Pigalanche!

It was good to be getting out of town. Paul and I were in the truck, listening to his beloved Blues actually (cough cough) winning a match and traffic was light. We moved through the early evening at good speed in ideal conditions. Right on full time we pulled into Waitomo, where the radio signal pretty much ended and we set off up the twisty road to Craig's. The boys were in good form when we arrived, this year both Jethro and Hendrik would be absent due to other commitments so the hunting party would be Craig, Mick, Mitch, Paul, Andy and me. Craig's brother Mike would tag along also, and on the hound front we were well represented. After a leisurely breakfast over which the morning's hunt was planned we got our gear together and headed off. The plan was for the party to comb the cover crop with dogs on leads to avoid pushing the birds too hard. We arrived in convoy and as quietly as possible exited the vehicles, and moved off. Layla was pretty excited and pulled against the lead - she's still young and ever eager to get into it. At the edge of the paddock and before we'd spread out, birds began to break, most hitting the air - I sort of felt that we'd been properly busted. I ended up at the top 3rd of the paddock with Craig and Mike on my left and a cock burst out in front of me. I dropped it and released Layla but she missed it on the first and second passes and in fact we never tracked that bird cleanly - Mike later said he saw it pick itself up and run. I got Layla back on the leash and we continued the walk. By the far end of the paddock we had a few birds down, but knew that we hadn't really covered the territory all that well so turned to sweep back through with dogs off the leash. Layla made me proud by working to hand command and pushing out several birds that tried to sneak through the cordon. Mick took one beautifully and we doubled on another that wouldn't have ended up a particularly nice eater. Back at the cars we had a quick count up and had 9 birds in hand, and one that needed following up on the far side of the river.

We'd move back around the farm and circle back on the opposite side of the river running through the farm, pinching back so as to cover the river edge and pressure the wounded bird. We split and Mitch soon shot a hare that ran our way and that Layla retrieved, after which we neared the river. Craig's dog Max soon pinned the missing bird which cackled as the dog approached and was quickly caught up and retrieved and then we moved through to the bird release point. I missed a cock bird that put a tree between us and only a shot or 2 rang out - we were definitely doing it hard for birds.

Back home for lunch after which a siesta was declared. Andy, Paul and I weren't really tired so we set out earlier than the others (Mike had limited out already) to hunt towards the southerly breeze. Layla pushed a bird early which I got but from there on it was all a bit dreary - we were hunting in cool shadowed gullys  in a cool breeze - not ideal for sun loving pheasants. It was an hour before my little lab got hot on a scent and snookered a bird into a patch of low scrub from where his choices were limited to sit and get caught or JUMP! which he did. An easy shot, that was my limit bird. We decided to head back into warmer climes and from the top of a ridge spied the other guys' car. Moving down through a swamp area that always hold birds proved fruitless again - I heard a bird jump but saw nothing in my circumnavigation of the bog. We heard only one shot from the others. We back tracked through some territory that holds a few birds and again the cupboard was bare - this was more like late season! I took Layla to cover some bush edge ans saw Craig coming my way so we'd managed to converge. Either Andy or Paul fired a couple of shots so maybe at last we were onto the birds? All I know was that with the distance and territory covered we were certainly not hunting where the birds were hanging out.

Afternoon bag

We drove home to hang the game in the chiller and the bag consisted of 15 pheasants, 2 pukekos and 2 hares. Craig mentioned that there was a mob of pigs uprooting one of his paddocks that his dad wanted rid of. While we had a cup of tea, Andy flew his drone up the ridge-line towards the top of the farm and after a few minutes reported that the pigs were emerging from the bush.

I didn't have any appropriate ammo but Mitch did - a packet of 20g buckshot. I grabbed 4 shells and pocketed them. Andy had an iron sighted .30-06, Paul a scoped .243 and Craig his 12g with buckshot. I truly didn't think that I'd fire a shot. We drove in Andy's ute up the steep track to near the airstrip and then climbed out. The wind favoured us and after a quick walk we spotted not just a few, but maybe 15 pigs in the paddock ahead. Craig quickly led us down into the bush where we covered ground before climbing up through the fence line on the edge of the paddock the pigs were in. Light was falling and the animals were spread out ahead of us. The largest pig, a grey boar was active and at the extreme edge of the group of animals. Paul was given the task of shooting him, and on his shot we'd need to be ready to shoot animals running towards cover - the bush behind us. When Paul fired the big pig squealed, and his cast turned and ran. Straight at us. I moved past Andy on my right to cover the edge and focused as two 50-60 lb pigs ran at me. I dropped the first one head on, and the second turned sideways before collecting a load. They both dropped on the spot. I opened the gun, fumbled in my pocket for the other shells and then realised that the empties were both hung - neither had ejected due to malformation or some other reason. As I fumbled to extract the empties the big pig - Paul's boar - ran to my right and hit the fence line to freedom. Finally I got a shell in the top barrel and with no time to load the bottom barrel took aim at a black boar running off to my right. At the shot he squealed and then tumbled as Craig took him down. We estimated that the action had taken no more than 15 seconds from first to last shot being fired. We had 4 pigs down immediately in front of us, Andy dragged another back from up to our left and Paul and I grabbed the furthest pig off to our right.

Craig went to see if he could track Paul's pig while Andy went to where the pig had been standing to look for blood. Soon he returned - we'd need to bring one of the dogs back in the morning. With the pigs hung in the chiller we got back to the house for a dinner of goose burgers - the best type of burger there is!

It would be fair to say that we packed a bit of revelry into the evening!

Sunday morning dawned fine and cool with a slight frost. Paul dawned foggy and unable to speak. With the dogs fed and watered we got around to making breakfast. With Axel the GWP aboard we convoyed up to the pigalanche site where Mick and Craig took the dog down into the bush. Mitch, Andy, Paul and I worked the area over looking for blood, I couldn't find any evidence that the big pig was hit, yet Crag who's experience is vast was firm in his view that it had been. So they continued down a steep bush gully while the rest of us drove back down to meet them at the bottom. Mitch and i were in my truck with Andy and Paul behind us when a big black boar - not the pig we were tracking - cut across the track in front of us. It was in no hurry and we had no guns aboard. Rookie error. So he ambled up and over the ridge to our left while we lamented our lack of foresight.

We met the boys with the dog at the bottom of the steep hills and they reported that Axel had bailed a pig - probably the big blackie.

The morning's pheasant hunt was a walk back through the cover crops with moderate success, after which we headed back to base. With plenty of game to process we had a good session ahead of us.

The freezer is restocked.

3 awesome days: Duck hunting 2017

In the weeks leading up to the opener there'd been 2 flood events; one having been the largest flood event ever, as Cyclone Cook dropped unprecedented rainfall on the Hauraki Plains. 2 weeks ago, dad and I had gone to the duck hut to tidy up the mess and it was substantial, with plenty of gear washed away and a bunch of stuff overturned.

Flood waters on farmland with the swamp in the foreground

There was still water running under the hut at that stage so we knew we'd be guaranteed a good old mud-fest for the shooting season. Our maimais are built up so while they were affected by the flooding, it was only minor - we'd be able to hunt. In the days leading up the chatter amongst the boys grew as it does and excitement levels began to peak. I'd be hunting with Matt who'd be having his first opening in the party and we'd be going into our furthest pond, which is pretty much the most competitive as far as that goes, with several very large bodies of water nearby which get stacked with decoys. With the weather looking fine (again!) and still, and lots of water around the place still, I wasn't too sure if the birds would be dispersed, but what I had seen when dad and I inspected the flooding was the huge number of birds pitching into flooded areas they'd never otherwise use.

Our ponds

I arrived at the hut on Thursday evening before the Saturday opener, mostly to avoid a crowded Friday afternoon boat ramp but also because a power of work needed doing. Dad, Greg and Daryl were already in residence. Our first Friday task was to put the decoys out on the ponds which we got done before lunch, after which I went and picked up Matt while Daryl began to repair one of our landings which had sustained flood damage. With Matt sorted only Tom, Paul and Andy were to arrive and they got in later in the afternoon. Adding to the human element we had a healthy pack of hounds with my Layla, Matt's Zulu (2), Dad's Zulu (1), Andy's Keira and Larry's Tonga on loan. It would sure be cozy in the hut! Ducks aplenty moved overhead as hunters began to setup for the morning and disturbed birds from their haunts. Unusually, I slept really well that night, which isn't normal for me, but I was happy to escape the season's eve insomnia that normally grips me.

After a sold sleep and large breakfast, we were on our way. Matt and I were still getting our gear into the maimai when the neighbours in the Corner Pond fired their first shot, 15 minutes before legal shooting time. After that it was a bit quiet in our area so I told Matt I'd get out and switch on the electronic decoys. Long hard experience has taught me to take my gun when going on small expeditions, as anything can happen and this time it did - after I'd waded ashore Matt called out and as I looked up a large bird folded above me - geese! I upped and fired and brought a bird down as Matt dragged down another. Holy cow! We'd taken our first ever canadas and Matt had killed the first with his first ever shot as an official member of the party. Interestingly, I'd shot mine with #4 steel which is decidedly on the small side. My day was made.

Matt with the bag

Swamp geese!

We giggled (or at least I did) and fist-bumped. The morning was fine and clear and soon the shooting was happening with hundreds of shots booming out across the wetland. We chipped away at birds as they came into range and they soon piled up. Matt shot really well and I felt ok  considering it had been a while between excursions with the gun. At midday, Paul appeared with our lunch, comprising B&E pie and cold drinks. He reported that most of the party had limited out and that on the whole things had gone swimmingly. We ate our lunch in the sun then resumed our watch for birds, finally finishing with our 20th bird around 2pm under sunny skies. We spent the afternoon kicking back before going out to watch birds flying into the ponds for their evening roost. Andy had gone for greenheads only so was the last to finish up and it was a healthy 90 ducks and 2 geese that hung under the hut that night. We had our annual AGM that evening after a meal of goose and venison nachos, a few drinks and then kicked back.

Sunday, saw a shuffle of hunting pairs and ponds. I was odd man out so hunted alone for the morning and had a ball, limiting out early. Layla worked her butt off and I was stoked with her work. Later on Matt and Daryl came to join me, as they were a little quiet on their pond, so I would call for them. Andy who'd gone back to the hut flew his drone out and was able to capture some really neat footage of some incoming ducks, including the retrieve. The boys shot well and at lunchtime came in to help with cleaning the birds which we did in record time. Matt was keen to get out and finish his limit which was achieved late in the afternoon.

Paul, Tom and Andy left in the afternoon leaving Matt, Greg, dad, Matt, Bill and I still in residence. That evening Daryl excelled himself starting with sauteed goose breast and following with an excellent duck ragout on mash - simply outstanding nosh. After the others retired, Greg, Daryl and I sat up talking, drinking and maybe even singing :D before hitting the hay after 1am.... and I had breakfast duty.

Caption required?

Layla - knackered

I really didn't think I'd be in shape to hunt on Monday morning so when the alarm went off I shook my head a bit, fed the dog, got up (or was that the other way around?), made breakfast and we set off. Bill was injured so stayed back, leaving me to hunt Puru,dad and Matt on McLennan's and Greg was with Daryl on Watsons. I wasn't expecting much yet birds began working immediately and I quickly accumulated half a dozen mallards, all drakes, and a drake shoveler. If groups of more than 3 birds appeared I just didn't call at them at all, given the other guys had collectively a dozen shots between them against my 3. Mid morning I decided to walk through the drowned willows and soon Layla brought me back a wounded mallard drake - her work was really solid with a few minor faults to iron out. As I stood against a backdrop of willows, a pair of mallard dropped straight in on me and I took them both. I wandered further and then decided I'd had enough and walked back to my pond with 3 birds on my belt, and one to get for a limit. That bird came soon after when I dropped a mallard drake. Matt and dad came by and reported 17 birds down, they'd had a fine hunt also and the Greg/Daryl combo were doing well also.

Monday's bag

Matt and I decided that in light of having finished our limits we'd head back to town earlier than planned. I have to say that we'd concluded one of the most enjoyable 3 days of opening that I could remember.

Traffic was light on the motorway and all too soon we were home. Roll on next weekend and the pheasants.

Patagonia - a Land of desolate beauty

On the first morning of fishing, we bumped down a rocky track across plains of tussock. Tomas, our guide, was a young bearded dude who oozed cool and played a mix of ACDC and Audio Slave. Before I even got the words out of my mouth he said "you're going to tell me that it looks like the South Island - all the kiwis say that". He was right, we could've been in the McKenzie Country, without the Southern Alps as a backdrop.

The day before, we'd flown into Rio Gallegos, most notable for:

1. Being the main military base used by Argentina in the war for Las Malvinas
2. Being a service centre for the local estancias and oil industry
3. Having only 1 decent cafe
4. Having the largest population of stray dogs in the whole of Patagonia

Because of flight changes, we'd after over nighting in Buenos Aries taken an early morning flight to Gallegos but had a day to kill in town. At the airport, lead guide Carlos met us (on his day off, good bugger) and organised us into taxis to head into town. Not the most salubrious day to be honest, we kicked around a bit and walked around the town before retiring to the cafe for hours as we awaited our 3pm pickup. The drive out to estancia Las Buitreras followed the path of the Rio Gallegos ("Rio Gajego") and suddenly the adventure seemed real. Our party consisted of Tim (host and prior visitor to Las Buitreras), Chris, Laurie, Jase and I. We'd picked up Jeff, an American angler on the way. We arrived at the estancia, were introduced to the (simply awesome) house staff at the lodge and assigned our rooms.

The fishing program is as follows:

We had 11 anglers present, broken into 6 pairs with Tim floating between the kiwi pairs as extra rod. There are 5 beats on the estancia with over 50 named pools. 5 guides were on point with each guide managing a beat for a week which gives them time to learn where the fish are and to mange pressure on the pools. The fishing day was broken into 2 sessions and the anglers would rotate from one beat in the morning to the next guide/beat in the afternoon e.g. on Day 1, Jase and I had beat 1 (Tomas) on the first morning and moved to beat 2 (Carlos) in the afternoon.

If I try to describe the unbelievable sunrises and sunsets of Patagonia in words I'll fail miserably; I'll simply say that I've never seen the like in my life, the sky ablaze with earth scorching oranges, purples and reds. The first few nights were miserable in terms of sleep, as we also had a full moon which beamed in lighting the entire landscape so we were always up before sunrise and able to capture various sunrises on camera. Post sunrise the breeze would start, an unrelenting typically westerly ranging from 15 to over 45 kt. The pools in the river were different in nature, "fast water" here was moderately flowing as opposed to the boot ripping white water we are used to - consequently wading was easy. A "deep" pool maybe 5-6 feet deep or so and with absolutely no trees around there consequently are no logs to snag on. As a result I only lost one fly on a snag all week and that was when the guide asked me to step back closer to edge of a pool so as not to disturb the lie with my wading, and as I did so I dragged the fly into a gap between rocks. To deal with the wind we fished double handers exclusively, with medium sink polytips followed by leaders of 15lb (or thereabouts) fluoro.  Because we fished a low water period our flies were small, usually bead headed and exclusively rubber legged. Casts were to the far bank, 45 degrees downstream and then the fly twitched back slowly. Chinks in your casting armour are quickly exposed by the wind! Day one was (despite catching a beautiful resident brown early) pretty difficult for me as my double hand experience has been 95% skagit, so the scandi head required to deliver a stealthy cast was a bit troubling.

Over the course of 6 fishing days we fished most of the big name pools and got fish on a daily basis. My first sea trout, a beautiful silver chrome bright fish came in the morning session of day 2 as I focused on putting the fly into broken water downstream of an underwater wake creating rock - if a fish was going to lie anywhere that was the spot.

Mind blowing sunrises and sunsets (credits Tim Angeli & me)

We had some amazing sessions, standing in pools with the wind whipping up waves and the turbulence created by your body causing spray to fly in your face as you cast, to casting swishing lines into the darkness under a molten sunset with each swing promising a pull. We fished wide pools with high banks or cliff backdrops, creating their own unique wind patterns blowing casts adrift, shallow runs where the fish would hide in the faster edge water, weedy embankments - nothing was the same except for the need to carefully cover the holding water and work the fly.

As with all expeditions there were some real highlights and I had many -

Jase and I doubling on sea trout in the same pool and our (fantastic!) guide Juan having 2 in the net for the first time in his career, I went on to catch another in the same pool that was a twin sister to Jase's fish and then lost a 5-6kg torpedo of a fish - or more accurately a polaris missile of a fish that leapt straight upwards as it threw the hook (that sight is indelibly etched in my mind). Going on to land 5 sea trout in that afternoon session in what became my favourite beat on the river (#4), the last as the sun dipped below the horizon. In another session losing a largish fish after 10 minutes and seeing the look on Juan's face - he was too cool to say I'd duffed it but I knew I had when I'd allowed the barbless hook (#12) to work free, then going on to put one in the net in the next pool after which we laughed and danced. Tying on a big rusty coloured AI in front of Riccardo (Big Fish Rick) who said "fish what you want" and then having a fish smash it inches from the far bank. Watching Jase sweep the pools effectively with his snake roll swishing out with precision. Chris landing 2 large trout, one a resident, one a sea trout. The meals, "lunch" being the main meal of the day consisting of large meat potions, Malbec, and the occasional tomato. Chimicurri. Sunrises. Sunsets. The company of anglers from Germany, the US (Jeff) and us kiwis. Amazing guides. A completely different style of fishing to any other I've done - some of which will translate beautifully to NZ waters. Buenos Aries - more time needed there to uncover the vibe, a fantastic city!

Fish in the net! (Tim Angeli)

Patagonia will stay with me for a long long time.

Seatrout - chrome

God rays

Dusk on the final evening

Those browns! Note the blue spot behind the eye

My first fish of the trip

Chris with a goodie (Tim Angeli)

Sea trout

Resident brown

Chrome time

Waves in the river - did I mention the wind? (T Angeli)

Release!

Perfect chrome

Kiwis, Germans, a Trumpian and guides

Super Toni with a stonker

Felix and a 20lber

Saturday Spey session

The Argy team had gathered in late  Feb to meet and greet, run different gear and generally shake down in readiness for our trip. It was a great weekend for me socially, but I couldn't hit a fish with a mallet at 2 feet in a fishmonger's on either day... well that's not quite right but that's how I felt. Further I lost my casting mojo on the Saturday afternoon and never really got it back, so lots of internet fueled self diagnosis took place (off shoulder I could boom out a 60' cast without raising a bead of sweat, but my snap T for example was horrible). I realised that I'd been doing a number of things wrong and would have to be very concious of the path of my stroke and also take power out of my upper hand. Waiting for the Argy trip to practice this would be folly, so a few sessions waist deep in the local lake with swan and scaup and curious paddlers watching me were undertaken.

Early planning with Jase had called for a drift session down the Waikato River but then the rains came... heavy heavy rains which finally moved into the catchment of the Tongariro. Word came out that brownies were moving and then an angler landed a horse of 14lb+ (his net scales bottomed at 14lb) which made the internet waves. That was a week and a half before we could get there but the plan was changed and we set off individually on the Friday evening. I had only a day up my sleeve, whilst Jase could manage the whole weekend. I arrived at Pete and Sherrie's before he did, and Layla jumped out to meet and greet Pete, Sherrie and Kaiser the GWP.

Travelling companion

Layla was along to play with the K dog and they got stuck right in. Jase arrived and we settled our gear in and had a couple of drams of Scotch and told lies for a while. Before long we crashed out and I went to sleep under a string of lights with each lamp in the shape of a rainbow trout. 5.30 am came and I was awake so went out and fed and toileted the black piranha and got my gear ship shape. Pete was working and Sherrie wanted to dog sit and make some pesto from her home gown basil, so Jase and I headed down to fish the lower river pools. I hadn't been down there for too many years so it was a neat change. Jase put me into the Bain Pool and I set off from the head... discovering fly eating snags at the top I quickly moved below the tell tale swirls and started banging ot casts. The rig today was a Skagit head and 12' of T-14 tip followed by a 10lb leader. My casting was if not excellent, then good enough to cover the water at will. Another angler appeared and watched me for a while, he was rigged with nymphing gear so I more than expected that he'd enter the bottom of the pool based on the utter lack of etiquette/manners I'd witnessed since returning to this fishery. But no, he politely kept his distance and probed the run below the tailout of the pool. I moved halfway through the pool before I got the first bump-grab which didn't hookup. A wee way further down I got a solid hookset and played out s small rainbow. The fly in question was a small brown version of Senyo's AI (Artificial Intelligence) which wiggled beautifully.

I almost pulled out of the pool too early but a 'final cast' showed me the near error of my ways when a feisty rainbow nailed the fly and took line on the strike. After a spirited battle a smallish but very fat fish came to hand. I didn't get a decent photo in my haste to return the fish, but she was stuffed to the gills with roe and in perfect condition.

As I released her a couple of anglers approached and asked if they could fish up from above me so I gave my blessing and moved downstream. A guy had dropped his bag and fished down through the next stretch but it looked inviting so I stepped in. I'd retied the fly and wasn't really happy with the knot and after a cast had decided to retie the knot. As the fly swung I said out loud "I bet a big brown eats the fly..." when a fish seized it. A good brown threw itself from the water. "SHIT" I murmured quietly, so only the people within 100 m of me could hear. But the fish was relatively easily dealt with. It was in decent nick and posed for a quick photo.  

I retied and tested the fly and sent it out. The go was to hit the far bank, throw a mend and then hold the running line above the faster current entering the pool on my side, allowing the fly to meander through the slow depths. The fly stopped... this fish stayed deeper when I hit it and soon I got a nice 4-5lb fat as brownie to the surface and banked her. She was a real sight, thick in girth and dark in colour, short and in general a perfect specimen.

The owner of the bag came back upstream accompanied by his boisterous dog, busy telling the world he was happy.. I wished I'd brought Layla down because they'd have had a ball together.

I explained that I'd hooked a couple of fish when for the third time the fly stopped. I laid back hard into a snag. Damn. I pulled hard to see if I could release the fly with pressure and the snag moved... holy shit.. this was a big fish.  I guess that my hard work pulling on the fly achieved its purpose because the fly released and came back to me. Its easy to call a lost fish a big one, but deep down I know it was.

I moved to the bottom of the honey hole and fished down through some perfect swinging water - when the winter runs come it'll get further attention.

I fished down to Jase who'd had an up and down morning, then we trudged back up to the car and back to town for lunch. Caught up with Pete at the shop and then planned the afternoon. There was some eye catching water in the town pools that neither of us had swung through, so we decided to keep it local and head there. I went up to the top of the run and began swinging. I worked the water as best as I could and soon Jase was following me down. My casting form was still good and I was really enjoying myself despite not turning a fish. Jase had a triple grabber - a fish that followed and hit the fly 3 times and seemed to be more assured in the way he combed the run. The run tipped into a deep pool with a rocky wall on my side. I wasn't really paying attention as my fly swung into the slow water and broken current by the rocks when I felt a fish gently pluck at it. I moved the fly, felt weight and struck. Only a brown would hold in that water. I had good pressure on the fish as it slowly swam upstream and then... the hook pulled. The hook was bright and sharp - I haven't had the best run of hookups to fish landed since Spey casting but can't really put my finger on any single issue causing hook dislodgement.

We jumped in the truck and headed upstream, Jase wanted to break his Mill Race run of no fish and I had my eye on a stretch downstream of the car park. We split up and I wandered to the edge of the cliff overlooking the Admiral's Pool... over the sandy bar lay a few very large looking fish in the safety of the back swirl in the depths.

I reached the head of my stretch and began swinging. It turned out to be very productive and in the next hour I hit and landed no less than 5 fish, all rainbows holding on the inside seam of the fast current that boomed down the far side of the run.

Back at Sherrie & Pete's we were treated to pork belly and fresh coleslaw. The dogs looked tired after a day of scragging each other. Layla and I left in the early evening; she snored the whole way home.

Rio Gallegos

In just over 20 days, months of planning, preparation and gear testing culminates in a Patagonia adventure. (I say adventure in a tongue in cheek way, its not like we're roughing it in the Andes, tenting under freezing skies, avoiding condor attacks). What's really happening is that 5 kiwis are heading over to fish the Rio Gallegos in the Santa Cruz Provence for a week; a week of chasing huge sea run brownies and their more modest river dwelling cousins (which run up to a pretty damn respectable size themselves) - to put the fish in perspective in the week just gone, 8 anglers landed 51 "sea trout" at an average weight of over 9lbs with the largest going 22lbs. The stats for resident fish are not published, but looking at it, its a game of working hard and being rewarded hard.

The fishing itself looks super different from anything I've personally done - the river is long and meandering, the scenery sparse and wild, and the landscape is harsh and wind-battered. The river can be affected by rain anywhere along its ~300km course, from the headwaters in the Andes to its confluence with the Atlantic. So you could be fishing on a cloudless day and experience rising water from a rain event in the foothills of the Andes. The river bed looks stable and snag free (no trees to fall in) and reasonably shallow. The fish themselves will hit flies mid water, so dredging is not necessary and an intermediate line/head will suffice most of the time. On the topic of flies, after dark its just big black bushy numbers... but in the daylight, well, all I can say is I've never used so many white rubber legs on flies in my life! Have a nosey here -> http://solidadventures.com/rio-gallegos-argentina-las-buitreras/flies/

We were given advice by our (unofficial) team leader Tim that our nymphs were to be tied on heavy duty hooks - we've pretty much opted for Kamasan B175s - really heavy shank numbers.

4 of our party and either proficient or semi useful with spey rods so that'll be the main mode of fishing for me, although a couple of single-handers will make the trip also in my kit. I've an unused Abel 7/8 N that needs a run, while more of a bonefish reel it would be plain wrong to leave it at home. 15-20lb tippet - for trout!!!!

So, now most of the preps are done and the rubber's soon going to hit the road. May the force be with us.

Tim with a beaut Rio Gallegos fish, 2016

Photo Credit: Tim Angelli

Rafting a new section

This time last year a weather bomb destroyed our planned rafting excursion on the Rangitaiki River, turning the whole catchment into a chocolate coloured rampaging water-beast. We'd stood on top of the Aniwhenua dam as it was released and watched a tsunami carry away weed and debris and our hopes of finding any water to fish. Fast forward almost a year and we were back. Friday afternoon we'd arrived, and had enough daylight to fish the upper reaches of a favourite stream. Its freestone up there, the fish are mainly larger browns and are as cagey as any pressured fish anywhere. We walked a good half an hour upstream from the carpark and at a decent pace... with no recent rain the stream would be low. The setting was ancient untouched un-milled native forest, quite breath-taking. I've never set foot anywhere else in NZ that is quite so untouched as far as hardwood native forest is concerned - very special. We had no direct sunlight on the water so spotting would be more than difficult. It was coolish as the nagging westerly had an element of southerly in it; and while a few cicadae were bravely singing it certainly wasn't the mind-wrecking chorus that I'd hoped to be assailed by. I tied on a blowfly dry and while Jase got set up I took a few exploratory casts upstream and in the first lie a fish took the fly in a swirl, A few jumps revealed a neat 'bow, not the brownie I'd expected and in fact the first 'bow I'd caught up there. As the sun sank behind the ranges we pulled out and headed back to town. The next day we'd be rafting.


When mentally envisioning the water that we'd be floating I had in mind glides and runs shrouded by trees. As we boarded the raft with our guide Murray at a branch of the river the first thing I noted was that the river was way larger and more turbulent than I'd pictured. Due to the wet summer the river levels were very high. The watercourse had carved a path through stone and shingle so that in places we were canyoned in on the true left while the right bank was festooned with thick willows - access really was restricted. We'd packed 4 rods to cover he scenarios we hoped to face; Jase had aboard his Sage X #6 and Sage Mod #5 and I'd packed the #6 Radian and Sage ONE 4116 to swing through any decent water. Over the day we used the entire arsenal, caught fish on nymphs, swung flies (ok, 1 fish, probably wouldn't pack that rod again for this water), dries and the true highlight of the trip, a selection of Jase's meat pies from his special MEAT LOCKER.... as we moved from pool to run we drifted through long sections of deeper water bordered by either stone walls or overhung willows. When Jase re-rigged with a fast sinking shooting head and tied on a big old Peanut Envy the look in our guides eyes was doubtful to say the least. When Jase began to bomb the willows and a monster brown made a grab at the fly everything changed - the guide lined us up to cover the depths and soon Jase hit a nice brownie that grabbed the big fly. We swapped places and drifted a rock face - within 30m 4 different fish flashed out to snap at the fly before a good brownie ate. This was unbelievable fun! Blasting out cast after cast into every likely spot while floating down productive lies... new experiences add so much intelligence to the angling arsenal and immediately post our take out we discussed where else we could put this style of fishing into action.

Streamer munching brownie

Plans are being laid...

Micro Speying around the place

Christmas holidays aren't exactly the best time to find solitude on popular waters, but I figured if I got my bum out of bed early enough I could cover some water before the late risers got out and about. In the end it was lucky I did. 3 hours of driving saw Layla and I hit the river that Jase and I had fished a couple weeks ago, but this time I planned to put what I'd learned last time into action. First stop was a good run headed by a rapid that spilled out into a wider tail of roughly 100m with a distinctly deeper section down the true right. Last trip I'd attempted to wade the deep side but knew I was wasting my time. This time without having to draw for a side of the river to fish I could start on true right at the head and angle my way down until on the true left, leaving me to reach out into the deeper water and swing into the shallower water. I figured I'd have at least a couple of hours before the 2 guys in the raft who'd gone past with their craft on a trailer as I rigged up before setting up came down and passed me. Layla prodded a dead fish around in the shallows as I got underway, well at least we'd seen one! I'd put the heaviest tip I had on the scandi head and was able to get good distance with the cast and a reasonable mend. Still, we were half way down before I got the first hit and it was a goodie with the line ripped from my fingers as the fish felt the hook and tore downstream cart-wheeling at the tailout. With almost 50 m of line out I didn't really have control so when the fish leaped again, the hook pulled. Nothing, bar NOTHING I've done in fly fishing is as completely absorbing as swinging a fly double handed. Its the complete package - technical casting, technical swimming of the fly and the takes are mind blowing. The second fish came right in the tail and kept deep as I worked him upstream. I thought for a minute that perhaps the fish was foul hooked, but no the hook was set in the corner of the mouth and took a bit of winkling to extract.

The next hour or so was notable for the scenery and heat but I could't turn a fish for love or money. By the time I hit a rapid area that I knew had a good holding spot in a depression I was ready for a fish... here fishy fishy... and the take I got sent a deep thump thump through the rod. The line had swung downstream of where the fish lay so on tightening an arc of spray flew across the water and then it lit the afterburners heading down the rapid and into the next run, where it threw the hook. Damn. The 2 best fish had got off. I got the fly back and inspected it and the only theory I could come up with was that the hook loop was too long and perhaps the loop was acting as leverage? I pulled a baby fish out next and then was down into the run I'd been looking forward to. Such an attractive piece of water but the best part is that it looks better to fish from the opposite side to where I was tackling it, but is actually best fished (IMHO) from the true right which requires a decent wade to reach. As Layla and I got to the run, 2 anglers appeared upriver of me. They saw me and began to fish the pool above me. I knew they'd head upstream so wasn't that bothered. What DID bother me was that I wasn't getting any hits. I sat down for a snack and dribble and theorised to the dog that I wasn't getting deep enough to attract the attention of the fish that just had to be there. A change of fly to a heavier number, back into it and boom, straight away a rainbow hit the fly and took off down stream. I got him under control and was working the fish back across the current when the hook pulled. "Gosh" I said aloud. What I saw next made me say a bit more... a bright orange hat was bobbing around in the near bank shrubs far downstream before its wearer appeared. I'm guessing he saw me at about the same time and probably said a few choice words. Popular river this one.  I continued to work downstream where the water slackened on my side and where my fly swung in against a decent rock I saw a shape emerge, a white mouth open and close and struck as I felt it through the line. The hook missed as the good sized brownie rolled and swam for the depth. Jeeeeeeeeezzzzzz. The guy downstream was soon joined by a mate (who'd fallen over and gone under crossing waste deep water, but it was a warm day so he'd be right). They each took a fish before I finished my run and waded across to go down and see them. I'd really, really, REALLY wanted to swing the patch they'd just fished so as we exchanged greetings I gave them the lay of the land as far as the other guys upstream where concerned and let them know I'd not fished the true left of the pool above. They described the pools they'd fished below, water that was new to me. I headed down, fishing each good looking spot but was fishing second hand water. I got one further hookup before pulling the pin and heading back upstream with the intention of going home. What I'd hoped to be good swinging downstream water really wasn't ideal for that style of fishing so I wasn't upset with my day at all as I'd really only missed one good pool. On the way back up the raft appeared and I had to say that (after Layla had given the interlopers a serve) that it looked a brilliant way to fish. The dude had maximum control and was able to pass between me and the bank as we exchanged pleasantries. He had an american accent and explained that it made for easy access, with the bonus of a chillybin of cold beers at hand....

The drive home gave me plenty of time to think about why I'd dropped all those fish and soon I was back at the vise redesigning the fly to be shorter and hopefully more efficient on hookup.

I was a good boy around the house for the next few days, over-run garden cleared - check! Fence painted - check! Family stuff done dutifully - check! Can I go fishing? Pleaaaseee?

Yehhaa. This time I'd head to Turangi. I got into town early enough to call Pete and see what he was up to - he was shop bound so I said I'd stop by later. I was pretty surprised to be the only vehicle in the top car park. I got into the river and began to work my way downstream... But my swing was too fast and I knew the fly wasn't getting where it needed to be. Quite simply, the volume of water coming down was greater than that on the other river despite it being of similar width in some places. A bit of a head scratcher for me, as I didn't have a skagit head for the small rod. I dug around and found a 132gr tip, which was never going to cast well but there was no wind and I hoped that it would drag the fly down. Layla chased ducks while I worked down the pool, paying extra attention to the gutter on the far side into which I could "huck" the fly, dump some line and get a good swim through. BUMP BUMP - hookup! The rainbow took to the air and shot downstream at full noise. I played it back across to me and Layla tried to land it before I slid the fish ashore, a well recovered spawner returning to good condition.

10 minutes later I had another bump followed by a savage take and a small bow came to hand. By this time a small group had appeared downstream and were beginning to fish the tail of the pool I was in. Given that they appeared to be 2 junior anglers learning to fish with a guide and that I'd landed fish I decided to go easy and not give them a serve. I fished down and pulled out leaving them some water to cover. I moved downstream to the next pool and began to work it. The water looked great, with a beautiful tail out studded with nice fish sheltering rocks. I got a grab about halfway down that missed the hook and another near the tail.

This style of fishing is absorbing and I find it can take a good hour or more to work a pool (in my estimation, every fish in a pool should at least catch a glimpse of my fly) like this so by the time I was ready to head back up to the car the guys above me were well upstream. Layla by now was mouthing off at the car traffic going past behind the trees - the river was getting busy. I had planned to move downriver to new water but that gutter looked way too inviting so back in I went. Second or third drift through and ba-bump I was hooked up. This fish was different, holding deep and rubbing against each rock. Each time I side strained it out from the gutter, it moved back in. I didn't want to pull the hook so as it surged back into the current I let it have its head. Finally it submitted and as I brought in the last 10 m of line I saw a brown smudge in the water, yup I was looking at a brownie and a nice fat hen at that. A few photos later and old yellowguts swam away.

A stop in town revealed that Pete was swamped by customers so I left and went to his place to see Sherrie and give Layla a run with Kaiser the GWP. Good day all around. Next up - grab a skagit head and see what the little rod can do.