West Coast Trout, the one that got away

This is the story of a one week long trip I had on the South Islands West Coast.  I had walked in alone, over untracked, rough, and mountainous terrain for a day and a half to reach my chosen fishing grounds.  When I arrived I found a beautiful gin clear river, small enough to cross easily in most areas, yet large enough to offer plenty of cover to a healthy population of large trout.

On my first day I had found some superb fishing in the main river, catching around a dozen brown trout in the 2.5-3.5 kg range and in some of the most scenic surroundings I have found anywhere. 

My true goal for the trip however had been to fish a small feeder stream entering the main stem about half an hour walk below my camp.  I had chosen to hit it on my second day of fishing and so found myself arriving at the stream mouth in the early morning gloom awaiting the sun to bring a little more light to the sky.  As the stream was revealed by the rising sun I found that it was considerably smaller than I had expected, much narrower and swifter than the stretch I had fished the previous day, yet still very attractive trout water.  As I moved up around the first bend I approached a long, shallow glide which looked as good a place as any to find a trout. 

Predictably, as I drew nearer I found two large black smudges swaying in the current as they fed quietly on nymphs.  Quickly assembling my rod with a small pheasant tail nymph, I flicked my fly upstream to the nearer and larger of the two fish.  Just as I had seen many times the fish swayed to the side without hesitation and gobbled my offerings, a quick raise of the rod and I was in.  Clearly a decent sized fish it seemed relatively unfazed by the hook in its mouth and rather than tearing up the pool, it dove straight to the bottom and sat doggedly shaking its head and not giving an inch.  However after about ten minutes the fish finally began to tire and I brought it to the surface and soon after, the net.  A quick weigh revealed a 3.5 kg brown, so I photographed it and slipped him back into the steam to fight another day. 

I carried on upstream catching three more nice fish when at around 11am I realised I had not seen a trout in over an hour and had been travelling through fairly poor habitat.  Beginning to think I had exhausted all the water this stream had to offer I was thinking of turning back, however I allowed my need to see around the next corner to take charge and so carried on.  Right on cue, around the very next corner I spied a pool which looked like it could hold a fish.  As I got closer I found that the pool was perhaps only about 6 meters long but so deep I could not even make out the bottom despite the near gin clear water.  Peering into the depths I caught a glimpses of a dark shape weaving around, perhaps a trick of the light or perhaps a fish I sat down on a boulder and ate a snack while casually watching the shape occasionally visible in the pool.  Finishing my rest and convinced that there was never a fish there at all I began to pack up, when from the depths the dark shape began to rise until it reached just below the surface and gulped in a morsel revealing itself as a very large fish before disappearing into the deep once more.  Suddenly on edge I crept back to the tail of the pool and changed my rig, removing the dry and adding another rod length to my leader I had a total leader length of over 7m.  I attached a heavily weighted bead head hair and copper to the end and began the difficult task of presenting my awkward rig to the fish hiding somewhere in the depths below me.  It took perhaps 5 attempts before I achieved an adequate drift though the pool, crouching in the knee deep water I watched carefully as my rig drifted through the swirling blue water.  Perhaps at the midpoint of the pool I spied the trout rising again but this time in the vicinity of my fly, it glided up until about a meter below the surface and then it was gone again.  Suddenly aware I could no longer see my indicator; I gave a significantly belated strike and was rewarded with solid resistance on the end of my line.  Knowing that this was possibly my largest ever trout I played it carefully for over five minutes during which time the trout remained on the bottom stubbornly shaking its head as it moved up and down the pool.  After what seemed like an eternity, during which time the fish refused to give an inch, the dreaded happened and the trout wedged itself under a rock.  Cursing to myself for allowing the fish too much freedom I proceeded to try every method I knew of to free my quarry from the snag but it was all to no avail, the fish was securely sulking in its hole.  In a last ditch effort to free my fish I began to use more and more pressure, tightening my line I once again began to feel the movements of the fishes body offering me a little hope, when I went too far and the unthinkable happened, I broke through the tippet which had been rubbing on the rocks and I lost my monster trout.  Cursing out loud to myself I collected my gear and sulked upstream in search of a consolation prize.  The river after that point began to open up considerably and I found a number of nice pools, I successfully landed two more fat trout in the region of 3kg as well as loosing another big one in a similar fashion.  

I walked back to camp that day somewhat disappointed that I had lost such a large fish but also in awe of the amazing experience I had just had.  I continued fishing in the catchment for another two days before making the trek home.  The fishing I had found was some of the best fishing I had ever had and the trip had been the biggest adventure of my fishing life.  This river is definitely one I hope to return to one day, however due to its isolation and the difficulty I went through to reach it I am not sure when that day will be.  I just hope it’s soon.