Half a year

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day tripping

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

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

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