The time of year that most of us fly fishermen have been waiting for has come around again. We always put some serious effort into preparation for what we call the Opening Trip! But as per every year our biggest worry is always the unpredictable weather. You can have a super solid plan lined up but should also have a couple of back up options primed, from which you can start and adjust the plan to your needs.
To get into the rhythm and right mind set, we crammed the car full of unnecessary gear and left our homes in Queenstown three days prior to the grand opening. There is always fishing to be done somewhere in Aotearoa, either it’s stalking lake edges for cruising trout, chasing sea runners at the estuaries or scoping rivers before judgment day.
We had just over a fortnight ahead of us with the thought of spending the majority of our time in the Kahurangi National Park up north, but as things quite often don’t go as planned, we were forced to change our game plan due to 72hrs of torrential rain which dictated the flow of rivers chosen by us to be unsuitable for fishing. The good ol’ Kiwi weather! We remained optimistic and made an impromptu decision to stay in the area between the gates of Haast and township of Whataroa instead.
The West Coast offers a good variety of spring fed rivers and creeks, which due to its underground source of water remains clear and has consistent flow throughout most of the season.
The river we chose where our season would kick off meanders its way through swampy farmland, in past years it has provided excellent sight fishing opportunities to us. We knew that sea-run trout would be present in the lower reaches, boosting up the numbers of fish for this time of year but we decided to begin in the upper reaches where the main river is noticeably smaller and accompanied by multiple spring creeks.
And there we were, at the access point not far away from the State Highway 6, needlessly at a very foolish hour, with temperatures just touching 1 degree Celsius. The previous clear night set up for a stunner of a day. We brewed the JetBoil, whipped up a warm hearty breakfast and hopped into our waders. That morning’s sunrise was a breathtaking display of radiant colours. The sun itself was just peaking over the hill and its rays shone brightly and began to warm the air. Golden light dribbled over the farmland and ignited the birds into a chorus of melodies. The smell of our coffee drew us right in, we began our walk towards the misty river off in the distance. Shortly, we found ourselves standing on the high bank amazed by the water clarity.
We sat down watching the peaks of the Southern Alps pop through the remaining morning cloud. It was time to rig up, I decided to go for two nymphs and indicator option, while Jason’s choice was to tie on dry dropper rig. When the sun obliged, I spotted the first fish sitting just in the start of the riffle. Jason lined up behind the fish, unfortunately not being able to see it due to glare but listened carefully to my instructions and positioned himself into the right spot stripping out fly line. Dropping his rig too far to the right, his flies went past the fish unnoticed, same on a second and third cast. If this was later in the season the fish would be most likely gone, it kept happily swinging for food as the fish likely had a 5 month break from anglers, “Gotta love October”! The fly finally landed in the right spot and danced down the current towards the fish. His Blowfly acting as an indicator disappeared under the surface, he lifted his fly rod with excitement. The excess fly line was quickly gone through the guides and his hubless reel started to scream. As it turned out Jason hooked and landed a brown trout in superb condition after an energetic battle. We admired the coloration and spots on this estimated 6-pound trout, followed by a cheeky nose kiss and a humble thank you. Over the next couple of hours we were fishing at a pace one could call ‘’lazy angling’’. We were taking it extremely slow enjoying every aspect of it. I don’t think I have ever covered such a short amount of water in a such a long-time frame. Fish numbers were much higher than either of us expected, offering double hookups and “YEAH BOI” cheers on multiple occasions. Practically every brown trout we landed that day had unique markings and pigmentation, all had one thing in common…a big pot belly and every one in exceptional condition. We were in high spirits and called it a day surprisingly early, eager to enjoy a couple of cold beers at our previously setup camping spot at lake Mapourika. Lying in our tent wrapped snugly in our sleeping bags, the melancholy call of a Morepork put us to sleep with ease.
The next two days saw us having a blast on smaller sized mid west coast spring creeks. The weather Gods were generous, clear skies, light breeze (if any at all) and pleasant air temperatures set up for a decent afternoon mayfly hatch. Fishing these small creeks can be highly addictive and there was plenty around to keep us satisfied for several days, we were both in an eager mood for a tramp. It was time to relocate into the mountains.
The definition of backcountry isn’t one you can pin down, my belief is, it has a different meaning for every single individual. There is no drawn line to cross to be in the backcountry. For some, it might be a single day trip to a slightly remote place accessible by vehicle. For others it could be a quick chopper ride to places that aren’t commonly frequented by people, if you wish longer adventures on foot to remote places involving overnight stays. Undoubtedly, the only real way to understand the feeling is to go and experience it yourself.
A heavy front moved across the area overnight, making the river of our choice more suitable for whitewater rafting then fly fishing. Encouraged by a decent forecast that suggested the next few days would clear though we began making our way through the valley to the hut. Rivers can rise rapidly in just a few hours making places you could wade across become extremely dangerous after torrential rain, we knew that the rivers had the ability to drop just as fast. We decided to bypass the middle reaches and put in the hard yards to the headwaters. After a half day of walking through rough terrain, alternating between the track, boulders and tree hopping, battling swampy clearings with grooves of ribbonwood and scrub, we found ourselves close to the river. Some sections of the track reminded me of the scene from Never Ending Story when Atreyu’s beloved horse Artax is lost to the swamp.
While pushing forward, I could hear the river becoming closer to the track with each step and decided to bush bash through the mixture of a thick beech and podocarp forest. In a space of about ten minutes, I found myself on a high bank staring at five decent size brown trout gulping down insects in a stretch of very attractive looking water. Unfortunately for us there was no way to get to them, we were more than happy to just silently observe. According to our topo map we were no further than 20 minutes away from the next hut, which was to be our home for the next couple of days.
With only a couple of daylight hours left, we dropped our bulging backpacks at the hut and backtracked a few kilometers downstream in search of some early evening fishing. We had an outstanding time on no more than 1 km of water, pulling out some decent sized fish. Darkness came quickly, we were at a place we wanted to be. There was no light pollution or disturbance apart from the crackling fire, we were loving listening to such a blissful silence.
Sunlight filled the valley with warmth, the sky was blue without a single cloud in sight, we began our journey upstream. The fishing was not so fruitful. A couple of hours later we were fishless, not far from the hut and had already spooked over half a dozen fish. What the heck…such great fish numbers for a short stretch of primo water, but no luck. Still fishless by midday…it felt like we were cursed. I was personally dealing with some solid frustration and my mind was drifting. We headed further upstream where the river turned into a gorge full of boulders and fast turbulent water, sections of it were not passable. We decided to follow a track tucked into a beach forest, occasionally checking some pocket water. There he was, a good size brown, actively feeding in the bottom column of a deep section of fast flowing water. It meant I had to get as close as possible to achieve drag free presentation and fish super heavy.
I had a good feeling so unclipped my net in preparation. Two double tungsten nymphs went past my head way to close for my liking but landed exactly where I wanted them to be. No indicator with water so clear, I could see the fish intercept the nymphs. SET!! The startled fish darted towards me causing me to react and dive the net right in front of him, he surrendered in just a few seconds. The curse was broken, my mood lifted. We came across a couple more fish in the gorge but lost the battle, hooked but never landed. We were now in headwaters, the river had noticeably shrunk in size, shallowed and the valley opened. Birds suddenly started to appear swooping over the river. It was now 3 o’clock and the fight between the fish and birds over mayflies brought spectacular entertainment. We had to join in! There was no time for poor casts, the presentation was everything. The parachute Adams came out our fly boxes ready to be teared apart, we were buzzing with happiness. It wasn’t just the fish we caught. That very moment we wouldn’t of wanted to be anywhere else.
This is what we came for, it really was just the beginning with us knowing we had another week ahead of us.