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.
