I know water is the essential ingredient for trout and memories of prolonged drought back home in Australia are ever-present, so it’s hard to begrudge rain. But three wet December trips in a row to the West Coast are starting to make me wonder what I’ve done to upset the flyfishing gods!
In these not so uncommon conditions for this region, it takes some resolve, a positive attitude, quality raincoats and some local knowledge to avoid a severe case of the blues. A single malt, a roaring fire and the promise of a well-stocked fridge with good food waiting for us at the end of the day helped.
What to do? Fortunately sound advice from experienced mates and previous experience ensured that clear water could be found. In our case the Crooked and Haupiri Rivers remained clear if not crystal. Lakes and spring creeks were saviours (again) while other rivers ran high and dirty.
The limited available options however did provide some great highlights, such as a lovely spring creek brown rising without a care and without hesitation taking my dry, or the sighted brute on the Crooked River just below the bridge taking my Hare & Copper on my first cast of the day. On the same stretch another lovely brown was caught in difficult if not dangerous water only a rod length and a half away before we eventually got ‘gorged out’.
The lakes!!! Ahh, the agony and the ecstasy! Dragonflies (even these are huge in NZ) were on the menu and big – I’m talking trophy-sized – fish put on quite a show. Leaping high out of the water and crashing back with such force they could be seen and heard several hundred metres away, and beyond casting range unfortunately. The same lake also produced some spectacular polaroiding from the high banks to trout cruising in water so shallow it defied logic.
For some weird reason lake trout this trip were easy to polaroid but hard to catch. Yet as soon as darkness blanketed the millpond water it was game on! Very exciting fishing with feel and heightened senses our only tools. The anticipation and the violence of the take in complete silence and darkness was intoxicating.
The weather finally cleared and we fished some beautiful remote waters. Spotting 20-30 fish a day was de rigueur but again I have to ask what I’ve done to upset those piscatorial supreme beings in the sky? The trout were in an advanced state of paranoia and presenting a fly without spooking them (which in turn spooked their mates up ahead) became a serious challenge and a great source of frustration.
Eventually perseverance (or was it the sacrificial offerings of a broken Z-Axis?) and new pair of Spotters did the trick with some beautiful trout caught, mainly on dries.
Overall, a great trip and some solid fish caught, but I really do have to ask, what might have been considering the chances we had?
A couple of snapshots:
“Hmmm, we never see a fish in this amazing pool.” Then as we approach the water there are four oversized trout lined up in a row, darting in and out eating nymphs.
Presentation is everything as a 6 pounder tries to eat the dry fly trailing behind me!
“Where are all the cows we normally see on this farm?” Minutes later a herd of about 100 materialise from nowhere and remain close all the way to the river’s edge; you could pat the things. Annoyed, we cross the river to ‘lesser’ water to find several big browns feeding off the surface!
