Was that a freakin' tuna?

If you’ve seen our friends’ Jim & Lynda McLennan’s slide show on their trips to New Zealand back in the early 90’s, you might have seen a particular photo of Jim & his friend Bob Vale, who was guiding them at the time. Bob now runs an accommodation house in Arthur’s Pass at the peak of the southern alps, no longer guiding fly fishing. In the photo, Jim & Bob are casting flies in a spring creek with the ocean in the background. I can’t count the number of times that Amelia & I have been at Jim & Lynda’s place, and each time we try to jog their memory – “hey, you know that photo.... do you recall what stream that was?” Neither can ever remember. In the times they recount where they traveled and name a few stream names they can recall. The names of streams here are generally difficult to remember well. Kokatahi, Mohikonui, Tewhekapapa. Maori names many. On our last visit with Jim & Lynda about a week before we left, Jim recalled a spring creek they had fished that gave us a clue as to where they might have fished at the mouth on the ocean. We went to fish the spring creek this past week. It was very good. But, in looking at the map, Google Earth, and tying in some dates to determine access to a particular spot, we found what might have been where they were. Today, the land is privately owned and the mouth of the creek we thought it might be is 10km across this private, gated land. We’d run into fly fishing photographer David Lambroughton in the valley twice this week as well, and he also mentioned that you could only make it so far before the belly button deep ford of the spring creek. Intrigued? Certainly. Gaining access by word of a farmer whom we met further up the valley, we made our way by mountain bike. We got to the ford and I managed to get both bikes and Amelia across. We continued on past the whitebaiters’ shacks along the river’s edge. We arrived at the mouth to a fast flowing stream over fresh gravel, no holding structure to really speak of as it raced out to sea. It was a beautiful location – the peaks of the tallest mountains in the southern alps towered above old aged beech forests at foreground. I wondered how long such a place that appeared to be of low fish holding possibilities would hold our attention. I was thinking of rising back to the 10km of prime trout habitat we’d cycled past. But, we were there for whatever would come of the day, be it a nice picnic spot or whatever.


We’d come to fish a spring creek. I had my 4 wt, Amelia now casting a 5wt as I broke the other 4 last week in a gale force wind about the high country in 120kmh wind gust. We hoped for a few browns and we packed our gear for a few browns in the 4 and 5 pound range. I rigged up and decided to take a cast at the only typical looking holding water, a washed bit of gravel alongside a faster flowing one, each maybe calf and thigh deep. I wasn’t too into it on my first cast when a massive wake erupted behind my streamer. Given we were likely to encounter sea runners, whitebait imitating streamers were the obvious choice, and this fish responded. I missed it. But, moving 50m up from the mouth of the ocean, I cast a few more times and began our onslaught of sea run browns. Simple streamer fishing. Cast across, pulse the swing. BAM! BIFF! ZOWEE! (If you missed the 1960s Batman tv show, shame). The browns came fast and furious.

Then something odd happened. The damned Tasman Sea started to back up the flow of our spring creek, sending big waves up the channel. Where I once stood ankle deep wet my calf. A nice brown rolled on the far trough. I cast and nailed it. A bigger one rolled in the new seam. Excellent fishing. I wondered if there might be fish now cruising the mud flats created by the incoming tide. I cast out and stripped. KA-BOOM! And my rod keeled over. I was into my backing in seconds, the fish thrashing, going nuts, leaping as it went. A massive headed beast rolled out to sea and my fly popped out. “Was that a freaking tuna?” I gasped to AJ. “I’m more than a little heart broken I lost whatever that thing was”. Without thinking I flipped my fly to my right in my despair. BAM! I was on again. The fish leapt, ran, screamed into my backing. I got a handle on it before it ran again. Wow. It leapt 10 or more times. back into my backing. It was a bonefish-rainbow trout cross. And pissed off. It took about 15 minutes but I finally was able to land it. An amazing looking fish, it turned out to be a Kahawai, which is considered here to be a trout on steroids, though it isn’t a trout at all. It’s an ocean fish that comes into estuaries as the tides come in, feeding on whatever smaller than itself hides in the estuaries. And when you hook these things, look out!

I released my fish and Amelia had to join the fun. She cast and got walloped, a big Kahawai nailing her streamer. Hers decided to turn to the mighty Tasman and made a run for it, almost spooling her reel of backing. Way out at the big breakers her fish leapt through the waves before finally turning, allowing AJ to break its spirit. It made a couple more runs to her backing before she made a photo of it. After that, it was on. Before you knew it, it was 6pm and the tide was starting to head out. In the 8 hours we were there, we fished a brown trout stream that turned into a Kahawai infested brackish water mixing zone. As the last of the tide went out, having lost count of how many fish we’d caught hours earlier, I again tagged into a heavy Kahawai. It ran me way out to the biggest breakers before popping off my fly. I was a little sad it was off but just as I reeled my backing to my fly line, another fish nailed my streamer. A 7 pound Kahawai popped off and a 3 pound brown was on my line. Fair Trade. I guess, in hindsight, maybe heading to an estuary area of a spring creek with 4 and 5 wt rods wasn't the best idea. But it was fun.  :)

For as much as we love New Zealand browns, if you get a chance to look up a spot to fish Kahawai, it’s worth the time to land a few. Bonefish crossed with rainbows. Awesome.