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'.
