This years opening day for me was really a 1 hour dash out to a river, and back home again before the small(ish) kids woke up and demanded feeding. At 5:30 am it was only 3 degrees Celsius, with a light, but cold southwesterly breeze blowing off the tops which had been dusted with snow the day before.
No fish were spotted in the first pool that I visited on the Twizel, possibly because it was still pretty dark. At pool number two, a couple of amorous rainbows were chasing each other around the shallow run, while a more sensible fish had taken up a feeding position against the deep shelf entering the pool. He was keeping warm by nailing any submarine aquatic invertebrates that drifted past. I was feeling a bit cold (read here sluggish), so didn't bother changing to a nymph, and kept the biggest, dirtiest brown Humpy (a size 10 I think) you've ever seen on the line. This I unceremoniously crash landed onto the surface about a meter and a half opposite the feeding fish. Instead of diving for the deep, the fish saw an opportunity and chased the fly down stream 5 or 6 metres, before sucking it down greedily.
Ahhh, I do love the take. Still in his traditional post spawning shabby condition, the trout had the smarts to get a little bit aerial and shake the hook without too much trouble and headed for the willow clump. the two lovers on the far side had thought better of their antics with that sort of commotion going on, and also headed for cover.
There was time for one more pool, so I headed to the Fraser, separated from the Twizel by one paddock at this point. The first stretch that I laid eyes on immediately showed up 3 fish feeding on nymphs. Time was running short, so I made half a dozen flicks at the most likely looking candidate with a beaded pheasant tail nymph. On the 5th 'one last cast' the fine young brown whirled down and had a crack, but I was already in the process of flicking the ly out of the water when he turned, which confused the fish terribly, so it sulked off to the depths.
By now it was time go home and start on some pancakes for breakfast, and besides, I was still darn cold, so I was pretty keen to bail.
Overall, Opening day was a mixed bag in the Mackenzie according to most people that I talked to, there being more fisherman than fish on some stretches. When things warmed up on Sunday, a few more fish seemed to be on the feed, one of which came to the net above Lake Poaka in the mid afternoon during a family outing. Water levels look reasonably low, and dropping fast, and Didymo seems to be not too bad. here's hoping for a decent bit of rain in the alps over the next week or so to keep the rivers full for the near future.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Ahuriri on a Calm Day
The most enchanting moment fly fishing, I think, is the take. It's the instant that you spend sometimes hours anticipating, and is the culmination of all of the 'hard' parts of fly fishing. it is certainly the most enjoyable part of the fishing experience for me. When you miss the take and whip the fly out of the quarry’s mouth, the air turns blue with frustration, but when you get it right, it's all on for young and old.
Being the birthday boy last Monday, I took they afternoon off, and tickled down to the Ahuriri river with my wife, Sarah. The day was stunning, with hardly any wind and picture perfect blue skies. Fishing the river surrounded by lupins, at the feet of the clay cliffs was an opportunity to catch fish in a postcard.
The Ahuriri is a highly regarded river, noted especially for it's high stocks of Rainbow Trout. we had a quick lunch at the clay cliffs, and then left Sarah with her novel under the shade of a willow tree and went for a fish. two hours and 400 meters of river later, I had not seen a single fish. Considering that the day before I had spotted a trout feeding 50 meters downstream out of the corner of my eye while supervising the kids swimming, I was feeling pretty disappointed with my fish spotting ability.
Disillusioned with blindly thrashing the water with a Royal Wulff - Beaded Pheasant Tail combo, I was about to call it quits for the day when a young nose poked out of the water just upstream. I quickly removed the nymph from the combo and (quite deftly, I might add) presented the Royal Wulff just upstream of the target. Not too often do I get a take on the first cast, but the day started to come right. The barely visible green back whirled downstream as the dry floated past, and her snout magically appeared and sipped down the fly. First time round, I missed the hook-up, possibly being a bit quick to strike, but the youngster returned to her position, and kept feeding, unconcerned about the fly which escaped. two casts later, she
turned and followed, sucking the size 12 down enthusiastically. Determined to not make the same mistake twice, I waited until she turned upstream before setting the hook.....and the game was on.
One of the factors that make the Ahuriri an exciting river to fish is that the river is relatively large (by new Zealand standards), and once a hard fighting rainbow get's into the main flow of the river, they have an awful lot of energy working to help the fish and the fly part company. This particular 1-1.5 pounder didn't delay in doing just that, and bolted from her feeding station at the rivers edge, right in to the middle of the river. Instead of the expected acrobatics display. I'm pretty sure that what happened next involved a snag of some description, possibly a large rock. The young fish lodged itself on the bottom of the river, and didn't really move for about 20 seconds, then bang, she was gone. While feeling pretty gutted that it got away, I was encouraged that the one fish seen had managed to be hooked, and if one had been seen on the immediate stretch, there must be more.
Sure enough, about a hundred meters upstream, the escapee’s larger cousin was feeding voraciously. The water was about a meter deep, with the seemingly well conditioned rainbow sheltering behind a couple of good sized rocks that rendered the flow to almost nil in their lee.
Once again, the first cast produced a take, but I failed to set the hook. The fish had swung well down towards me, and after the take seemed to disappear. Hoping that it hadn't been spooked, I placed a few more casts into the lie, but they turned up nothing. Frustration was about to get the better of me when the familiar swirl of a feeding trout in the lie. Once more it disappeared, and it occurred that the fish was not holding where I saw the rises, but possibly a couple of meters further upstream. Sure enough, a couple of cast's above the rock tempted the invisible fish out of hiding, and a good hook-up occurred.
In the same fashion as last time, she made a beeline for the middle. This time it didn't stop, and tore off downstream aided by the ample current. I tore off in pursuit, along the base of the vertical bank from whence I had come. The fish just kept going. I kept stripping out line, tripped over, banged the elbow, nd waded around an inconveniently placed Rose Briar. Thankfully she only bolted once, and from here I was able to bring her into the net fairly soon after.
At two and a half pounds she wasn't huge, but was well proportioned. She certainly hadn't spawned this year. The fly 'self released' in the net, so I let her slip out quietly back into the river.
Three hours of fishing to see two fish wasn't great, but the last 10 minutes had produced enough excitement for the day. Instead of backtracking downstream, I elected to nudge up the bank and cut across the rose briar clad hillside to the 4WD track that led back to the car, Sarah, and he novel
Not a bad way to spend your birthday.
Being the birthday boy last Monday, I took they afternoon off, and tickled down to the Ahuriri river with my wife, Sarah. The day was stunning, with hardly any wind and picture perfect blue skies. Fishing the river surrounded by lupins, at the feet of the clay cliffs was an opportunity to catch fish in a postcard.
The Ahuriri is a highly regarded river, noted especially for it's high stocks of Rainbow Trout. we had a quick lunch at the clay cliffs, and then left Sarah with her novel under the shade of a willow tree and went for a fish. two hours and 400 meters of river later, I had not seen a single fish. Considering that the day before I had spotted a trout feeding 50 meters downstream out of the corner of my eye while supervising the kids swimming, I was feeling pretty disappointed with my fish spotting ability.
Disillusioned with blindly thrashing the water with a Royal Wulff - Beaded Pheasant Tail combo, I was about to call it quits for the day when a young nose poked out of the water just upstream. I quickly removed the nymph from the combo and (quite deftly, I might add) presented the Royal Wulff just upstream of the target. Not too often do I get a take on the first cast, but the day started to come right. The barely visible green back whirled downstream as the dry floated past, and her snout magically appeared and sipped down the fly. First time round, I missed the hook-up, possibly being a bit quick to strike, but the youngster returned to her position, and kept feeding, unconcerned about the fly which escaped. two casts later, she
turned and followed, sucking the size 12 down enthusiastically. Determined to not make the same mistake twice, I waited until she turned upstream before setting the hook.....and the game was on.
One of the factors that make the Ahuriri an exciting river to fish is that the river is relatively large (by new Zealand standards), and once a hard fighting rainbow get's into the main flow of the river, they have an awful lot of energy working to help the fish and the fly part company. This particular 1-1.5 pounder didn't delay in doing just that, and bolted from her feeding station at the rivers edge, right in to the middle of the river. Instead of the expected acrobatics display. I'm pretty sure that what happened next involved a snag of some description, possibly a large rock. The young fish lodged itself on the bottom of the river, and didn't really move for about 20 seconds, then bang, she was gone. While feeling pretty gutted that it got away, I was encouraged that the one fish seen had managed to be hooked, and if one had been seen on the immediate stretch, there must be more.
Sure enough, about a hundred meters upstream, the escapee’s larger cousin was feeding voraciously. The water was about a meter deep, with the seemingly well conditioned rainbow sheltering behind a couple of good sized rocks that rendered the flow to almost nil in their lee.
Once again, the first cast produced a take, but I failed to set the hook. The fish had swung well down towards me, and after the take seemed to disappear. Hoping that it hadn't been spooked, I placed a few more casts into the lie, but they turned up nothing. Frustration was about to get the better of me when the familiar swirl of a feeding trout in the lie. Once more it disappeared, and it occurred that the fish was not holding where I saw the rises, but possibly a couple of meters further upstream. Sure enough, a couple of cast's above the rock tempted the invisible fish out of hiding, and a good hook-up occurred.
In the same fashion as last time, she made a beeline for the middle. This time it didn't stop, and tore off downstream aided by the ample current. I tore off in pursuit, along the base of the vertical bank from whence I had come. The fish just kept going. I kept stripping out line, tripped over, banged the elbow, nd waded around an inconveniently placed Rose Briar. Thankfully she only bolted once, and from here I was able to bring her into the net fairly soon after.
At two and a half pounds she wasn't huge, but was well proportioned. She certainly hadn't spawned this year. The fly 'self released' in the net, so I let her slip out quietly back into the river.
Three hours of fishing to see two fish wasn't great, but the last 10 minutes had produced enough excitement for the day. Instead of backtracking downstream, I elected to nudge up the bank and cut across the rose briar clad hillside to the 4WD track that led back to the car, Sarah, and he novel
Not a bad way to spend your birthday.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Lower Twizel River Recce
Two days back I shot down the Ohau Rd to recce the lower section of the Twizel river, in an effort to get downstream of a few good spring fed creeks where I hoped to combat the rapidly dropping levels further upstream.
bad news though, the 400m upstream of the lower ford is racked with Didymo, and din't seem to hold many fish. in the hour and a half I spent looking and blind casting, I only saw one fish, albeit a good sized one. hopefully a decent flood event will flush the dreaded rock-snot out.
bad news though, the 400m upstream of the lower ford is racked with Didymo, and din't seem to hold many fish. in the hour and a half I spent looking and blind casting, I only saw one fish, albeit a good sized one. hopefully a decent flood event will flush the dreaded rock-snot out.
River Levels Dropping
Most of the rivers that are not sourced from the main divide in the Southern Alps are dropping in level rapidly as hot, dry norwesters have been consistently hitting the region all through spring and early summer.
The larger rivers, sourced from large snowfields and the main divide are getting enough melt and 'spill-over' from the West Coast rain that they are holding their level reasonably well.
These conditions saw me heading up to the Ohau River on a few nights back looking to repeat the same results achieved on the Fraser with an evening hatch, except on a river that is about ten times the size. There's heaps of didymo in the Ohau too, but it holds heaps of fish, and doesn't get as much pressure as many of the rivers up here.
There had been a cool easterly blowing up some cool sea air for the first time in a few weeks, and the lower air temperature seemed to affect the sedge hatch on the river. Arriving at the river around nine was a bit early, so I spent a lot of time sitting on the bank and not doing much, waiting for some fish to show themselves in a 100 m long run that was smooth and slow moving. one cruised past close by, but not much was happening until about 10:00.
At the same time as a small hatch broke out, half of Timaru appeared to come spotlighting down the far bank of the river, which was normally OK, until somebody let rip with a shotgun at a rabbit in the general direction of yours truly. I let rip with a few choice words at full volumem, which sent them off to recklessly discharge firearms somewhere else.
Now where was I? Ahh yes, the hatch. A few quiet 'plops' punctuated the near silence, one fish just down-stream and three meters off the bank became quite active. moving below it on the river bank, I managed to get some good dead-drifts past the fish going on. It took a few casts to elicit a take, but as the light faded he kept rising in the same position, and finally took the imitation - a Dads Favourite I think. The 2lb rainbow put up a struggle akin to a fish much bigger, and took some ten minutes to finally land. I was keen to release it, but as I slipped it into the net it flopped off the rim of the net and up onto the river bank. after a few seconds of thrashing on the rocks it was looking a bit worse for wear, so I elected to bang it on the head, and take it home for tomorrows tea, instead of risking it failing to recover from it's injuries while on shore.
The moon was up, but covered in cloud, which made the now rather sporadic rises hard to pick, so home we went. So far on similar sorties the Ohau hasn't produced spectacular fishing, but I'm pretty confident that on a warm, still night, some sections of the river have a lot of potential. will keep you posted.
The larger rivers, sourced from large snowfields and the main divide are getting enough melt and 'spill-over' from the West Coast rain that they are holding their level reasonably well.
These conditions saw me heading up to the Ohau River on a few nights back looking to repeat the same results achieved on the Fraser with an evening hatch, except on a river that is about ten times the size. There's heaps of didymo in the Ohau too, but it holds heaps of fish, and doesn't get as much pressure as many of the rivers up here.
There had been a cool easterly blowing up some cool sea air for the first time in a few weeks, and the lower air temperature seemed to affect the sedge hatch on the river. Arriving at the river around nine was a bit early, so I spent a lot of time sitting on the bank and not doing much, waiting for some fish to show themselves in a 100 m long run that was smooth and slow moving. one cruised past close by, but not much was happening until about 10:00.
At the same time as a small hatch broke out, half of Timaru appeared to come spotlighting down the far bank of the river, which was normally OK, until somebody let rip with a shotgun at a rabbit in the general direction of yours truly. I let rip with a few choice words at full volumem, which sent them off to recklessly discharge firearms somewhere else.
Now where was I? Ahh yes, the hatch. A few quiet 'plops' punctuated the near silence, one fish just down-stream and three meters off the bank became quite active. moving below it on the river bank, I managed to get some good dead-drifts past the fish going on. It took a few casts to elicit a take, but as the light faded he kept rising in the same position, and finally took the imitation - a Dads Favourite I think. The 2lb rainbow put up a struggle akin to a fish much bigger, and took some ten minutes to finally land. I was keen to release it, but as I slipped it into the net it flopped off the rim of the net and up onto the river bank. after a few seconds of thrashing on the rocks it was looking a bit worse for wear, so I elected to bang it on the head, and take it home for tomorrows tea, instead of risking it failing to recover from it's injuries while on shore.
The moon was up, but covered in cloud, which made the now rather sporadic rises hard to pick, so home we went. So far on similar sorties the Ohau hasn't produced spectacular fishing, but I'm pretty confident that on a warm, still night, some sections of the river have a lot of potential. will keep you posted.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Epic Evening Rise
Being a somewhat kept man, I'm not usually alowed out too much after the 6:00pm curfew, but last night was a notable exception. After attending to a work related call at about 8:30pm, I decided it was high time to have a bit of a look at how the small streams in the area go at night. It was a bit of a pleasant suprise.
I managed to hook up two or three fish in the Twizel and land one while there was still daylight. When it finally got dark at about 10:00, I snuck over to a spring fed stream that always runs a lot colder than the Twizel, and predominantly holds Browns . The stream had literally come to life. A somewhat monster hatch of mayflies was underway, keeping the air thick with flying things.
A mate of mine who I do a bit of rabbit shooting with reckons that for every rabbit you see, you've walked past 6. After last nights display of trout numbers after dark, it would be fair to say the same thing about trout. Whenever I visit this stretch, I usually only spot a fish or two. A momentary pause as I approached a long slow moving run in the stream revealed an almost constant sound of 'plop'...'plop' as fish sipped insect after insect out of the surface film all up and down the run.
The Moon was at that kind-of fingernail phase, so there wasn't much light at all. There was just enough to reveal the ever increasing rings of each rise nearby, but spotting where the size 12 Dad's Favourite fly landed or drifted was nothing but informed guesswork.
The next hour and a half was spent casting to the vicinity of a recent rise, and watching/listening for a take somewhere close to where I thought the fly might be. This was kind of tricky, as there were always other fish, sometimes right by my feet ditracting me as they grabbed something off the surface.
I must have missed about twelve to fifteen takes (due to the guesswork) and hooked up positively about seven times. Only 3 fish came to the net, as there is no shortage of submerged obstacles along the deep sided banks for the wily browns to wrap a tippet around. Each of the fish that I landed were in pretty good condition, and were full of determination not to be netted. They didn't tend to run too far up or downstream, but whenever they came close to the net, put in a burst of pace back into the middle of the stream before settling down again.
It was about 11:00 when Sarah dropped me a text message telling me I was a naughty boy for staying out so late. Despite having a fiesty trout on the end of the leader, I replied that 'I'd be home soon, and that txting one-handed with out losing a fish is a bit tricky....gotta go'
After landing and returning the fish to the water, I snuck home to bed to find Sarah fast asleep.
The intensity of the hatch was a bit of a suprise, as was the number of fish in the streams that normally you just don't see during daylight hours. I reckon that a change in curfew might be in order over the next few weeks......
I managed to hook up two or three fish in the Twizel and land one while there was still daylight. When it finally got dark at about 10:00, I snuck over to a spring fed stream that always runs a lot colder than the Twizel, and predominantly holds Browns . The stream had literally come to life. A somewhat monster hatch of mayflies was underway, keeping the air thick with flying things.
A mate of mine who I do a bit of rabbit shooting with reckons that for every rabbit you see, you've walked past 6. After last nights display of trout numbers after dark, it would be fair to say the same thing about trout. Whenever I visit this stretch, I usually only spot a fish or two. A momentary pause as I approached a long slow moving run in the stream revealed an almost constant sound of 'plop'...'plop' as fish sipped insect after insect out of the surface film all up and down the run.
The Moon was at that kind-of fingernail phase, so there wasn't much light at all. There was just enough to reveal the ever increasing rings of each rise nearby, but spotting where the size 12 Dad's Favourite fly landed or drifted was nothing but informed guesswork.
The next hour and a half was spent casting to the vicinity of a recent rise, and watching/listening for a take somewhere close to where I thought the fly might be. This was kind of tricky, as there were always other fish, sometimes right by my feet ditracting me as they grabbed something off the surface.
I must have missed about twelve to fifteen takes (due to the guesswork) and hooked up positively about seven times. Only 3 fish came to the net, as there is no shortage of submerged obstacles along the deep sided banks for the wily browns to wrap a tippet around. Each of the fish that I landed were in pretty good condition, and were full of determination not to be netted. They didn't tend to run too far up or downstream, but whenever they came close to the net, put in a burst of pace back into the middle of the stream before settling down again.
It was about 11:00 when Sarah dropped me a text message telling me I was a naughty boy for staying out so late. Despite having a fiesty trout on the end of the leader, I replied that 'I'd be home soon, and that txting one-handed with out losing a fish is a bit tricky....gotta go'
After landing and returning the fish to the water, I snuck home to bed to find Sarah fast asleep.
The intensity of the hatch was a bit of a suprise, as was the number of fish in the streams that normally you just don't see during daylight hours. I reckon that a change in curfew might be in order over the next few weeks......
Fish Condition Improving Rapidly
The Christmas Season is well known for it's propensity for adding some extra pounds to one or two of us, and it seems like the trout in the Mackenzie Basin are partaking of some yuletide feasting also.........
The morning started with a light frost (yep, it's summer), so there was a bit of a delay getting down the road as the windshield needed some time to thaw out. The whole frost thing prescribes that the air is rather cold, which took me a bit by suprise, so I hit the river right on sunrise with gloves covering my cold little fingies. Gloves suck for tying on flies and tippets tippets etc, so off they came before my fingers could recover from the initial shock of stepping outside the front door of the house.
Twenty minutes later, after much frozen fumbling, I got a fresh tippet and fly tied on and attempted couple of blind casts into a likely looking pool - no movement was to be detected. After crossing the mist-shrouded stream (yet another shock to the senses), I bumbled across a paddock through icy grass to a consistent pool that is always worth a quick look before work. At this point, I think the water temerature was a whole lot warmer than the air temp, so there was no hesitaion in getting back into ankle deep water as I approached the most likely piece of holding water in the stretch. Hesitation would have been a good option, as no sooner did I step into the pool that a movement a meter or two upstream caught my eye. Disturbed by the graunching rocks as I entered the water a solid trout of about 6-7 lb worked his way into a murky backwater only meteres away. he didn't bolt, but just ensured that whatever made the noise wouldn't get a chance to have a go at him. Slow learner! That was the second time I'd spooked a fish on entering the water in this pool while in a hurry to get to the 'sexy' water just upstream.......
The Sun started to come up and the air rapid began to warm rapidly. The black humpies I bought off trademe last season have been getting a hding, and today was no exception. 3rd cast along the steepening bank near the head of the pool elicited a response from a well concealed 2-4 lb rainbow, who spat the dummy within seconds of rather spirited thrashing midway through the water column.
Confident that the last 10 meters or so of the pool head was still relatively undisturbed, I kept casting blindly at some very high-percentage looking water. 2 more casts later a less impressive fish of the same species rose enthusiastically to the humpy. This time the hook up was solid. She had a lot of guts for a small fish, putting four or five spectacular leaps in before stripping the line off as she tore downstream into the well defined, fast moving channel below the pool. Five minutes later, after chasing her down to the rapid and coaxing her into some quieter water, she came to the net.
The trout would only have tipped the scales around 2lb at the most, but was in much better condition than any of the rainbows in the rivers have been of late. Her body had lost the gaunt, post spawning look and her deep flanks and shimmering colours made for an impressive sight. Not needing any meat for the table this week I slipped her back into the water and enjoyed watching her disappear into the rapids for cover.
Work-time was nearing, so I almost skipped back to the car and headed off to do whatever it is that I'm supposed to do when I'm not fishing.
The morning started with a light frost (yep, it's summer), so there was a bit of a delay getting down the road as the windshield needed some time to thaw out. The whole frost thing prescribes that the air is rather cold, which took me a bit by suprise, so I hit the river right on sunrise with gloves covering my cold little fingies. Gloves suck for tying on flies and tippets tippets etc, so off they came before my fingers could recover from the initial shock of stepping outside the front door of the house.
Twenty minutes later, after much frozen fumbling, I got a fresh tippet and fly tied on and attempted couple of blind casts into a likely looking pool - no movement was to be detected. After crossing the mist-shrouded stream (yet another shock to the senses), I bumbled across a paddock through icy grass to a consistent pool that is always worth a quick look before work. At this point, I think the water temerature was a whole lot warmer than the air temp, so there was no hesitaion in getting back into ankle deep water as I approached the most likely piece of holding water in the stretch. Hesitation would have been a good option, as no sooner did I step into the pool that a movement a meter or two upstream caught my eye. Disturbed by the graunching rocks as I entered the water a solid trout of about 6-7 lb worked his way into a murky backwater only meteres away. he didn't bolt, but just ensured that whatever made the noise wouldn't get a chance to have a go at him. Slow learner! That was the second time I'd spooked a fish on entering the water in this pool while in a hurry to get to the 'sexy' water just upstream.......
The Sun started to come up and the air rapid began to warm rapidly. The black humpies I bought off trademe last season have been getting a hding, and today was no exception. 3rd cast along the steepening bank near the head of the pool elicited a response from a well concealed 2-4 lb rainbow, who spat the dummy within seconds of rather spirited thrashing midway through the water column.
Confident that the last 10 meters or so of the pool head was still relatively undisturbed, I kept casting blindly at some very high-percentage looking water. 2 more casts later a less impressive fish of the same species rose enthusiastically to the humpy. This time the hook up was solid. She had a lot of guts for a small fish, putting four or five spectacular leaps in before stripping the line off as she tore downstream into the well defined, fast moving channel below the pool. Five minutes later, after chasing her down to the rapid and coaxing her into some quieter water, she came to the net.
The trout would only have tipped the scales around 2lb at the most, but was in much better condition than any of the rainbows in the rivers have been of late. Her body had lost the gaunt, post spawning look and her deep flanks and shimmering colours made for an impressive sight. Not needing any meat for the table this week I slipped her back into the water and enjoyed watching her disappear into the rapids for cover.
Work-time was nearing, so I almost skipped back to the car and headed off to do whatever it is that I'm supposed to do when I'm not fishing.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Cool Damp and Windy
The title is about all there is to say about the fishing conditions over the last few days.
The rivers that are sourced from the main divide are in full flood, while the high country rivers sourced in the foothills are all running high and clear. Saturday and Sunday saw some fresh snow on the tops, which is uncommon but not an outlandish sight at this time of year. Hopefully the extra bit of snow and rain will ensure that the river levels will remain reasonable for a few weeks to come.
The fish are moving and rising to dry flys where visibility avails - I hooked two and landed one this morning, right after he stripped me out to my backing. Go the mighty humpy!
The wind has hardly stopped, with gales on Saturday and Sunday, but generally calmer in the early morning and late evening.
The worst days fishing is still better than the best day at work, so get out there and get your hat blown off, your fly snagged in a tree, and your feet wet!
The rivers that are sourced from the main divide are in full flood, while the high country rivers sourced in the foothills are all running high and clear. Saturday and Sunday saw some fresh snow on the tops, which is uncommon but not an outlandish sight at this time of year. Hopefully the extra bit of snow and rain will ensure that the river levels will remain reasonable for a few weeks to come.
The fish are moving and rising to dry flys where visibility avails - I hooked two and landed one this morning, right after he stripped me out to my backing. Go the mighty humpy!
The wind has hardly stopped, with gales on Saturday and Sunday, but generally calmer in the early morning and late evening.
The worst days fishing is still better than the best day at work, so get out there and get your hat blown off, your fly snagged in a tree, and your feet wet!
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
There's More To Fishing Than Fishing
Some clever fella once said that there is so much more to fishing than just fishing. Wise words. After a somewhat tiresome meeting last Wednesday night, I dropped Sarah a quick SMS to advise that "I was going fishing and I may be some time".
A few mates had been telling stories of the beautifully conditioned, but extremely elusive trout that reside in Lake Poaka. The lake is relatively deep for its size, definately not tarn-like, and is fed by a constant supply of clean, well oxygenated water from the upper Twizel river. Poaka outlets below the Pukaki Canal into the lower Twizel. A couple of family picnics had revealed large numbers of well condtioned trout that cruise the extensive weed & silt beds. Restricted to fly-fishing only, the lake doesn't receive a lot of pressure, and the amount of willow trees lining the shore give limited access for a fly cast. These conditions are certainly conducive to good numbers of good fish, and also to stories of what a difficult place for an angler to catch a feed.
Exicted by the prospect of solid fish numbers, unfazed by other reports of difficult fishing, and jaded from the busyness of life, I jumped into the truck and bumbled up to Poaka for a look around. It was about 1/2 an hour before sunset, and a light nor-easter was dredging up the odd cool gust from the coast. As I rigged up the #6, I kept a close eye on the piece of water that I intended to fish. The evening rise was being adversley affected by the breeze, but every few minutes a slight lull would render the water glasslike. Nothing much was hatching off the surface until the breeze abated, and then a few sedge would appear. If the lull lasted long enough, the
odd swirl would materialise as a trout sucked it's prey off the surface film. Not a huge amount of action, but enough to give away the presence of a feeding fish, if only I could get close enough.
The simplest spot to put in an unobstructed cast looked to be in a small neck that is used as a ford for anyone owning an SUV, and carries a considerable flow as the lake steps down into the outlet area. The flow of the lake built considerably where it entered the neck, and I hoped that it would hold a fish in one position, as opposed to the rest of the lake where the trout predominantly cruise.
Being an impatient sort joker I quietly waded knee deep into the ford. The Black Hills stood above the western end of the lake, shrouded in a golding sky. A few canada geese glided into the northern shore, and a sense of genuine well-being enveloped the entire place. The worries of our self-made, pre-christmas chaos seemed to drain out of my boots as the current pulled past.
I probably stood there for an hour and a half. Partly watching for fish surfacing within casting distance, but mostly enjoying the moment.
A disturbance in the water at my feet revealed a large brown working his way upstream, aware of human presence but not alarmed enough to bolt. Instead he quietly increased his determination to head up stream, and purposefully worked his way into the deep safety of the weedbeds.
With each lull in the breeze, the wind-driven ripples were replaced by the telltale rings created from feeding fish. Few were within casting distance, and none were appearing in the same spot with any regularity. finally, a fish seemed to go to work on the surface, rising every minute or so to slurp a newly hatched insect off the surface. The fish was parked about 6-7 meters upstream and a similar distance to the right, close to the shore. Her position was such that a steady supply of food was floating past, but was yet to pick up the speed that was whipping past my legs. A size 16 twiglight beauty was the pre-made descision, and a couple of casts went out, presenting relatively roughly, and a little short of the target. Drag was proving to be a problem too, as fishing upand across to the fish meant that the flyline was at the mercy of the every-increading current below her lie.
Feeding out some extra line and forceing a 'wiggle' in the line bought a few more seconds of dead-drift, as did some creative mending as the fly was about to drag. all up the best I could get out of this spot was about 5-7 seconds from the time that the fly hit the water to the time that the fly looked more like a microscopic water skier getting down the lake. The odds were stacked against the angler, for sure.
Nervous that I may have spooked the animal with the first casts, I impatiently wated for a few minutes to see if she would continue feeding. As the light and my hope faded, I reflected that returning home with out a fish would not be too fazing as the whole experience had been like medicine. A definitive swirl indicated that she was unalarmed and hungry. Ahh well, give it a nudge and go home, I guess.. A higher back-cast gave a bit more control and I planted a decent presentation on the water. Nothing. Casted again. nothing. The third cast seemed to do the trick and just as the little black fly threatened to start dragging, the water boiled and the imitation was taken.
A quick three-count and a gentle tightening of the line set the tiny hook firmly. In the near darkness, the fish seemed relatively unalarmed, oblicvious to the danger that it was in, and mostly just keen to remove the odd discomfort in it's mouth. Quietly I moved towards the fish, winding slowly, until she got the message, made a couple of airbourne bids for freedom, then ran out into the lake. I was keen to steer the fish well clear of the willow choked current below our position, but the trout was equally cognisant of the unfair advantage that the piece of water provided. As she worked her way across and down towards the faster water, I applied as much strain as I dared to encourage her back up stream. It was so dark now that the line was invisible except for the first couple of meters leaving the rod, so her exact postion was a bit of a guess
until she disturbed the surface every so often. The increasing darkness certainly held the advantage that the fish was less aware of my location, and was quickly netted when she began to tire.
A well conditioned Brown hen tipped the scales at 4lb, her lack of length was more than made up by her thick back and deep flanks. needing to keep real the justification of going out for some man-alone-time, I dispatched her with 95 yr old Grandad's hand-turned beech baton, and made for the car.
There is definately more to fishing than just fishing.
A few mates had been telling stories of the beautifully conditioned, but extremely elusive trout that reside in Lake Poaka. The lake is relatively deep for its size, definately not tarn-like, and is fed by a constant supply of clean, well oxygenated water from the upper Twizel river. Poaka outlets below the Pukaki Canal into the lower Twizel. A couple of family picnics had revealed large numbers of well condtioned trout that cruise the extensive weed & silt beds. Restricted to fly-fishing only, the lake doesn't receive a lot of pressure, and the amount of willow trees lining the shore give limited access for a fly cast. These conditions are certainly conducive to good numbers of good fish, and also to stories of what a difficult place for an angler to catch a feed.
Exicted by the prospect of solid fish numbers, unfazed by other reports of difficult fishing, and jaded from the busyness of life, I jumped into the truck and bumbled up to Poaka for a look around. It was about 1/2 an hour before sunset, and a light nor-easter was dredging up the odd cool gust from the coast. As I rigged up the #6, I kept a close eye on the piece of water that I intended to fish. The evening rise was being adversley affected by the breeze, but every few minutes a slight lull would render the water glasslike. Nothing much was hatching off the surface until the breeze abated, and then a few sedge would appear. If the lull lasted long enough, the
odd swirl would materialise as a trout sucked it's prey off the surface film. Not a huge amount of action, but enough to give away the presence of a feeding fish, if only I could get close enough.
The simplest spot to put in an unobstructed cast looked to be in a small neck that is used as a ford for anyone owning an SUV, and carries a considerable flow as the lake steps down into the outlet area. The flow of the lake built considerably where it entered the neck, and I hoped that it would hold a fish in one position, as opposed to the rest of the lake where the trout predominantly cruise.
Being an impatient sort joker I quietly waded knee deep into the ford. The Black Hills stood above the western end of the lake, shrouded in a golding sky. A few canada geese glided into the northern shore, and a sense of genuine well-being enveloped the entire place. The worries of our self-made, pre-christmas chaos seemed to drain out of my boots as the current pulled past.
I probably stood there for an hour and a half. Partly watching for fish surfacing within casting distance, but mostly enjoying the moment.
A disturbance in the water at my feet revealed a large brown working his way upstream, aware of human presence but not alarmed enough to bolt. Instead he quietly increased his determination to head up stream, and purposefully worked his way into the deep safety of the weedbeds.
With each lull in the breeze, the wind-driven ripples were replaced by the telltale rings created from feeding fish. Few were within casting distance, and none were appearing in the same spot with any regularity. finally, a fish seemed to go to work on the surface, rising every minute or so to slurp a newly hatched insect off the surface. The fish was parked about 6-7 meters upstream and a similar distance to the right, close to the shore. Her position was such that a steady supply of food was floating past, but was yet to pick up the speed that was whipping past my legs. A size 16 twiglight beauty was the pre-made descision, and a couple of casts went out, presenting relatively roughly, and a little short of the target. Drag was proving to be a problem too, as fishing upand across to the fish meant that the flyline was at the mercy of the every-increading current below her lie.
Feeding out some extra line and forceing a 'wiggle' in the line bought a few more seconds of dead-drift, as did some creative mending as the fly was about to drag. all up the best I could get out of this spot was about 5-7 seconds from the time that the fly hit the water to the time that the fly looked more like a microscopic water skier getting down the lake. The odds were stacked against the angler, for sure.
Nervous that I may have spooked the animal with the first casts, I impatiently wated for a few minutes to see if she would continue feeding. As the light and my hope faded, I reflected that returning home with out a fish would not be too fazing as the whole experience had been like medicine. A definitive swirl indicated that she was unalarmed and hungry. Ahh well, give it a nudge and go home, I guess.. A higher back-cast gave a bit more control and I planted a decent presentation on the water. Nothing. Casted again. nothing. The third cast seemed to do the trick and just as the little black fly threatened to start dragging, the water boiled and the imitation was taken.
A quick three-count and a gentle tightening of the line set the tiny hook firmly. In the near darkness, the fish seemed relatively unalarmed, oblicvious to the danger that it was in, and mostly just keen to remove the odd discomfort in it's mouth. Quietly I moved towards the fish, winding slowly, until she got the message, made a couple of airbourne bids for freedom, then ran out into the lake. I was keen to steer the fish well clear of the willow choked current below our position, but the trout was equally cognisant of the unfair advantage that the piece of water provided. As she worked her way across and down towards the faster water, I applied as much strain as I dared to encourage her back up stream. It was so dark now that the line was invisible except for the first couple of meters leaving the rod, so her exact postion was a bit of a guess
until she disturbed the surface every so often. The increasing darkness certainly held the advantage that the fish was less aware of my location, and was quickly netted when she began to tire.
A well conditioned Brown hen tipped the scales at 4lb, her lack of length was more than made up by her thick back and deep flanks. needing to keep real the justification of going out for some man-alone-time, I dispatched her with 95 yr old Grandad's hand-turned beech baton, and made for the car.
There is definately more to fishing than just fishing.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
One Last Cast
I'm a firm beleiver that Monday mornings are better started with a fly-rod in hand, as opposed to the standard cup of coffee and a stack of paperwork in the office. With this in mind, I set off for my regular pre-work beat on the Twizel and Fraser river just a shade before 6:00 am, intending to start the day with wet feet, cold fingers and the sense of well being that can only be achieved by floating a fly in a small stream at day break. The rod had not been used for a few days, and last time it was dismantled in the dark and left to bump around in the back of the truck until the line was horribly confused amongst each of the four pieces. As I slowly undid the gordian knot I stood below a favourite stretch that usually holds a fish or two and inspected the riverbed for any likely movement. The Fraser has remained slightly discoloured over the last week or so, and it took a while for me to spot the fish holding beside a small ledge on the shallower true left bank. The river in this stretch is quite shallow and the fish are often spooky, however visibilty wasn't good enough that I was confident of spotting the target taking a nymph. Being early December, the brown beetles were still doing their thing, so I tied a bushy black humpy on and tried my luck. One poorly aimed cast later, the fish stopped feeding and quietly drifted off to deeper water on the true right. slightly disappointed, but not put off, I crossed the stream and headed to another consistently productive stretch, hoping to leave the fish for my return in half an hour or so. Five minutes later another fish, this time a rainbow had shown itself feeding in a bouldery drop off just a few meters below a long willow choked channel on the Twizel river. This lie invariably holds a good fish, due in part to the large numbers of uncatchable fish living under the willows directly upstream. Once again I opted for the humpy, as he was rising freely. The first couple of casts went a meter or so astray as the wind was starting to pick up. After putting some more thought into the back cast, I planted the fly on target. The water was relatively fast, and moved into slight rapid, so drag was a bit of an issue. With a little bit of frantic mending I achieved a relatively dead drift past the fishes last-known-surfacing point. On this occasion the trout attacked the fly greedily, briefly showing his long, deep flank. Possibly a 3-4 kg fish, which isn't bad for the Twizel river. Unfortunately, this was all I would see of him, as after I set the hook, the big fella hunkered down on the bottom, and with three shakes of his head, snapped the tippet and then bolted for the trees.
Time was against me now if I wanted to get a decent breakfast in before work, so I hurried back to the crossing where the first fish was spooked. Nothing materialised as I approached the crossing, so I quiet slipped through the tail of the pool, disturbing nothing. Unable to resist, I flicked the black humpy down the deeper part of the channel while consulting my watch which said ten-past home time. The water boiled as a good fish took the fly about 4 meters upstream.
Counting to 3 before setting the hook, a solid brown went to work on the fly lodged in her mouth. after a few seconds of angry headshaking, she swung downstream and spotted me. An immediate dash downstream was her response, risking a snag in some overhanging vegetation. I charged across and down, but it was too late, as she hooked up in a small piece of dead broom. unsure if she was still on I approached the branch, and saw the fish just under the surface still. The branch was stubborn and try as I might, I couldn't unsnag the leader from it's grasp. The heavens smiled on me and once more the fish spotted me approaching from behind and to her left, and made a beeline for the top of the rapids. Her backtracking of the process that caught her in the broom was exactly the direction required to release her, and off she shot, free of the broom, but still miraculously attached to the flyline.
Finally I started to get the measure of her and she allowed herself to be led towards the shallows. As with most brown trout, this beautifully spotted specimen wouldn't give up the fight, and the moment my ne hi the water, she ran again, thistime without the dramas encountered previously. Once more I attempted to net her, but as I led her into the net she thrashed some more and managed to effect another lucky escape.Third time lucky, she allowed herself to be led into the waiting net to be unhooked and weighed. The well conditioned 2.1 kg Brown needed little encouragement to find cover upon release, and scuttled across to the deep channel on the far side of the stream.
It was now 7:20, and I knew I was cutting it fine, so I rushed home, and got ready for work. after copping a few stares from the some of the workmates, but then derived plenty of joy dishing out the excuse that 'the fish wouldn't go into the net'.
Time was against me now if I wanted to get a decent breakfast in before work, so I hurried back to the crossing where the first fish was spooked. Nothing materialised as I approached the crossing, so I quiet slipped through the tail of the pool, disturbing nothing. Unable to resist, I flicked the black humpy down the deeper part of the channel while consulting my watch which said ten-past home time. The water boiled as a good fish took the fly about 4 meters upstream.
Counting to 3 before setting the hook, a solid brown went to work on the fly lodged in her mouth. after a few seconds of angry headshaking, she swung downstream and spotted me. An immediate dash downstream was her response, risking a snag in some overhanging vegetation. I charged across and down, but it was too late, as she hooked up in a small piece of dead broom. unsure if she was still on I approached the branch, and saw the fish just under the surface still. The branch was stubborn and try as I might, I couldn't unsnag the leader from it's grasp. The heavens smiled on me and once more the fish spotted me approaching from behind and to her left, and made a beeline for the top of the rapids. Her backtracking of the process that caught her in the broom was exactly the direction required to release her, and off she shot, free of the broom, but still miraculously attached to the flyline.
Finally I started to get the measure of her and she allowed herself to be led towards the shallows. As with most brown trout, this beautifully spotted specimen wouldn't give up the fight, and the moment my ne hi the water, she ran again, thistime without the dramas encountered previously. Once more I attempted to net her, but as I led her into the net she thrashed some more and managed to effect another lucky escape.Third time lucky, she allowed herself to be led into the waiting net to be unhooked and weighed. The well conditioned 2.1 kg Brown needed little encouragement to find cover upon release, and scuttled across to the deep channel on the far side of the stream.
It was now 7:20, and I knew I was cutting it fine, so I rushed home, and got ready for work. after copping a few stares from the some of the workmates, but then derived plenty of joy dishing out the excuse that 'the fish wouldn't go into the net'.
Monday, December 07, 2009
Snap - Opening Day 2009
I always wondered why those over-equipped, under-fished city folks often talked about having their 'spare' rod in the back of the car........
Opening day on the Central South Island high country rivers dawned spectacuarly. Last year we were greeted with severe gale force nor-westers and showers, but this time round we were blessed with hardly a whisper of breeze and clear skies. The evening before opening I had given my fly reel a good going over, attached a new tapered leader, painstakingly sorted out the mess of flies that had been left jumbled up and unloved over winter, and ensured that everything in my vest was where it was supposed to be, and threw everything into the back of the truck ready to sneak off before any small-people in the house could wake up.
Sneak off I did at about 0530 on the first Saturday in November, the sky was brightening up quickly, and sunrise was imminent, already showing on the peak of Aoraki-Mt Cook, forty miles to the north. 10 minutes later, the car was parked, locked, and left behind as I eagerly rushed down to the spring fed creek that had divulged the prescence of a few trout on a pre-season recce the week before. After a few blind casts in a likely looking spot returned no results, I toddled down to a well regarded pool just as the sun breached the Grampian Mountains. It wasn't more than a minute of standing still and watching the shadows on the riverbed, that our hallowed quarry gave away it's position. Not trophy sized, and not obvious, but a semi-regularly swaying shadow held just centimeters down stream of a large stone in the middle of the stream. Unhurriedly I tied a Beadheaded Pheasanttail Nymph on to the tippet, took a deep breath and moved into position about 8 meteres downstream from the feeding trouts position.
The whole experience has had a silver lining though. Opening day aside, November has been laced with strong winds and unpleasant fuishing conditions, so I didn't miss much. A broken rod and tight family financial conditions has 'allowed' me to undertake what we shall call the Norman Giles Experiment. Norm was the approachable, patient, selfless fellow who taught me to catch trout on a fly all those years ago. Norm was by no means the wealthiest man in Otematata, and maintained that a good fisherman with a cheap rod with a cheap reel, with an even cheaper line could catch as many fish as he would with the flashest gear that money could buy. Norm certainly walked the talk, his entire rig wouldn't have cost more than $150, and was one of the most prolific fisherman I have ever been priveldged to witness flicking a fly. The beginning of December saw a shiny new Rod-Reel-Line combo arrive at my door, costing the grand sum of $109.95 including shipping, and so far, I haven't lost a single fish due to the quality of the cast or the workmanship of the gear. The rod certainly doesn't present as well as my last one, but all that requires is a bit more concentration on my slighlty lazy back casting habits.
Opening day on the Central South Island high country rivers dawned spectacuarly. Last year we were greeted with severe gale force nor-westers and showers, but this time round we were blessed with hardly a whisper of breeze and clear skies. The evening before opening I had given my fly reel a good going over, attached a new tapered leader, painstakingly sorted out the mess of flies that had been left jumbled up and unloved over winter, and ensured that everything in my vest was where it was supposed to be, and threw everything into the back of the truck ready to sneak off before any small-people in the house could wake up.
Sneak off I did at about 0530 on the first Saturday in November, the sky was brightening up quickly, and sunrise was imminent, already showing on the peak of Aoraki-Mt Cook, forty miles to the north. 10 minutes later, the car was parked, locked, and left behind as I eagerly rushed down to the spring fed creek that had divulged the prescence of a few trout on a pre-season recce the week before. After a few blind casts in a likely looking spot returned no results, I toddled down to a well regarded pool just as the sun breached the Grampian Mountains. It wasn't more than a minute of standing still and watching the shadows on the riverbed, that our hallowed quarry gave away it's position. Not trophy sized, and not obvious, but a semi-regularly swaying shadow held just centimeters down stream of a large stone in the middle of the stream. Unhurriedly I tied a Beadheaded Pheasanttail Nymph on to the tippet, took a deep breath and moved into position about 8 meteres downstream from the feeding trouts position.
It was over in seconds. I quietly fed out enough line downstream to deliver the fly a meter of so upstream, and began my first cast. But something happened. instead of gracfully lobbing the fly past the trouts lie, the fly didn't move, the line tightened, and a nasty 'snap' eminated from some where over my head. I looked up in time to see the last foot of my faithful old rod sliding down the line towards my leader, which was anchored by the nymph to a sumberged branch about 9 meters downstream. It would be fair to say that the air turned rather blue at this point. Not only was the first cast to the first fish on the first day of the season not going to happen, but my faithful 14 year old rod was beyond repair. Not the the most expensive rod on the planet, but she had a lovely medium action that would punch through a strong breeze nicely, and still present the fly delicately to a spooky shallow-water fish. the reel was the part of the rig that was normally more likely to let me down, as over the last 14 years, it'd bumped into quite a few rocks and following a particuarly rough landing on one in 2003 had developed a brief 'catch' on every revolution that momentarily loaded up the line as a fish ran hard following a hookup.
The reel was the least of my worries now. I trudged dejectedly back towards the Truck, lamenting that I now had yet another toy replacement to sneak past the financial-controller who was still a-snooze at home.
The whole experience has had a silver lining though. Opening day aside, November has been laced with strong winds and unpleasant fuishing conditions, so I didn't miss much. A broken rod and tight family financial conditions has 'allowed' me to undertake what we shall call the Norman Giles Experiment. Norm was the approachable, patient, selfless fellow who taught me to catch trout on a fly all those years ago. Norm was by no means the wealthiest man in Otematata, and maintained that a good fisherman with a cheap rod with a cheap reel, with an even cheaper line could catch as many fish as he would with the flashest gear that money could buy. Norm certainly walked the talk, his entire rig wouldn't have cost more than $150, and was one of the most prolific fisherman I have ever been priveldged to witness flicking a fly. The beginning of December saw a shiny new Rod-Reel-Line combo arrive at my door, costing the grand sum of $109.95 including shipping, and so far, I haven't lost a single fish due to the quality of the cast or the workmanship of the gear. The rod certainly doesn't present as well as my last one, but all that requires is a bit more concentration on my slighlty lazy back casting habits.
When the budget permits, I may upgrade to a slightly fancier rod, and then, possibly, this country boy will keep a spare rod in the car on opening day too....
Friday, December 19, 2008
'That' Pool
I'm sure that I'm not the only person who visits a certain pool, which consistently holds good fish, but for some reason or another manage to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory and never seem to be able to catch anything in 'that' pool.
For me, 'that pool' is one on the Fraser River that I cross when heading to fish a well regarded stretch of the Twizel River, and despite my best efforts, have only managed to spook umpteen trout and mistime the strike on all the rest.
For me, 'that pool' is one on the Fraser River that I cross when heading to fish a well regarded stretch of the Twizel River, and despite my best efforts, have only managed to spook umpteen trout and mistime the strike on all the rest.
Small streams are so rewarding to fish because most of the time they are so much more challenging (read here '%&!^@ frustrating'). The trout can be just as big, but they tend to spook a lot easier as everything in a small stream moves slower, quieter, and the fisherman tends to be so much closer to his quarry.
Well, after 6 weeks of fishing 'that pool' I finally managed some success. After tying on a new leader, and popping on a size 16 Dad's Favourite, I inched down to the pool, wondering where the spooked trout was going to take off from.
As I got my first foot to the stream edge, a bold swirl about four meters upstream caught my eye. A good sized trout was feeding voraciously on the very edge of a relatively deep drop off, right against the edge of the stream. He seemed to be mostly working on nymphs, but following my lack of success with this pool in the nymph department, I thought I'd stick with the ol' Dads Favourite.
First cast. Trev the Trout swings out and takes a half hearted slap at the fly.
Second cast. Trev swings out, follows it down stream for a meter (now only about 3m away from me), then flags it and moves back up to his favourite spot.
Third cast. Trev doesn't even bother.
Fourth Cast. more of the same. Still feeding on underwater stuff.
Time to change flies. on goes a size 16 beaded H&C nymph.
First cast ...dammit, I can't see the fly in the water.
Second cast. Trev swings out and looks like he grabs something.....
Strike!
H & C nymph whistles past my face - Trev continues feeding.
Third cast...Trev ignores and sucks something off the surface.
On goes another Dads Favourite. For some reason I decided to go bigger.
As I put through a couple of false casts, I noticed a shadow on the bottom about three meters upstream, and 1 1/2 meters out to my right. It wasn't moving, and although it looked kind of fishy, no self respecting trout would stay that close when a rod is flicking back and forward in the morning sun. I planted the fly down just to the left of my feeding fish who whirled around to have a closer inspection. Just as I thought he was about to suck it down, the shadow erupted and aggressively took the fly before 'my' fish could get it. Counting to three I tightened the line and we were on. The mystery intruder calm worked his way up stream, slowly but deliberately stripping my reel. I quickly crossed the stream to avoid some low flying tree branches and followed him up the true left bank.
As he swirled back downstream, I saw that this was a better fish than most of the early season salmonoids I've been catching. Coming almost directly parallel, Trev saw me, turned and made a bee line for some submerged tree branches. "Oh no you don't" I muttered under my breath, and before he got up there, applied a whole lot more side strain which seemed to stop the run.
Now he turned and this time slowly worked his way down stream. Once again I followed, and got behind him with the net. Just as I thought I had him he took off straight past me and ripped into the rapids below the pool. It was almost multi tasking, as I stripped off line and dragged myself across the stream once more to avoid the willows. At last he seemed to be losing strength, so after a few more negotiations, he elected to come into the net.
My brother was over from Japan, so this one went into the bag.
Finally, the curse of 'that pool' was broken
Friday, December 12, 2008
Fishing with the Kids
In my seldom humble opinion, there is no better way of getting kids keen on fishing than to bundle them into a boat and put-put around a lake trolling for trout. Kids don't have the same attention span as us big people, and I seem to manage an hour and a half of trolling, compared to 20-30 minutes spinning from shore when I've got a few wee jiggers in tow.
We are lucky enough to have a small aluminum dinghy, with a modest but much loved 4.5 hp 1971 British Seagull 'Silver Century' attached to the stern.
Tonight I ducked out with Gideon (9) with his firends Timo and Sean. Timo landed this 3lb brown on a Pink 'Tasmanian Devil' lure on Lake Ohau.
I think as much fun was had by the kids helming the dinghy as was had catching the fish.
Oh, and in case any is wondering, yeah, they are wearing Life Jackets, but the warm gear went on over top once they got out onto the lake, so it just doesn't look too safe!
We are lucky enough to have a small aluminum dinghy, with a modest but much loved 4.5 hp 1971 British Seagull 'Silver Century' attached to the stern.
Tonight I ducked out with Gideon (9) with his firends Timo and Sean. Timo landed this 3lb brown on a Pink 'Tasmanian Devil' lure on Lake Ohau.
I think as much fun was had by the kids helming the dinghy as was had catching the fish.
Oh, and in case any is wondering, yeah, they are wearing Life Jackets, but the warm gear went on over top once they got out onto the lake, so it just doesn't look too safe!
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Back Country Wanderings
Over the weekend, I took the two oldest boys for an explore up the Hopkins river (behind Lake Ohau). The road has been getting progressively rougher over the last few years, as the river keeps changing course and washing out the 4WD track. Half the adventure was in getting there. The river had flooded earlier in the week, and consequently we had to invent a couple of new routes to 'join the dots' between where the track disappeared and then reappeared further upstream. Finally a large rock field got the better of my nerves and we covered the final 2km to Monument hut with the boys on their bikes with me tagging along on foot with all of our gear in a 95 Litre Pack.
We shared the hut with a couple of hunters, who had spotted a few Thar and a couple of Chamois, but hadn't managed to convert their sightings in to meat. As the sun fell behing Mt Strachan, we wandered down to the stream with bellies full of half cooked sizzlers and charcoaled Marshmallow, to see if any fish were moving. The River was still high, and rather silty. I ran a Royal Wulf some smooth water, but to no avail. Gideon managed to snap his rod, while doing a text-book cast(we had another one which did exactly the same), so we'll have to replace that at Christmas. The night was spent talking Thar and Deer with the two guys in the hut. - Good blokes.
The following Morning Gideon, Jonathan and I set out for the Huxley River(the main tributary of the Hopkins) which purportedly holds one or two large Rainbows. After an hours walk with the kids, none were sighted, mainly because the fish numbers are pretty low, and not surprisingly the river was also high and discoloured. The walk was still worth it however, as the Huxley Gorge would rate as one of the most scenic spots in New Zealand.
After eating lunch (Yes, at 10:30 am - the kids were 'starving'), we turned tail and headed back to the Hut. the Weather was looking pretty threatening, so we packed up and ambled back to civilisation, via the same dodgy route that we came up.
We shared the hut with a couple of hunters, who had spotted a few Thar and a couple of Chamois, but hadn't managed to convert their sightings in to meat. As the sun fell behing Mt Strachan, we wandered down to the stream with bellies full of half cooked sizzlers and charcoaled Marshmallow, to see if any fish were moving. The River was still high, and rather silty. I ran a Royal Wulf some smooth water, but to no avail. Gideon managed to snap his rod, while doing a text-book cast(we had another one which did exactly the same), so we'll have to replace that at Christmas. The night was spent talking Thar and Deer with the two guys in the hut. - Good blokes.
The following Morning Gideon, Jonathan and I set out for the Huxley River(the main tributary of the Hopkins) which purportedly holds one or two large Rainbows. After an hours walk with the kids, none were sighted, mainly because the fish numbers are pretty low, and not surprisingly the river was also high and discoloured. The walk was still worth it however, as the Huxley Gorge would rate as one of the most scenic spots in New Zealand.
After eating lunch (Yes, at 10:30 am - the kids were 'starving'), we turned tail and headed back to the Hut. the Weather was looking pretty threatening, so we packed up and ambled back to civilisation, via the same dodgy route that we came up.
More Fun on the Twizel River
I was greeted this morning by a slightly high river and low cloud, but thankfully the air temperature was relatively warm as I headed across to one of my favourite stretches of the Twizel River. With only an hour to fish before work started, I had to choose a 'high percentage' pool and stick with it.
After crossing the stream below my chosen spot- a deep pool with a very short run in a bend, overhung with willows pool, I lamented the fact that there were no fish moving. "Bl*%&^y river has been stripped bare" I thought as I unzipped my fly for an early morning leak.
Just as I hit mid-stream (yet still standing on the bank), I noticed movement up in the head of the pool right on the edge....a light brown shape slipping slowly sideways, and then a snout eagerly broke the surface. Fate is a funny thing, if I hadn't been busting for a spritz, I would have once again walked straight past a decent fish, simply for a lack of patience.
I quickly got sorted out, tied on a size 16 'Dads Favourite' and backed off a little, before entering the river directly down stream. As I got into position, and began to strip out some line, the rainbow swirled and whirled downstream surfacing every couple of seconds. these were not small gentle dimpled rises, but she was fair poking her head right out of the water and slopping back under again.
The hardest thing about this trout was that she was absolutely all over the pool, at one stage a couple of meters to my left and only a metre or so upstream. Luckily she seemed so utterly preoccupied with the beetles that were constantly drifting her way, that she didn't notice the 6'4" tree standing in the middle of the river wearing a fishing vest. After she worked her way back into the middle of the pool, I chucked a couple of horrific casts, before she swung downstream after my fly, and gulped it just as the line started to drag through the water. A solid hook up was achieved as I lifted my rod, and we were on.
The Twizel river is only a few meters wide as it exits this pool, and there are probably 70 metres of rapids downstream, interspersed with overhanging willow and plenty of other snags to lose a fish in, so I was keen to keep the fish in the pool. Keen that is, until two more fish swung out of the depths and started feeding as soon as the hooked fish left it's prime spot. Still aiming to keep her upstream, but out of the pool, I let her come back into the rapids. The plan went horribly wrong, and she shot off downstream. Reel screaming, I lunged for the bank and charged off downstream after her, narrowly avoiding snagging the line in one of the willows on the true right bank.
The lively rainbow stabilised in the rapid in a slightly quieter spot, and I managed to get control of the amount of line she'd stripped in the one furious run. Five minutes of negotiation to get her into the shallow slower water without anymore downstream sorties, saw her finally netted. Time for a couple of quick photos before letting her go, sneaking home for a shower and trudging off to work.
After crossing the stream below my chosen spot- a deep pool with a very short run in a bend, overhung with willows pool, I lamented the fact that there were no fish moving. "Bl*%&^y river has been stripped bare" I thought as I unzipped my fly for an early morning leak.
Just as I hit mid-stream (yet still standing on the bank), I noticed movement up in the head of the pool right on the edge....a light brown shape slipping slowly sideways, and then a snout eagerly broke the surface. Fate is a funny thing, if I hadn't been busting for a spritz, I would have once again walked straight past a decent fish, simply for a lack of patience.
I quickly got sorted out, tied on a size 16 'Dads Favourite' and backed off a little, before entering the river directly down stream. As I got into position, and began to strip out some line, the rainbow swirled and whirled downstream surfacing every couple of seconds. these were not small gentle dimpled rises, but she was fair poking her head right out of the water and slopping back under again.
The hardest thing about this trout was that she was absolutely all over the pool, at one stage a couple of meters to my left and only a metre or so upstream. Luckily she seemed so utterly preoccupied with the beetles that were constantly drifting her way, that she didn't notice the 6'4" tree standing in the middle of the river wearing a fishing vest. After she worked her way back into the middle of the pool, I chucked a couple of horrific casts, before she swung downstream after my fly, and gulped it just as the line started to drag through the water. A solid hook up was achieved as I lifted my rod, and we were on.
The Twizel river is only a few meters wide as it exits this pool, and there are probably 70 metres of rapids downstream, interspersed with overhanging willow and plenty of other snags to lose a fish in, so I was keen to keep the fish in the pool. Keen that is, until two more fish swung out of the depths and started feeding as soon as the hooked fish left it's prime spot. Still aiming to keep her upstream, but out of the pool, I let her come back into the rapids. The plan went horribly wrong, and she shot off downstream. Reel screaming, I lunged for the bank and charged off downstream after her, narrowly avoiding snagging the line in one of the willows on the true right bank.
The lively rainbow stabilised in the rapid in a slightly quieter spot, and I managed to get control of the amount of line she'd stripped in the one furious run. Five minutes of negotiation to get her into the shallow slower water without anymore downstream sorties, saw her finally netted. Time for a couple of quick photos before letting her go, sneaking home for a shower and trudging off to work.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Stormy Weekend
Not much was to be had this weekend, between a hot north-west gale on Saturday, and a wet serving of the same on Sunday. I managed a quick look at the Fraser River on Sunday morning before breakfast, a few km upstream of the Twizel township. 2 two trout were spotted. The first one saw me before I saw him - the old 'sitting in the tail of the pool' trick. The other fish was cast to, and finally got put down after I snatched defeat from the jaws of victory - by way of twice mis-timing the trouts take of my hare & copper nymph.
Sunday afternoon called for a high wind-speed wander down the Twizel River walk with the kids. As always, the weekends biggest fish was spotted when I did not have a rod handy. A large rainbow sitting in a bouldery run. Later on in the evening I was given a leave pass by Sarah to go-get-em, however I was beaten back by more high winds and driving rain. I still derive a lot of pleasure from going for a wander across the Mackenzie basin in all of its moods, so all was not lost!
This weeks forecast (excuse the pun) is for more bad weather, however wind velocity tends to be a lot lower very early in the morning, so hopefully we'll get a few quick looks in before work.
Sunday afternoon called for a high wind-speed wander down the Twizel River walk with the kids. As always, the weekends biggest fish was spotted when I did not have a rod handy. A large rainbow sitting in a bouldery run. Later on in the evening I was given a leave pass by Sarah to go-get-em, however I was beaten back by more high winds and driving rain. I still derive a lot of pleasure from going for a wander across the Mackenzie basin in all of its moods, so all was not lost!
This weeks forecast (excuse the pun) is for more bad weather, however wind velocity tends to be a lot lower very early in the morning, so hopefully we'll get a few quick looks in before work.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Early Morning Success
This morning’s trip was typical of my regular, 'get out of bed for a fish before work' style trip. The local Fraser River was my first stop, spotting a 2-3 lb brown feeding on nymphs in the back section of the first pool that I got to. The morning was warmer had been the norm over the previous two weeks, and a low covering of cloud was hopefully making for good spotting conditions, with out the usual brightening and frightening of fish at sunrise. This pool in particular has caused me plenty of trouble in the past, without much success as it is relatively shallow, and trout tend to spook very easily in shallow, narrow section of the stream. Wading gingerly into position, approx 5 meters downstream of the fish, I quickly ready my rod for it's first cast. Today was no exception, with my first false cast seeing the trout sinking into deeper water and moving off upstream. So much for the dull warm conditions helping me out!
With the limited time available, I had reached a pre-made decision earlier to inspect a pool that has been consistently holding good sized rainbows on the Twizel River, a few hundred meters away. There is nothing so pleasant as wandering across a grassy field early in the morning, alone with ones thoughts and a few rabbits, with the prospect of some clear water action while the rest of the world is still sleeping.
Upon arriving at this rather long pool, I worked my way from the lower section upstream, carefully inspecting every shadow and long boulder on the river bed. More often than not the trout seem to hold in the narrow head of this pool, close to a lot of overhanging willow for safety, however it would not be the first time if I spooked a fish in the lower section, sending him tearing upstream to it's neighbours and putting them all down for the morning. This time none were disturbed, and a likely candidate was spotted sheltering behind a boulder on the deep-edge of the channel, swaying in and out of the current as food was brought to its very doorstep. A size 14 bead-headed Pheasant Tail nymph had been getting most of my results recently, so I kept with convention, although this one was a much darker colour than my usual. I always get a buzz when the first cast on a trout results in a take, especially when the first cast on the last fish elicited nothing more than a walk to another pool! The heavy beaded nymph plopped into the river 1 1/2 meters upstream of the actively feeding rainbow, and about 1/2 a meter further into the main flow. Almost immediately he swung out from the shelter of his rock, and intercepted the fly that was rapidly exiting his area of engagement. As the fish turned to face up stream I assumed the take had been successful, and tightened the line. A solid hook up was established. The trout was landed following a series of three runs downstream, where I finally managed to keep a fish in the same pool that I hooked it in. On one occasion he came close to the rapids at the bottom of the pool, but thankfully choose to charge upstream again as things got marginal. As trout in our area go he wasn't in great condition, so quickly returned him to the water after removing the fly with one of those fandangled hook remover things. With a smug grin I hightailed home before the kids got up, reflecting on how lucky we are to live in a place where great fishing can be had without having to travel more than a couple of kilometres from town.
With the limited time available, I had reached a pre-made decision earlier to inspect a pool that has been consistently holding good sized rainbows on the Twizel River, a few hundred meters away. There is nothing so pleasant as wandering across a grassy field early in the morning, alone with ones thoughts and a few rabbits, with the prospect of some clear water action while the rest of the world is still sleeping.
Upon arriving at this rather long pool, I worked my way from the lower section upstream, carefully inspecting every shadow and long boulder on the river bed. More often than not the trout seem to hold in the narrow head of this pool, close to a lot of overhanging willow for safety, however it would not be the first time if I spooked a fish in the lower section, sending him tearing upstream to it's neighbours and putting them all down for the morning. This time none were disturbed, and a likely candidate was spotted sheltering behind a boulder on the deep-edge of the channel, swaying in and out of the current as food was brought to its very doorstep. A size 14 bead-headed Pheasant Tail nymph had been getting most of my results recently, so I kept with convention, although this one was a much darker colour than my usual. I always get a buzz when the first cast on a trout results in a take, especially when the first cast on the last fish elicited nothing more than a walk to another pool! The heavy beaded nymph plopped into the river 1 1/2 meters upstream of the actively feeding rainbow, and about 1/2 a meter further into the main flow. Almost immediately he swung out from the shelter of his rock, and intercepted the fly that was rapidly exiting his area of engagement. As the fish turned to face up stream I assumed the take had been successful, and tightened the line. A solid hook up was established. The trout was landed following a series of three runs downstream, where I finally managed to keep a fish in the same pool that I hooked it in. On one occasion he came close to the rapids at the bottom of the pool, but thankfully choose to charge upstream again as things got marginal. As trout in our area go he wasn't in great condition, so quickly returned him to the water after removing the fly with one of those fandangled hook remover things. With a smug grin I hightailed home before the kids got up, reflecting on how lucky we are to live in a place where great fishing can be had without having to travel more than a couple of kilometres from town.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Early Season Experiences in the Mackenzie Basin
Family life being what it is (4 little boys aged 3, 6,7 and 9) the beginning of the 2008 season has mostly consisted of short excursions to a few rivers on our front doorstep. Most trips have been very early in the morning, snatching an hours fishing before breakfast, or a cunningly manipulated 'father-son bonding session', where I employ my keen 6 year old as a net-bearer and chief spin-snagger.
The local rivers are predominantly holding rainbow trout, some of which are still spawning, espiecally early in the morning. Condition of most of these trout has not been great, however all of that baby making seems to work up a bit of an appetite, as they tend to be holdiing in fairly open shallow water chomping through as many aquatic insects as they can find.
All of this sounds like the fishing is easy pickings, however due to the relatively low flows and clear water in our smaller local streams, these fish are almost as easily spooked as in mid summer, the difference being that they are holding in more visible locations.
In the Mackenzie Country, the mornings are still producing some light frosts, and with the lions' share of my outings starting and finishing in the wee small hours, I havn't seen much dry fly action yet. Most of the fish caught over the last 2 1/2 weeks have been caught on small weighted pheasant tail or a weighted Hare & Copper nymph pattern.
The local Twizel river has been producing plenty of fish, however due to it's close proximity to town it appears to be getting a bit of a hammering and fish numbers in the middle reaches are dropping rapidly. Another factor which influences this river is the rainbow trouts' tendency to run upstream to spawn, and then drop back down into the lake as spring moves into summer.
One of the joys of fishing these small streams like the Fraser and the Twizel is the close proximity to the trout when casting and also attempting to land the fish. Caleb and I spotted one reasonable brown on our most recentt outing, holding in the lee of a small willow outcrop, making use of the slack flow to move up and down the water column, voraciously taking any sub-surface morsel that happend to drift past. After tying on a size 14 Hare and Copper nymph, we moved to within about 12 feet of the fish, flicked the offering just upstream and watched the trout move into the flow and take the hook. As has been said so many times about New Zealand trout, hooking up is not catching a fish, it just provides the opportunity to open negotiations. This 1-2 kg fish was no exception and after wrestling with the line in one spot for a few seconds, he tore off downstream, narrowly missing my cold legs, and then came charging back up the other side of me. No sooner had I mended all of my line in, and stripped it back out on the way downstream. This was repeated again as he came back up, pass both times within about a meter of the angler. From this point the battle was rather short lived as he wasted no time in ploughing into the overhanging willow outcrop, snared the line on an underwater branch, and pulled free.
Perserverance brings results though, and 10 minutes later a slightly smaller yet similarly fiesty fish made our net.
If all trout were easy to catch, I'm sure that we wouldn't be kept interested for long. We certainly tend to think longer and harder about lifes losses than lifes wins.
The local rivers are predominantly holding rainbow trout, some of which are still spawning, espiecally early in the morning. Condition of most of these trout has not been great, however all of that baby making seems to work up a bit of an appetite, as they tend to be holdiing in fairly open shallow water chomping through as many aquatic insects as they can find.
All of this sounds like the fishing is easy pickings, however due to the relatively low flows and clear water in our smaller local streams, these fish are almost as easily spooked as in mid summer, the difference being that they are holding in more visible locations.
In the Mackenzie Country, the mornings are still producing some light frosts, and with the lions' share of my outings starting and finishing in the wee small hours, I havn't seen much dry fly action yet. Most of the fish caught over the last 2 1/2 weeks have been caught on small weighted pheasant tail or a weighted Hare & Copper nymph pattern.
The local Twizel river has been producing plenty of fish, however due to it's close proximity to town it appears to be getting a bit of a hammering and fish numbers in the middle reaches are dropping rapidly. Another factor which influences this river is the rainbow trouts' tendency to run upstream to spawn, and then drop back down into the lake as spring moves into summer.
One of the joys of fishing these small streams like the Fraser and the Twizel is the close proximity to the trout when casting and also attempting to land the fish. Caleb and I spotted one reasonable brown on our most recentt outing, holding in the lee of a small willow outcrop, making use of the slack flow to move up and down the water column, voraciously taking any sub-surface morsel that happend to drift past. After tying on a size 14 Hare and Copper nymph, we moved to within about 12 feet of the fish, flicked the offering just upstream and watched the trout move into the flow and take the hook. As has been said so many times about New Zealand trout, hooking up is not catching a fish, it just provides the opportunity to open negotiations. This 1-2 kg fish was no exception and after wrestling with the line in one spot for a few seconds, he tore off downstream, narrowly missing my cold legs, and then came charging back up the other side of me. No sooner had I mended all of my line in, and stripped it back out on the way downstream. This was repeated again as he came back up, pass both times within about a meter of the angler. From this point the battle was rather short lived as he wasted no time in ploughing into the overhanging willow outcrop, snared the line on an underwater branch, and pulled free.
Perserverance brings results though, and 10 minutes later a slightly smaller yet similarly fiesty fish made our net.
If all trout were easy to catch, I'm sure that we wouldn't be kept interested for long. We certainly tend to think longer and harder about lifes losses than lifes wins.
Sam Dunn displays one for the dinner table on the upper Ohau River
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