-c6G3xaxzjdkexCMXt0yYxByOR0gJsyQvS/s640/Photo+Feb+08%252C+11+02+40+PM.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span lang="EN-AU">We
went hard on our drags. A 16lb leader while not unbreakable, does take a fair
hammering to part so stopping these mangrove fish before they hit cover was the
name of the game. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">On arrival back we were greeted with the news that Simon and
Bob had each caught a permit; both fish had been riding on rays and had
accepted well-presented alphlexos. That night we celebrated, but to a lesser
extent than the evening before… <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">As the week rolled by, so did our permit
chances. We found cruising fish and with a combination of wind, fast moving
prey and Coba’s refusal to pin the boat it was horribly difficult to fish
effectively with a tight line. He began to express frustration and if he was
frustrated it was nothing compared to what I was feeling at times. But I wasn’t
there for any other reason that relaxation so I let it wash over me. Jase and I
continued to tally up the bones at a great rate and had some amazing catches. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My personal favourite was when I left all of my gear bar my rod at the boat and
walked along a brush covered bank separating an estuarine flat from the open
sea. As I moved along slowly, a pair of bones approached and I laid out the cast
perfectly. The fish raced each other when I twitched the fly, and (for once)
the larger fish engulfed the fly. I struck and the fish ripped out into the
backing, the first to do so for the trip. Its second run was equally hard, out
again ripped the backing loops and the sound of GSP singing in the guides rang
out. I worked the fish hard and then it ran again… straight to a snag offshore
where it holed up. The only thing that saved that fish for me was that it was
exhausted. It had tied itself to the snag with a series of half hitches, and as
it struggled, I could see the snag pull down then spring back. Reeling as I
went, I waded out and the fish attempted to swim between my legs.. at that
stage I realised my only course of action would be to lift the snag to shore
which I did, with fish trailing. I called to Coba to bring the camera and he
arrived soon after. The fish swam away gamely after being digitally entrapped.
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">We found that the afternoon tides were
better for finding permit as the week wore on. The wind never relented however,
so that challenge remained with us. Those glorious afternoons… flats so long
that it would take up to 2 hours to drift down one. On our final afternoon (by
this time Simon had caught 3 permit) we finally found our ray riding permit.
Jase was on the rod and made a good cast but the fish always seemed to be
facing away from the fly.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">On one occasion we came upon 2 lemon sharks
mating on a flat, stirring up coral and sand and swimming with them was a good-sized
jack – Jas dropped his fly into the melee and the jack slashed at it and missed
– but our presence disturbed the sharks who moved off. These sharks were ever
present but were not aggressive and at one point where we’d rounded up a school
of bones and were taking turns at picking them off, I jumped from the boat to
cast at a bunch. Stupidly I’d taken my boots of so was stuck where I was. After
they moved out of range, so had the boat and I saw Coba hitting the bottom with
his pole. Later when onboard he told me that 2 decent sharks were bearing on me
but they were most likely simply curious. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The evenings were balmy and the more or
less constant breeze kept the mozzies at bay. Nocturnal activities include the 24-hour
bar, playing pool or bowling, or fishing for the pet tarpon that lived under
the pier where the boats were moored. The bar and pool joints seemed contrived;
a play at mimicking some cliched western culture and it felt out of place, but
certainly reflected the ambition to became a thriving tourist mecca. A shame really,
but the same time understandable as Cuba tries to raise its people’s standard
of living.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Still, the fishery is world class but for
us as the week progressed, the permit remained in the category of struggle
street. We saw only a few ray riders and it became apparent that those were the
catchable fish, whilst the cruisers were just that, cruising.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU">Our trip home saw us with a free day in San Fran, and it was an honour to be able to visit the Golden Gate Angling and casting Club, where friendly locals were happy to hand over rods for us to use. It was truly in the spirit of angling brotherhood, and a morning that I'll never forget. The historic clubhouse was a museum of angling treasures and the casting ponds were a spectacle. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-cJxSuAMwF3M39rfpUsYb442HpHkoM27fZcuyW65H7evEDziyjWI_40NCF4yVzhvOOJ51EtI4VbBVSF-L46mkeNbReTPj-3S2XjNS40xg0REcfntskDegm3QdbOoyJjymTqnvbfG/s1600/P1110931.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-cJxSuAMwF3M39rfpUsYb442HpHkoM27fZcuyW65H7evEDziyjWI_40NCF4yVzhvOOJ51EtI4VbBVSF-L46mkeNbReTPj-3S2XjNS40xg0REcfntskDegm3QdbOoyJjymTqnvbfG/s640/P1110931.JPG" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span>
Long may the angling adventures continue. Next stop..</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;">.</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-48467471779008285102020-01-26T09:21:00.001+13:002020-03-17T19:58:13.116+13:00Summer of searching<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">South Westerly. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Just the sound of it sends
shivers down my spine, if not up my leg as it were, when said leg is immersed
in the sea. A month of it over the summer holiday period. A time when the city
empties and the local flats should fire. When the Nth Shore beaches should be
packed with swimming humans. When yellow tailed predators should be on the
flats chasing the bait. The bait is there. The beaches are packed with sun
seekers. The city is empty. But alas, the water temperature has cooled as
summer has rolled out, the foul south westerly chilling the water and pushing
warmer currents offshore. This is the time for launching pre-dawn in a light
sweater, ditched as soon as the sun gets above the horizon. Rather, parkas have
been donned and have stayed on. It’ll all click into place sooner or later, but
time is against me. I’ve covered kms of road and ocean searching and searching,
and its been harder to roll a kingfish than I can ever remember. I’m not
talking those pee-whackers that sit against markers in channels, more so the
legal sized plus fish on the flats.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Having said that, it’s been pleasant to
revert to chasing trout. A week before going back to work, Jase and I accompanied
by her royal darkness the Black Piranha, headed back country. We’d day tripped
in here a while ago, but with 3 streams on offer the idea of venturing further
afield from a base camp quite appealed. In one of the stream’s upper reaches,
brownies are known to hold. Of the three, it held the greatest mystique so our
plan was to walk in on day 1 and fish down from the 3 stream confluence back to
camp. Day 2 we’d push up Mystique Creek and day II would see us fish our way
back to the car. I’d packed as light as I could but still the pack felt
whopping on my hips and shoulders. A dry run on the back lawn saw the tent go
well but my old air mattress was stuffed so a call into a couple of local shops
for a Thermarest and a new Jetboil stove was needed. I hadn’t lugged a pack in
over a year, what with my hip operation that saw me relatively immobile for 6
months that preceded my latest knee op… well, I wasn’t expecting to set any
speed records anyhow. It took a solid tramp to arrive at the camp site. It
hadn’t been inhabited for quite some time. With camp erected and a cup of
coffee under our belts we set off to fish…. And on the first crossing the dog
came in from upstream and bowled me over mid-stream. Choice. I reminded her
that Id carried all her food in and that she should be more grateful. The pools
down here are gorgy, lined by towering bluffs that seem to close in. The high
water mark reached well up the walls, indicating that in flood conditions this
it would be quite an inhospitable place to be. You’d be well screwed in other
words, and probably would be ground into little bits of human.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The fishing was good, we plucked fish from
each pool and made it to camp. Jase felt knackered and had a headache – it was
hot. I gave him some electrolytes and he headed to his tent for a nap while I
pushed up the small second stream. Here I found some delightful small pools but
a huge scramble between holding water. I should explain that the terrain is
comprised of boulders, smooth rounded rocks interspersed with jagged hard-edged
shin traps. Boulders of all sizes. My legs were beaten up and I don’t want to
gloss over the fact that I found it hard going in here. River crossings are
tricky, the terrain steep and underfoot the going hard. Despite the fact that
the water level was down a good foot and a half from our previous trip, it was
a physical challenge. The fish I found in those small pools rose beautifully to
a PMX. After a while the sun had dropped to such an extent that the gorge was
fully shaded and it was time to head back down to the camp. We started a fire
and Layla curled up after having devoured her dinner. We ate our dehydrated
meals by the fire, boiled the pot for coffee, talked smack and then I sat and
watched the fire burn down to safe embers. Layla in the meantime had made
herself right at home on top of my sleeping bag and Therma rest and was quite
put out when I pushed her off. </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The morning came and we struggled out of
our tents, ate and got ready to push up Mystique Creek. Generally the water in
this stream is slightly cloudy. And what a pain in the a$$ b1tch of a mission
it became. First, fish were scarce. Second, the fish we caught were skinny and
third, a thriving population of large eels became apparent with every hooked
fish eliciting a chase from a manky dark snake. At one stage a fish I’d played
for several minutes made a run down past a huge boulder against which fallen
branches had piled and I jumped in without thinking to clear my line from the
snag. The first hint of the eel was a large tail waving cms from my face as I
reached down to my shoulder to free the line. I leapt from the stream and the
eel stalked me to the bank where I nudged him (probably ‘her’ to be honest)
with my wading staff. That was quite off putting. Further up, Jase hooked an
played a tiny rainbow which he released. The slithering black critter that came
splashing upstream in the shallows was breath-taking for its size and stature.
It was simple massive and was fixated on digging the small rainbow from under
the rock where it had taken shelter upon release. And, it simply gave not one
shit that my wading staff was prodding it. The wee rainbow shot away and the
slithering devil’s agent began to get quite aggro snapping at my staff. </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We’d fished up for over half a day with no
sign of either brownie, nor picturesque water so decided to turn around and
head back downstream. After a few hours, a number of stumbles, one of which
caused a broken wading staff, a knee twist and saw me outstretched in a wee
feeder stream, and some bush lawyer attacks, we were near the confluence when
we heard voices. I whistled out on the dog whistle just to let any hunters know
that we were human and not deer and we made our way down to meet 3 guys who had
had plans of camping where we were set up. They were looking for deer although
one had a stout looking 2 piece spinning rod. We talked a while, cross
referenced each other’s plans so as not to put anyone in danger and then
parted. Coffee at camp tasted awesome. We spent the afternoon following my path
from yesterday up the smallest tributary and found the same fish that I’d seen
the previous day although now they were on high alert. We carried on upstream
but holding water was hard to find so after a couple of hours we gave up and
returned to camp. I built a fire while Jase fished the evening rise and again
Layla invaded my tent first to nab the comfy spot. The breeze had died down so
mosquitos were out in force so upon entering the tent I spent a few minutes on
search and destroy before satisfying myself that the tent was mozzie free and
inhabitable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The final morning dawned fine so we ate,
broke down the camp, doused the fire, donned packs and began to fish our way up
to the get out point. Fish were quite hard to find, although Jase did hook a
nice little brownie, our first from the stream. With about a km to go, Layla
lit up and gave her “intruder!” bark as 2 guys came downstream. We stopped and
chatted, and quickly recognised them as mates of Pesty – Redman and Nugget.
They’d planned to camp where had had and fish the 3 streams, so we’d
inadvertently torpedoed their plans. After what looked like months of no use,
the camp site suddenly was quite a popular place to be! They decided to head
back upstream and fish above the get out point while we picked our way back.
Since their portage was quite close to the water, any fish in residence would
be spooked so we didn’t focus too much on fishing. We caught them up later and
they’d hooked a couple of fish. At the truck we changed, and hit the road
stopping for cold drinks in town.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">2 days later with a great forecast I was on
the road again with boat in tow, headed for Tauranga Harbour. I’d reasoned that
although in holiday period the dawn high tide gave me a reasonable shot at
flats cruisers before the water skiers arrived. I was in position and stalking
early. The conditions seemed ok. It was cool and a slight (SW!) breeze came up
now and again but I felt pretty confident. I covered a lot of water. A LOT of
water. Rays, mostly eagle and some smaller models of longtails swept ahead of
the boat or shot out of the sand when the boat appeared over them. But not a
single large short tail ray, the type that kingis ride, did I see. I followed
the tide as it receded only briefly spotting a solitary king near a channel
marker and even that fish was disinterested in the fly. I ran the harbour and
pulled out at lowish tide. Skiers and jet skiers had arrived and any sane fish
would be elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Back home I decided to run a recon mission.
With fly rod of course. Dawn high tides around here suit the kings and their
predatory nature. I ran out from Torpedo Bay (getting busier these days) and
headed straight to a marker that doesn’t get the attention of stick baiters and
jiggers. I hooked up briefly but the king ran around the pole and neatly rubbed
the hook out leaving me firmly attached. The flat was again ruffled. Again the
SW made its presence felt. I was happy to be wrapped in my parka. Even so I
wasn’t exactly warm. I scanned the flat for an hour but could detect no
movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moving on the wind began to
rise. I decided to call it, I’d been pretty single minded when thinking about
this mission. On the way in I detoured to visit another flat and saw another
angler on the spit that forms the flat. He was casting industriously both into
and with the wind and I determined that he was spinning. I held in the rip at
the end of the spit and then moved in to the beach area where the angler
introduced himself as Alan Bulmer, the man behind Active Angling NZ. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spent a good 30 minutes yarning and
observing the flat as bait sprayed actively rippled the surface. It was time
well spent as we compared notes on flies, leaders and fish behaviour. But I had
to go so motored away slowly having given Alan a flounder fly and promising to
link up on Facebook.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The next day was forecast as PERFECT. The
first perfect day in over a month. A couple of days earlier, Chris had reached
out. He’d kindly offered a day out on his boat, a beautiful Jones Brothers Cape
Fisherman 18. We agreed to meet at Westhaven and launched in perfect
conditions. The plan was to visit local flats then move further afield to scope
other areas that looked great on charts. Conditions were (finally!) perfect,
glassed out and any ripple visible. We scoped a regular flat, sitting becalmed
and enjoying the scene. A kayaker came over and visited. Always worth talking
with locals. He said that he hadn’t seen much going on but soon we saw a decent
but wide wake, definitely not a kingis. We found a decent ray cruising just
under the surface. Moving out we found that (being Saturday) our next
destination was occupied so put the hammer down and headed to scope the new
water we had in mind. We found extraordinary flats, here and there fringed by
mangroves. Mullet leapt here and there. We cruised the coastline and Chris
spotted a king early on but it had scrambled before I saw it. Again the water
seemed extraordinarily cool for the time of year. We agreed that further
exploration at a later date was required and set off for Waiheke. Chris showed
be around some beautiful bays and we cast here and there. Briefly a snapper hit
my Clouser but the hook failed to set on the strip. We’d been out half a day so
decided to call it after visiting one other well know channel marker. I’d tied
on a concept fly involving a double barrel popper head with a dragon tail which
to my mind offered a blend of moving water and tail motion. First cast and 2
rats charged out but didn’t eat. Surface flies can have that effect – raising
fish that don’t take, so I tied on a rattle piper and quickly hooked up. The
fish burned me around the marker’s chain.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As I sit here in the office, the weather
forecast calls for light northerlies. Hopefully the summer of searching will
become a summer of catching.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-47402740096986935512020-01-18T17:10:00.001+13:002020-01-18T17:10:52.996+13:00High seasWhen I started writing this (Dec 2019), Whakaari / White Island was active. Active, but not explosively so. I sit here now in a new decade, having finally found time to sit and write.<br />
<br />
Between times lives have been lost when Whakaari erupted with many people on the island volcano. Peace to the families and loved ones of the lost souls.<br />
<br />
Many years ago I hung with a crew of salty fishy dudes. I’d joined the crew as a satellite member when flatting with one of the core crew, and we saved hard, really hard to get a couple of mid-winter days onboard one of the top boats going around. The fishing was for bottom fish and we really didn’t have the gear to go after thugs like kingfish back then. Over time we graduated to being offered a summer game fishing slot and we occupied that space for many years. My avid interest in fly fishing saw me lose my slot when one year I chose a marlin on fly trip over the boys’ trip. That was the end for me. I still had all the bottom fishing and game gear, and in between had acquired jigging and stick baiting equipment.<br />
<br />
Pesty (Karl aka @fishingpest) had spoken to the boys about a weekend charter to the old stomping ground, White Island and needless to say we were all in within a second. That was months ago, and he kept us abreast of happenings. The week leading in gave us perfect weather. I’d be picking Tim up from Rotorua airport where he was landing on his way back from Wellington. We’d meet the other guys at the wharf, grab a meal, load and go.<br />
<br />
And so, the day had finally arrived. The forecast was pretty good (actually, great) and I’d set off early to allow for shitty Auckland traffic. I was well on the way to Rotorua when Tim called… his flight had been cancelled. A change of plan – he rebooked to Hamilton. I changed direction. I arrived at Hamilton airport with enough time to grab a coffee and pie, watch a bit of the cricket test and when Tim arrived we set off. Whakatane via Rotorua is a trip I’d not done for over 20 years. We arrived a bit later than expected, the final stragglers. Rhys the skipper was anxious to get going. He’s moved his times forward a bit which put some pressure on.<br />
<br />
Nui and Bob, the guys on the trip I hadn’t met, were real nice dudes. 4 hours of steaming and we arrived, the last of 7 boats to anchor in the lee of Whakaari. On with the sub surface neons, out with bait rods – our task was to catch as many live baits as possible while also scooping as many flying fish for dead baits as we could manage. After a few hours we’d fulfilled our mission, while in that time we witnessed Cova Rose’s fleet sister ship land a whopping 40kg plus kingfish. Under lights it looked simply humungous.<br />
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Post the evening’s bait session we headed to sleep and woke up early, steaming to the bluenose grounds. Bluenose are simply one of the tastiest fish in the ocean so we all looked forward to stocking up. The session began in the pre-dawn and soon there were 5 lines over the side, each carrying 2 circle hooks baited with squid to the 150m mark. As rods loaded up the guys all wound in some decent bluenose and for the next 90 minutes or so a steady procession of tasty eating fish came aboard.<br />
<br />
Then, we were off for kingfish. In the hours that followed we fished live and dead baits, jigs and stick baits hard for not much reward. Rhys the skipper said to expect an afternoon bite, and how right he was. Once the first fish was hit, they came aboard steadily.<br />
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<br />And quite some beasts were landed including a 40kg plus fish (once in a lifetime fish) to Mike, the Big Rig. We each kept a fish or two for eating, but the large ones all went back.<br />
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That night we played with fly gear, targeting kingis smashing flying fish on the surface, whilst replenishing our live bait stash. Small rain droplets feel through the volcanic spume overhead, stinging the eyes when the landed. Post the tragic events of the following week we’d learn about Sulphur Dioxide very quickly indeed…<br />
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Day II provided more of the same, a few bluenose in the morning followed by a diet of kingis, if not of the same order of magnitude as the previous day. We fished hard for a large number of fish landed before the tax man turned up and began snacking on our hooked fish. On our trip back in we cleaned and bagged our bounty, packed it ice and helped the crew clean the boat down, ready for the next trip.<br />
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We all agreed we'd regather for another round of high seas adventure.<br />
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<br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-81610695502723627232019-11-12T10:05:00.003+13:002019-11-14T06:58:48.515+13:00Going a bit retro<br />
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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.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. </div>
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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<br />
pools. Quite simply epic fishing.<br />
<br />
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.</div>
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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.<o:p></o:p><br />
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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.<o:p></o:p><br />
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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. </div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. </div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-50254013098861182342019-10-15T07:02:00.001+13:002019-10-17T07:07:26.744+13:00Sailing in the windA 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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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..<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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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.Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-42457340078299964442019-09-24T07:12:00.004+12:002019-09-24T07:12:29.941+12:00Low and clear<br />
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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. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zWkg5r5yE_ZqCI6aSxH4HW6gDh10qhq0BQGGlPLaO-szrdL-mIiafYmG0EqZ7RB0-iULgipYB3MpeR5e7XFtbDzb3EmC4yswg1JgiMWjQCXMUY4x0lEALo3sK5sj0goONxGUkgBC/s1600/IMG_0036.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7zWkg5r5yE_ZqCI6aSxH4HW6gDh10qhq0BQGGlPLaO-szrdL-mIiafYmG0EqZ7RB0-iULgipYB3MpeR5e7XFtbDzb3EmC4yswg1JgiMWjQCXMUY4x0lEALo3sK5sj0goONxGUkgBC/s640/IMG_0036.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Layla guarding the run. Credit: Chris Dore</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Chris having swung out the tail of the
pool came upstream to shoot the breeze and say goodbye before heading back
south. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6uGNY0NH-w2GHnwfNR5fgkbPe5kauU7fzg1KW5AxlWPfB3XMl8VZnvyF0MBk9lXcWdYJQnaUNNLR2eembqLY_BHGIZ0j2pAJ6IVcM5hzMjnkGYB8r_-xRPrukXV2Wv6_hpd8pApI8/s1600/IMG_6811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6uGNY0NH-w2GHnwfNR5fgkbPe5kauU7fzg1KW5AxlWPfB3XMl8VZnvyF0MBk9lXcWdYJQnaUNNLR2eembqLY_BHGIZ0j2pAJ6IVcM5hzMjnkGYB8r_-xRPrukXV2Wv6_hpd8pApI8/s640/IMG_6811.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris & Layla</td></tr>
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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.</div>
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I wandered upstream to where Greig was effortlessly covering
the water. So nice to watch a maestro at work.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-28765528407514788022019-09-09T08:58:00.001+12:002019-09-09T08:58:33.452+12:00Leech dayJase 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!<br />
<br />
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>I</i> catch with them? (I mean, of course I can but I don't know that yet).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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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!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8I8AABgy8MVgpt4-hkcbzL6-vTQPTw1nWC-P_UwzF4XMhB_oSoUUXW-BQ5mdh7a7uUp_DhYfEe5YSMxc7j0wRm5-0dnqay4PQoH7Iuc7hShHi7vdqpyZbo1REjfOMTkco9U2omw6U/s1600/IMG_6754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8I8AABgy8MVgpt4-hkcbzL6-vTQPTw1nWC-P_UwzF4XMhB_oSoUUXW-BQ5mdh7a7uUp_DhYfEe5YSMxc7j0wRm5-0dnqay4PQoH7Iuc7hShHi7vdqpyZbo1REjfOMTkco9U2omw6U/s640/IMG_6754.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Representative example. Leech in mouth.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I called it at 3pm, feeling quite chilled in the legs. Leech fly - tested and approved.<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-64555771856476124992019-09-03T08:17:00.000+12:002019-09-17T12:22:56.244+12:00Half a year<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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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.</div>
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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. </div>
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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. </div>
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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 <span style="font-family: "segoe ui emoji" , sans-serif;">😊</span>. 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.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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Day tripping<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. </div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-32126737530983900392019-05-16T08:48:00.001+12:002019-05-16T08:48:41.225+12:00Into Autumn<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The month of May. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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. </div>
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But they weren’t. </div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-54388161490851291462019-04-15T14:44:00.002+12:002019-04-15T14:44:43.294+12:00Day 47I 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.<br />
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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.Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-71611379387550396112019-02-20T09:10:00.000+13:002019-04-03T06:49:30.698+13:00Big bones, stings, & other mishaps<br />
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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…<o:p></o:p></div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I </span>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. </div>
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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. </div>
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Other adventures included catching a Brassy Trevally that I’d
initially called a small GT. Turned out to be a really good specimen too.<o:p></o:p></div>
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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<sup>th</sup>
green while Andy and Jase were unable to avoid driving on the hallowed grass.
We got bollocked! </div>
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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.<o:p></o:p></div>
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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. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbKCbfCrkv8NahsUSf7_DS75hACwkVStXwk6sdVdT6YPqyw2H0XVmO53fs0TRJsScKIsK_1vhtjC8IPaUren0lA5qYdze0p32csuITgkjUDZ6L9aNA6t1Kkr5JXLIRFDjKQBL3E4S/s1600/IMG_6130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBbKCbfCrkv8NahsUSf7_DS75hACwkVStXwk6sdVdT6YPqyw2H0XVmO53fs0TRJsScKIsK_1vhtjC8IPaUren0lA5qYdze0p32csuITgkjUDZ6L9aNA6t1Kkr5JXLIRFDjKQBL3E4S/s640/IMG_6130.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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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.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsMOUQ2ks0T_kzYc6FYb30vi-7UKXs2S8pdq_d0Mp512KcHRvrpjtCkK7rcRHTrwoyBQzYiArDCrM-JKkei4WfbW6IFxBZLZRjeId2CveXZXV82pQ9v8ziL6Xe3kXhkA3DyNdo9rT/s1600/IMG_6132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsMOUQ2ks0T_kzYc6FYb30vi-7UKXs2S8pdq_d0Mp512KcHRvrpjtCkK7rcRHTrwoyBQzYiArDCrM-JKkei4WfbW6IFxBZLZRjeId2CveXZXV82pQ9v8ziL6Xe3kXhkA3DyNdo9rT/s640/IMG_6132.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhft6LoC633NE7t6DHzFiDKZoIDDF8gMA0JruZQ_ipZL7j0PLf52PtsSAPUxaKb7Ayi_-f7_US0CAYPv3WieA_0vkKvRChX5DuNysQT9NFNixXAArEkbvtlWy_OJ3u1ODVwVytVS1Qz/s1600/IMG_6139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhft6LoC633NE7t6DHzFiDKZoIDDF8gMA0JruZQ_ipZL7j0PLf52PtsSAPUxaKb7Ayi_-f7_US0CAYPv3WieA_0vkKvRChX5DuNysQT9NFNixXAArEkbvtlWy_OJ3u1ODVwVytVS1Qz/s640/IMG_6139.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">cruising pet GT</td></tr>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8Su53B0wpbasMkCKPHWHnBChj12O-3QoNcVyMAJvScdokarezic1buY0NDIMYJOgeD57zg8FGnyIOXOIHzhkMugzGX_bJK2bdcp5k5IT706UfbhwLI59519XFiVslMXh758BBmfT/s1600/IMG_6142.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="1600" height="450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8Su53B0wpbasMkCKPHWHnBChj12O-3QoNcVyMAJvScdokarezic1buY0NDIMYJOgeD57zg8FGnyIOXOIHzhkMugzGX_bJK2bdcp5k5IT706UfbhwLI59519XFiVslMXh758BBmfT/s640/IMG_6142.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtjayDvp-ZPgS7wNK-KEFM_7weSH_pX_lWdpMzlJbocW4ZsDVaLOBCHv5-X07gIwuwVjQkDtwDW4OBb8pEIqfaiXRa3RVQYOOGzQDL2uig1f36XIcUkASrMilNApNUklUG7idKzXCR/s1600/IMG_6158.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtjayDvp-ZPgS7wNK-KEFM_7weSH_pX_lWdpMzlJbocW4ZsDVaLOBCHv5-X07gIwuwVjQkDtwDW4OBb8pEIqfaiXRa3RVQYOOGzQDL2uig1f36XIcUkASrMilNApNUklUG7idKzXCR/s640/IMG_6158.jpg" width="474" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJXkEh7eFUICCmB8457BJAahjcokKNZtOq7IhuCPlmWrPzTuadKYuO7xBtopC0lZ45CGX3yN9fCzQ3uRymQE7Yi7qU-6TdmXMXnMJPTh7C7bGUsQoUh7h3WtYSDhInmeoC4JtnibRh/s1600/IMG_6174.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJXkEh7eFUICCmB8457BJAahjcokKNZtOq7IhuCPlmWrPzTuadKYuO7xBtopC0lZ45CGX3yN9fCzQ3uRymQE7Yi7qU-6TdmXMXnMJPTh7C7bGUsQoUh7h3WtYSDhInmeoC4JtnibRh/s640/IMG_6174.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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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.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RU_cVCJLRLBv3WDnJs3paADW6caHuP6GLffqqwm9ry9NBnjjiOjLIyPVHVSkhZe_A0zI2WzhmOoYPspipaFFvlKrbfNefuUgkDaJeX07Nchb3BIqAiPazYzPEGZbr79eoG4TdsfC/s1600/IMG_6222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1199" data-original-width="1600" height="474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7RU_cVCJLRLBv3WDnJs3paADW6caHuP6GLffqqwm9ry9NBnjjiOjLIyPVHVSkhZe_A0zI2WzhmOoYPspipaFFvlKrbfNefuUgkDaJeX07Nchb3BIqAiPazYzPEGZbr79eoG4TdsfC/s640/IMG_6222.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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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.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0TEcLMXHGQL2Ba0o1CDPIZkdXtjt6cL07cwfJVaK5UJPC5lbRQZPNNKeV2J40pELpwPvLgMPYpcUqTDramL6hwNhrI1psbuxIbksJ30fApJniRuW7TN4qUJIYxl_gsCJET732mSrK/s1600/IMG_6221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1516" data-original-width="1524" height="632" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0TEcLMXHGQL2Ba0o1CDPIZkdXtjt6cL07cwfJVaK5UJPC5lbRQZPNNKeV2J40pELpwPvLgMPYpcUqTDramL6hwNhrI1psbuxIbksJ30fApJniRuW7TN4qUJIYxl_gsCJET732mSrK/s640/IMG_6221.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ODN7vsFcAnwtn5yzhxBp69nzvdUNj4720e7eUllutZ3DIPcs7Z0mFYbD2EQGIchzU3B5wW5exqFiH_BIqyhyphenhyphen4UomAx0a-PhnJvwnRRyupifCxwf1J-SaBvrFlKmXyPm-zf4gQMrS/s1600/Crab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_ODN7vsFcAnwtn5yzhxBp69nzvdUNj4720e7eUllutZ3DIPcs7Z0mFYbD2EQGIchzU3B5wW5exqFiH_BIqyhyphenhyphen4UomAx0a-PhnJvwnRRyupifCxwf1J-SaBvrFlKmXyPm-zf4gQMrS/s640/Crab.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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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. <o:p></o:p></div>
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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.</div>
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So ended the fishing part of the trip… the socialising
continued a while longer...</div>
<br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-78134542615360945902019-01-29T14:03:00.002+13:002019-01-30T15:13:03.881+13:00Scouting, learning....As I sit at my office desk I can't help but observe the flags on the harbour bridge drooping flaccidly. Its calm and oppressively hot. Its the day <i>after</i> the holiday weekend. I'd spent Sunday morning on the land's largest harbour - and oh how different the weather had been then. The tides on neither coast had been ideal for me, so I'd chosen this mission as the preferable of 2 options. It hadn't started all that well with both batteries canning out before I'd left the river (despite meticulously charging them. Seems they both reached their life expectancy simultaneously), and continued to be less than ideal. Running this harbour with extensive flats and banks without a nav system (there are no channel markers) is ok on high water but it was halfway through a waning tidal flow so when I saw a ruffle ahead I realised that I was heading into a bank at ~20 kts. I had to lift the motor to float over the lip into the channel. I'd rounded the small headland at the river mouth to encounter a fresh Westerly right on the nose. This wasn't a 3 kt zephyr predicted; it was a fresh 15 kts at least. And... clouds obscured the sun from time to time.<br />
<br />
Still, I got to the flat and rigged. I'd changed out the SA Sonar tip line which I find pretty dumpy for the Rio Flats Pro (overall a nice enough line but I find he running line to be diabolical to manage) int tip. A few practice shots showed it as quick to pick up and shoot on the Salt HD. Cool. The breeze continued. Over the next couple hours I scanned, ate my sandwiches, applied sun screen, scanned, drank water copiously, scanned... to no avail. Occasionally a mullet would broach. A group of dipping, screaming terns worked deeper channel. I moved the boat over but the birds dispersed. A few casts. Not with much confidence. When the line shot through my fingers I missed the set. The fish was gone. Needing respite from the constant breeze I anchored in a few inches of water and lay on the deck listening to waves slapping the hull.<br />
<br />
The logical option now was to follow the flooding tide up the harbour. In the distance I spied a jet black object - black ray surely? Bearing down with line laid out and fly ready the black object revealed itself as a mussel or oyster buoy. Stand down. At least I was now bothering the occasional eagle ray. Why aren't the big black kingi holding rays in this harbour?<br />
<br />
But still. It would be churlish to complain; time on the water is infinitely preferable to being stuck indoors. And I took away some affirmations:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Refresh the battery supply at least once every 2 years (one of those batteries had given 10 years service)</li>
<li>Any wind with West in it sucks on this harbour; vis is effectively killed</li>
<li>No forecasting service is 100% trustworthy</li>
</ul>
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Not sure if I'll be back on the local flats this season. With an impending GT/bonefish trip and then debilitating surgery following that, I may be done for this season.</div>
Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-48236657461268029142019-01-21T09:33:00.004+13:002019-01-22T13:44:54.558+13:002 coasts, precious resources & the matter of discretionImagine that you're an avid shallow water angler and for most of your life you've persisted to learn the habits of your prey. You work hard, you suss it out. You treat the area and fish with respect. Then one day, a social media post lifts the lid on your spot. Overnight, its inundated with anglers local and foreign, some wanting to make a name, some with commercial interests, most just taking advantage of NZ's free access to resources... and your spot is standing room only. Freedom campers dot the landscape. The idea of solitude is just that, an idea. The fishery is hammered. That's the power of social media.<br />
<br />
This has happened. Recently my mate Jase was in our local fly sore when some Australians walked in and bemoaned the sheer hectic and frantic nature of the Collingwood fishery. There're 2 sides to the arguments here, one is covered above - what was a hard discovered kingfish phenomenon was made very public and overnight everything changed forever, much to the chagrin of the locals who worked had to figure the fish out. The other argument is that it has improved the economy of a sleepy South Island town, and that economic betterment of rural NZ is a good thing. I don't buy that. I'd bet that most of the anglers who get in there live in old vans and survive on a can of beans a day, and that's hardly putting anything back into the economy. I could go on about value propositions and pricing for value, licenses etc but that's not really my concern. It would be fair to say that I've seen and heard enough to know that place isn't for me.<br />
<br />
Personally I'd rather put in the hard yards, chase down leads, pore over Google Earth, talk to locals and figure out angles. Success is so much sweeter that way. And that's why I'll crop the hell out of photos to obfuscate backdrops where I think its necessary. Despite living in a city of 1.6 M people with ~150,000 registered boats of which a huge number are dedicated to fishing pursuits, there are still spots that are simply mind blowing. They probably wont stay that way in the long term, but I'm not willing to accelerate degradation via social media.<br />
<br />
Rant over, cropped photos to come...<br />
<br />
A couple of weeks ago, we had the opportunity to go on a voyage of discovery. I'd hunted pheasants and deer on the heads of this harbour and studied the flats and banks that I could see from high ground.... the place oozed potential. Google Earth showed some of the largest flats that you could hope to find and I am willing to bet that very few fly fishermen had spent much time here. I'd been thinking about this place for a long time and with both settled weather and a morning building tide, the time felt right. The trip north is always nice, before the crowds rise and block the roads. At the ramp only one other boat trailer was in residence. The tide was at its lowest ebb which is a really good way to get the feel of new waters, because banks and channels are obvious on low water. We ran out to near the harbour entrance, where the tide would flood onto exposed banks bringing in prey and predators alike... it felt fishy from the get go. What became obvious early was the extreme current, best described as a torrent. The Minn Kota quietly thrummed and we traversed a large flat between 2 banks... it looked an obvious place for a patrolling kingi.<br />
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As it happened we saw 3 fish over the next couple of hours, but none in casting range; they seemed to be motoring across the flat as opposed to cruising for food. As the banks flooded we were able to cruise vast flats which we did, getting right among the mangrove fringe.<br />
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Eventually a splash and massive wake alerted us to a nearby skirmish, which after a stalk revealed a nice king smashing a mullet. The mullet was stunned and the kingi circled, allowing us a few fly shots to no avail, as the beast was set on his dinner which he swallowed and cruised off, leaving a sizable wake. Soon after, we called it a day. I'll be back - there's still too much to discover in this spot.<br />
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The weekend gone, the boys all had plans. Tim was going out on Rene Vaz's new boat , Karl was heading out on a West Coast harbour and Jase was off after big browns. I had no real plans except at some stage to get out on the boat. Jase eventually changed his mind so would join me on a flats mission.<br />
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I picked him up at 05.30 from the ramp where Tim and Rene were launching and we headed off on our different courses. First stop for us would be a marker to get some 'blood letting' out of our systems... just a term for getting runs on the board before the more intense flats fishing that would follow. Its no secret around here that small kings hang around channel markers and consequently they receive their fair share of attention from stick baiters, jiggers, fly fishos and even divers. Even as we pulled in under electric motor power, another boat approached the marker. We quickly dealt to 3 fish before moving on, the other boat taking our place. I doubted they'd get much attention on their stick baits, rumbling around with outboard on puts kingis down pretty quickly. I headed to another marker where I'd seen a large fish last time around, but nothing was doing. The pole was decorated with a double gang hook and a desiccated piper ... a sure sign of a kingi haunt.<br />
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Leaving that spot we arrived at the outer rim of the flat we wanted to hunt, and set up. It was a good while before he first wake was spotted, and set a course to intercept the cruising fish. My first shot was met with a chase and eat, but I... trout struck. Bluddy hell, after all this time I still do it now and again.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kingi wake<br />
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Jase made no mistake with his first cast to a cruiser which inhaled his piper fly. The fight was torrid in the shallows, culminating with the fish sitting tight under the boat. After a few minutes of to and fro I got the net under a fine specimen.<br />
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Over the next quarter tide we chased wakes made casts, had multiple refusals and all in all had a ball.<br />
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As the tide receded, the fish began to leave, and soon there was no sign of activity.<br />
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I retrieved the boat at the lowest of the tide's ebb, creating the need to wade through mud for the final few metres. The sun blazed overhead. I wandered along to the car park, town was drowsily busy, in a relaxed sort of way, and I wondered if back when the Florida quays were being discovered as fisheries if the ports had the same sleepy feel? Coming down after the intensity of flats concentration is a nice feeling, and fully relaxed I pulled the boat and headed home.<br />
<br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-73723959747370445412019-01-07T15:32:00.003+13:002019-01-09T09:39:53.995+13:00Back on the flatsAdam chugged by early; for me a sign that I'd made at least partially a good call to explore the flats for a cruising kingi. He's a kingi bloodhound and I liked the idea that he'd chosen the same area as I had. We had plenty of space without messing each other's chances up.<br />
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I'd had some good days and sessions on trout of late, but the weather had been against my plans to get out after the yellow-tailed beasts. The king tide had come and gone, the incessant winds not allowing any chance to take advantage of the higher tides.<br />
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Today I'd launched at dawn and set off on flat seas, thinking about the trips undertaken of late...<br />
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The previous trip had been a meat hunt, the family wanting smoked kahawai for Xmas and whilst I had taken the early option of hitting some convenient rocks looking for snapper and blooding the new Sage Salt HD #9 paired with an Abel Super 9, by mid morning I still had an order to fill. I don't really like the idea of fishing to order as it puts undue pressure on what to me is a calming pass time. I'd spent a short time looking for Mr Kingi and in the process had been lucky enough to see (twice!) juvenile snapper hitting small flounder swimming in the surface film. I had to double take.. I could clearly see the snapper but needed to get close to see the tiny flounder no larger than 4cm swimming just under the surface. Amazing. Leaving the estuary (no kings seen) my kahawai prayers were answered when a massive work up appeared, terns and mutton ducks dipping and swimming amongst the splashes created by kahawai slashing through white bait on the surface. A left over Crazy Charlie stripped fast just under the surface came up trumps and the #8 bent over as the line zinged out to he backing knot. Amazing fish - translated from Maori Kaha ("strong") wai ("water") the fish's more than apt name being "strong in the water" - the perfect fly rod fish. They hunt, they hit hard, they take line relentlessly, fight doggedly- perfect. And they are beautiful eating fish when bled, brined and smoked.<br />
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***<br />
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I was rigged, line stripped with rod in hand and exploring a point when Adam passed by, heading for he far side of the flat. His Wave Walk kayak is set up with a small outboard and makes pretty good headway. I chose a path around the near edge of the flat. The SW squalls and cloud weren't ideal. Far less than. My vis window was narrow, but I began to disturb rays which to me is a positive. It took over an hour to traverse the flat, by which time 6 people had began to wade out - given that 3 were dressed in day glow orange they sure weren't anglers. It took some time to figure that they were retrieving not just one but 2 large set nets, both unmarked and therefore illegal. I was drawing closer to Adam who upped sticks and moved and soon after I spotted a pressure wave. With Minn Kota in hare mode I headed towards where I'd seen it then hit the spot lock, scanning, scanning, scanning. Finally I managed to get my crease fly on an intercept course and the fish engulfed it, running strongly. It was not a large kingi but none the less was he first for the year from the flats.<br />
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Photographed and quickly returned, the fish powered away. I still had time up me sleeve so decided on a new course of action to explore some new spots. The first, a lone marker pole looked a good target to throw to. I did and a large kingfish followed the fly without eating. Next cast hooked the pole and in the process of getting my fly back I spooked the whole area.<br />
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Next stop was an old haunt and it faithfully threw me a small fish on the piper fly.<br />
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Then it was time to chart a course home. Roll on better weather.<br />
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<br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-534681392440681884.post-61234824451645689562018-12-11T08:35:00.001+13:002018-12-11T08:35:50.858+13:00Damsels & mountainsDay one and the fish were behaving like little bastards. Big bastards actually. Tim had jumped off the boat and headed towards Greig. I'd asked Pesty if he minded me tagging along to learn from him. Heck, I even hassled him for flies and he'd handed me 3 of his beautifully crafted damsel nymphs. Our shore had a wee current flowing, the lake is part f the central north Island hydro scheme so more or less constantly, water is shipping. In front of us, brownies worked. And so did we, focusing hard for the next few hours. I'd mimicked Karl's (Pesty) rig and tied on double of his lovely damsels. I'd cast out into a wide bowl that had a couple cm's more depth and left he flies on the bottom. A cruising brown sucked in one of the flies and I broke him on the strike losing both flies... and that was he sum total of fish for morning. Karl landed a nice 'bow, but we agreed that it had been hard going. With Tim and Greig teamed up we were free to explore.<br />
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A riffle on the lake spoke to nymphing the weed beds under an indicator - "plonking" as its known around here. Karl had a pre-rigged rod at the ready. I rigged up a "plonking" outfit and tied on the garish snail imitation that Karl gave me - he assured me that with the thin veil of cloud overhead, the fish would pick up the snail fast. My first fish took 5 minutes to hook. The indicator slid under. Fish on. Our drift as relatively productive, culminating in an absurdly ft 6lb fish for me, and a stunning 9lb hen for Karl. The boy can play.<br />
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We pulled few more 'bows over the next hour or so.<br />
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We stalked he edges in the afternoon but neither of us could get an eat. A catch up with Tim and Greig (the lake-master) on the lake edge. They'd struggled. Greig had taken a brown early, but that was it. Rob cruised over and joined us. He's another fish magnet. He'd nailed a good number of fish.<br />
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We decided to draw a line under the day and head back to base.<br />
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That evening's proposed trip to the Tongariro delta saw us all (me, Rob, Karl, Tim & Greig) in Karl's boat Full Mongrel, heading out. The SW wind blew an ugly chop and we all agreed to abandon the mission in favour of safety, returning to land dripping wet. Rather we fished the evening rise on the Tongariro.<br />
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Sunday dawned fine and still. We'd convoyed again, Rob towing his boat, and Karl dragging Full Mongrel. Greig was already on he water. We dropped Tim off with Greig. Pest and I decided to strip damsels over the weed beds, having sen a number of large fish in a spot as we arrived. On shore, Greig hooked and battled a large brownie; from the bow of the boat I had a stadium view of the fish which took him well into the backing. Finally he had it under control, only for the hook to pull when finally he had it in netting range.<br />
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The lake was eerily calm. Karl motored us to a quiet shoreline, and here we struck gold. First Karl took fat brown that ate with flyline well inside the rod tip. With his fish netted, a golden bown approached and I managed an eat. This fish was as fat as a labrador with donuts. A little later and further along the shoreline, I presented the fly multiple times to fish hat refused to take. When he finally did, the slabby old jack rolled around on the surface before coming to the net. With a an abscessed eye, the reason for not taking was revealed... he simply couldn't see the fly.<br />
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The afternoon rolled and we called it at about mid afternoon. With 2 wonderful days of damsels and mountains behind us and the first of the summer weather, life felt pretty good.<br />
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<br />Snuffithttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02143989828416081014noreply@blogger.com0