Will Ferrell Goes Fly Fishing

After floating hopelessly for a spell on a 'kind of' middle of nowhere reach of water, we decided to have a look at a bit of water running against a cliff bank 100 m up a side braid. We hopped out of the raft, walked over. I had taken the time to get myself over the narrow perch above a run and it wasn't until I looked in the top pocket in the upper reach of the run that I finally spotted fish. Amelia & our friend Jack then took the time to walk around to get in the proper position to work the one, large rainbow that was working the back water. It was a stunning fish to watch.

 

 

Not HUGE big, just big enough and doing a sexy enough bit of feeding to warrant the time to do it right... and get it all on video from my perch. It took 10 - 15 minutes for them to walk around and set up. Finally, they were in position. It was a windy day, wind howling loudly in the bush beside me. The riffled water beside them and the wind where I was meant that we had to pretty much yell to hear each other. Fair enough, we did what we had to and all was good.

Fast forward to later that afternoon. We were floating the main river past a good bit of water. The tailout had a great set of rocks. Amelia drift her flies past the rocks and a nice rainbow came to have a look but never took. It followed her fly 20 - 25 m but never committed. We pulled out below and beached the raft to walk back up to the rocks. I once again got up high to spot. I saw 3 rainbows in the wee pocket, only one was feeding.

Once more the wind was howling where I was. I could hardly hear for the wind in the matagouri bush. Assuming they had the same, I was yelling, LOUDLY. At one point, Amelia put her fly in the zone and a fish came to have a look "OH! HERE HE COMES!... ... ... REJECTED!" I yelled out. For the better bit of 10 minutes, I was givin'er vocally. It wasn't until I heard them muttering to themselves that I clued in. I said something in a normal, subdued voice and they both responded. Ah boy. Embarrassing! I'd just been yelling at them for 10 minutes when the accoustics where they were could have been normal talking! Uggh. As Jack said later, he'd never heard someone yell so loudly without being severely pissed off at him.
In hindsight, as I even sit here now, I'm still embarrassed by it. I kind of akin it to me being the Will Ferrell of fly fishing. In hindsight, my "REJECTED!" must have just seemed so Will Ferrell. I could easily see him doing a fly fishing movie, screaming out "REJECTED!!!".  For as much as I don't laugh at a lot of Will's movies, that would be a moment I would for sure. Awesome. I was there. Still embarrassed by it in my memory. Ah well. What can you do? Classic.

PS ~ Thanks to Jack Kos for the middle 2 pics. :)

Mustad C49, Superfly HKP... and other hooky thoughts

I started out on the cheap in fly fishing. When you start fly tying and fishing at age 5, you take what you are given. You get a newspaper route (do they still have those?) and buy stuff at the Fishin' Hole in Edmonton, Christmas and birthdays and grade 4 report cards add to your tying collection. You do the best you can in your blissful ignorance. Having stuff is great, and you do with what you can afford. My uncle taught me enough about fly fishing to make me obsessed - actually I was born obsessive, he just directed my OC nature.

I've always used Mustad hooks. I loved the little cardboard boxes with wax paper wrappings and was sad when they went to the plastic clam shell packaging: it weakened the imagery. But I've never had issue with Mustad. Sure, I've read some on the internet go on about how poor quality the hooks are, etc. I always wondered why I'd never lost a fish to a bad Mustad hook but a few people are so anti the brand. Forward many years of fishing. I've broken points off some hooks in canyon/gorge settings. You can't always miss the rock walls behind you. That was never a big deal. The old, standard hooks always served me well. Through my teenage years, I got into tying small stonefly patterns on the fine wire, extended shank dry fly hooks. They worked well, floated, added thorax length to my patterns. I still enjoy the patterns and they hold up for 6 to 16" cutts in open situations, no issue.

It wasn't until 3 years ago on our third trip to New Zealand that I ever had any kind of issue. We'd started to tie more exclusively on Mustad C49 hooks, thanks to chironomid fishing influence up at Fortress Lake Retreat, with some brookies to 7 or 8 pounds landed on the hooks. They are great little hooks that offer a lifelike curve to chironomid patterns. I began to tie my stream nymphs on the hooks and really have loved the appearance of the patterns, and the and performance on our home waters with cutts and browns that tended to be less than 4 pounds (24") has been satisfactory. It got to the point all of our nymphs were being tied on C49s, but we'd not used them on larger river fish, and not yet in New Zealand.

So, what happened on our third trip to New Zealand? It was a mouse year. Imagine your local waters and taking the fattest trout in the river and doubling its weight, the fin muscles Popeye-ing in strength. It was my first NZ mouse year brown of 8 lbs that opened my eyes. The fish didn't do anything special. It jumped and ran in an open river situation. I was well into my backing a few times in the heavy current. You simply don't just reel large fish in when in heavy water. By the time the fish was to hand, the hook was bent out completely. Garbage. Fair enough, I'd given it a work out, I thought. But what I didn't know at the time was that trip was to become a one and done exercise. After every single fish, the C49 was completely bent out.
Every fish.
It got to the point on that trip that I'd hook up a 4 lb spring creek brown and do the usual fight, and either lose the fish for a bent out hook or land it and have to tie on a new fly. Of course we stopped using those patterns on fish that we really wanted.

It was the first time that we'd ever had any issue with Mustad. We haven't stopped using Mustad. No, we still love it, maybe because of habit, maybe because there is no need to change something that works for you. We're happy with Mustad in every other situation, likely always will be. I can only say good things about every other Mustad experience. Those C49s are great chironomid hooks and never failed us fishing lakes. But on bigger fish in moving water, I wouldn't use it again. I wouldn't risk the time and $ of a trip to New Zealand on that hook.

Now, forward to this year's trip to New Zealand. Obviously no C49s were on board. But, we took a flier on Superfly HKP hooks. Same idea, short shank, curved hook. Just Superfly's in house brand. The result was probably 50% better. Not perfect, but encroaching very reliable. There were some flies that lasted 1/2 doz fish, some that lasted not one, and some that went 3 days of fishing - it's all so subjective, from scenario to scenario, person to person, etc. When I hooked into one 7 1/2 lb brown from a spring creek on one particularly tough day of fishing toward the end of our trip, as I set the hook I said an "ah, shit" to myself, remembering instantly that I had a #18 curved hook nymph below my caddis. Being the first fish any of the 3 of us had hooked into that day I had to fight it less aggressively and be ginger-gentle as it came to net. It was the lingering negativity of our Mustad experience that had me so cautious. We got it, but when you have to adjust your fishing due to hook psychology, you wonder why you did that to yourself to begin with. But, the Superfly hook performed admirably.

If I was to give Mustad C49 an F for large fish in heavy water and a C for stream nymphs on other sized trout, and as close to an A for lake fish on chironomids... I'd give the Superfly HKPs a C+ for big fish in moving water and a B+ otherwise. But that's with the caveat that our/my top end is 12 - 14 river browns. No report on the Superfly hooks on lakes yet. That's just my/our experience.

My friend Nick recently wrote a blog post about hooks in his 8 cents a fly. Make sure you read his blog The Drag Free Drift, it's a great site. We've had the same discussion previously. Why cheap out on hooks? Now, I'm obviously not as strong in my views of that discussion, however, there are times to look at what we're doing. For us, for me, I'll always be a Mustad tier. But, I'd encourage you to look around at some of the reviews of various hooks and various hooks for the fishing scenario you plan to or could be exposed to. Most of the known brands will work well. To take a flier on an unknown? Not always a great idea. Again, for 8 cents...

Now, back to that #1 rule of the internet: to express an opinion, view, perspective, or experience is to invite one back! :)

Quietly Into the Night

We return to Alberta tomorrow. We leave New Zealand, with the leaves drying and willows turning yellow at the first signs of the changing season, late Feb eerily similar to late August at home - the warm, dry weather taking its toll on the trees. The rivers are low and warm. The nights only now cooling quite noticeably. The afternoons are calmer but take just a touch longer to warm. The highways are quiet. All is peaceful.

So it was on our last foray into the back country, to explore a new road and a couple of new valleys, mostly for the fun of it and definitely for next year's trip. The salmon are in many waters and the trout are a little more than just put off - they aren't happy their big, distant cousins are in the small habitat, and certainly aren't keen to share a bath tub.

So it was we were driving out from that last jaunt up a remote, lonely valley that we thought of a fish I'd missed on 3 successive rises to my mayfly. I stood above it high on the bank and each time it rose to my mayfly I struck early. The optics from above were starkly different to water level: from above you saw the head pop but you strike too soon often, as the large headed trophies need to turn or return to the water prior to striking. I missed each take back 6 weeks or so, simply pulling the fly out of an open mouth prior to that turn. It was at the end of the 5 weeks of high, muddy, miserable weather and water and that moment more frustrating because of the negative run of conditions.

But on this drive out the water was low, cold, clear. And there was enough time to walk over to the pool and see if it was there. We were close by and it was worth a look. And as we walked over and peered over the bank, the mayflies were popping and my fish was popping like mad.

It was epic. And I got him this go 'round. And it was the greatest moment and memory we'll both take with us from this trip. Me for being so engaged in the fishing, Amelia in the video. And it was epic.

This Tar Baby's Got No Rhythm

If you know the story of Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby, you can appreciate that sometimes the harder we swing the worse it can get.
A month prior to flying to New Zealand Amelia & I were doing some hill sprinting in the snow at a golf course back home in Red Deer. We like to try to stay in shape. At the end of the work out, the last hill of course, I felt a blast of pain shoot up my right calf, like a zipper of pain coiling up. I couldn't walk. I tried my best the next  month to walk, but it hurt to do a lot of different motions. When we arrived in New Zealand, the first few weeks were brutal. My right knee doubled in size and the calf was still sore. Whatever I did was not getting much better. I simply couldn't walk the distances we normally do, but I tried. And the knee was simply just there to swing my leg... kind of a jelly feel. Some days were simply hopeless for the pain, others for the numbness and weak feel.

About the time I finally clued in and had the means to do so - I started icing and taking Voltaren (thanks to our friends here who happen to be in the medicine field) Amelia took a nasty tumble while crossing a paddock. She was putting the electric fence back up, turned, and took a step. That step landed in a grass covered hole that had a hidden, old post. All I know is that I turned around to hear her writhing in pain. She was hurt pretty good and the bruise just kept getting sexier to look at over the next week or two.

We fished, we made do, we struggled physically to keep going, but we did. The fishing was ok those first few weeks. Actually quite good but when you are struggling physically, you know you just aren't on top of it all.

AJ got better, the ice and Voltaren started to work a little, and just as we were ready to roll, the weather hit. For a month. Literally 4 weeks of every 18 to 36 hrs a major front of 100 - 600mm. 2 vertical feet of rain in 20 hours is stunning to see the effects of. But this is New Zealand and there is always a place to fish, and we did quite well. But the trip continued to be a Brer. We kept swinging, kept taking a best stab, best jab. Never quite on top of it. The trip was going well, it just didn't have the feel of any rhythm.

It was during a big rain event that we decided to take a couple of days to hike and raft with our friends. And that's when my big break through came. We hiked to a mountain top one day and I had been stretching out my knee, my calf, and trying to get loose. On our way down the mountain I decided to give my knee all it could handle. I ran down the mountain. Literally. And my knee loosened up, big time. It was ironic: I hurt my leg sprinting up hill in the snow at home; my leg instantly felt better running down hill in summer in New Zealand. And it has been pretty much 100% since. Who knew?

We set out for our latest jaunt 3 weeks ago from our friends' place. We left in a heck of a rain storm that turned to a dump of wet snow as we drove across the tops. The rivers were high, muddy. 2 days later, it was 30C and the past 2 - 3 weeks have been an amazing run of weather. The trip that had zero rhythm changed that day. Like any good cutthroat trout stream at home, these New Zealand trout need a good run of fine weather to get going, to get in their rhythm. And in turn, our trip has a solid rhythm to it. So much so that today, a cloudy day (dare we say finally!), we're back at our friends' place. Amelia's baking banana bread, we'll have a jug of coffee, and sometime after lunch we'll head down to the local river to fish a 2km side channel for a soft, 'off' day. Tomorrow is a heavy rain day so we'll finally take a day off the water and maybe do a little more blogging, sharing more shots like these. Of course, if you want to see more photos and are on Facebook, check out our Jensen Fly Fishing Facebook Page.

The Coolest Experience

It's not as though we didn't know what was coming, what we were getting into. But, in New Zealand, sometimes you have to stare into the eyes of a tiger and then take a claw in the face. We had seen the weather forecast. 2 days of fine weather (which, again, stands for no monsoons but could be sunny, cloudy, some rain, and a variety of wind - or all these), then the bottom was to drop out. When the forecasters give the map at right, you take notice.

From the map, heavy rainfall warnings start at 100mm in a few hours duration here, with significant heavy rainfalls that we've seen in the 600mm in less than 24 hrs (that's 24" depth of rain, incomprehnsible to Albertans who freak out over 75mm of rain). Serious rain. Severe gales start at 120kmh and have gone to gusts of 140-160kmh. Spillover rain is when the west coast rains come over the divide, which when combined with severe gales can make the rain being pushed from 30km away feel like pellets from a BB gun hitting you en masse.

 

As it was, we chose to hit a small stream for a couple of days and, the day the first front was forecast was to arrive, we hit a spring creek. Again, the first 2 days were cloudy but warm. The spring creek day the first front smoked us... hard. We got 150mm in 8 hrs just as we got to our favorite glides. AJ missed a 10+lb brown that we got a big white mouth take on video from. As she set, the mouth opened to chew the nymph and she pulled it out of its mouth. A huge trout. Alas, that was it for that side of the island as we woke to a FULL, black river beside our van. When van camping, you try to avoid being wet, so our choice, given the above forecast map, was to head east, hoping that the associated forecast that called for a severe threat of spill-over precip held off before deluging. Hopefully it would give us a day or two.

We drove over the divide in pouring rain, rain that ebbed as we came down the east side and turned to hot, dry wind. We went from a saturated rain forest to a dry tussockland (bunch grasses). In about 80 km as the crow flies. That's the dramatic New Zealand ecosystem changes.

We got one amazing weather day in on the eastern divide - albeit in howling winds. The sun was present a short spell then disapeared as the leading edge of the next front came in, with only a minor spill over rain in the distance.

The interesting hilight of that day was coming across a nice rainbow from a corner pocket pool at the top end of the stream. It was the exact fish that we caught in the exact pool as last year.

The next day, as the major front was to come in (Jan 2), we woke to a freight train of a wind. A head wind to boot. Trees were pushed over, some snapping. The stands of HUGE pine were screaming, forcing Amelia & I to yell to hear each other - from about 6 feet apart. We woke that morning to an amazing morning Nor'wester rainbow. Morning Nor'wester rainbows are formed when the easterly rising sun reflect the spillover rains to the west. As the fronts roll from the Tasman Sea, they hit the alps and head NE, following the chain. When a massive front comes in, it can push over the top. That's what this one had in mind.

The morning was nice, full of broken sun and a warm wind. Amelia photographed the rainbow, we enjoyed a morning coffee, then set out for a fish. So warm, I opted to wear a thin shirt, AJ 3 layers in case the distant spill over grew. And it would. By the time we walked downstream to our start point, the rain from the tops was driven upon us in the 120+kmh winds. It was a driving headwind. The trout spotted took some 30 minutes to time good casts to the right spots.

 

Our fortunate streak of good fishing continued through this wind and pellet-like driven rain.

 

Then the yo-yo effect began. A deluge came and the black clouds from the tops spewed east, then retreated. The sun popped out before the next push of the western front fought back. The distant western skies turned white with sun lit rain, replaced by black as the front pushed up again. It was literally directly over head, fighting all day long. Over and over this repeated itself as the wind continued to roar. By 4pm the skies turned jet black. We were soaked. My decision to wear a thin shirt on this fine day? Dumb. I shook as I cast at given trout, no longer wanting or caring to hook up. I defered to AJ to fish. I was frozen in the dropping temps and the driving rain. As it came to the last run - we couldn't take it any more - I could barely hold a firm rod. I thought I could see a dark shadow under Amelia's feet along the bank. My last cast of the day revealed a heavy rainbow that I could hardly hold due to numb hands.

AJ was soaked from driven rain yet the sun shone on her as she released a beautiful brown.

By 5:30 pm the valley began to fill with lightning and thunder, a once a year event for the valley. Oddly, the ebb-flow of the front continued as the lighting came overhead then retreated west. All night though the next morning the lightning literally came overhead, then retreated west. Black and clear went the weather.

 

By morning the spring creek and small streams of the valley were swollen as the river on the other side of the mountain in the valley jumped over and filled the entirety of the whole valley, filling the streams and spring creeks. About a mile or so wide. In less than 12 hrs of rain.
We'd been warned by our local friend in that valley that the river would likely do just that, and told us to get out if we had the opportunity as the road could easily wash us out for a few days. When we awoke, we were able to leave. When we got to our other friends' place on the other side of the island 3 hrs later, we saw that valley was completely flooded and the road under water less than an hour after we left.

The west coast rain totalled 600mm in 18 hrs.



6 - 18" of snow hit the tops as the front moved through and temperatures swooned.

The rivers? SWOLLEN. A west coast river swelled 24 vertical feet.  Check out the river chart at left and consider the units of depth and time, and how quickly the rise and fall!

Flood waters hit the eastern waters. West coast rivers ripped bridges, flooding highways, and major slips closed 3 of the 4 routes through the north and western area of the island.

A short news video: http://tvnz.co.nz/national-news/deluge-cuts-off-west-coast-video-5309821

The irony? 2 days later, we're sight-fishing clear water. Alberta waters would be toast for the season, as 2005 showed. It's a country formed from this extreme weather, it can handle it. The people simply have to adjust. And life goes on. So, we were forced to have a day and a half off fishing. Tomorrow, we're back at it at a high country spring creek we stumbled upon 2 weeks ago but never had time to fully investigate it as it was at the end of the day and we'd had 3 flat tires that day already and needed to make sure we got back (another tale of back country NZ roads and hard times!). That's the life and times of the west->east coast environments. And what keeps you on your toes in New Zealand! Always an adventure...

 

Nor'wester Sunset

Every year we try our best to avoid the Nor'wester. I'm really not a big wind fan. I'm a very sensory sensitive person and wind in my ears plus the pressure gradient of Chinook winds back home drives me nuts. But, Chinook winds back home are put to shame by New Zealand Nor'westers. Nor'wester winds in New Zealand come as a result of the many low pressure fronts that steam roll the west coast. These systems are often intense and dump upwards of 20" of rain in a day out west. The thing is the fronts are stalled by the southern alps and the rains dry up by the divide. But, the weather pressures have to go somewhere and like a pressure release valve, the winds coming across the tops and screaming down the other side of the alps is intense. 120kmh sustained with gusts 140 to 150kmh isn't unheard of. This can happen several times a week in spring, as we've experienced on previous trips. And the tough part isn't putting up with wind in my ears, nor the pressure front, nor the dry heat packed in the winds, it's the fact that the streams on the east side of the alps flow west to east and the winds are almost always Nor'westers. Head winds. On one day last week we found ourselves caught in an area that is very like the Crowsnest Pass in Alberta - wind mill farms on the hillsides. We were looking to explore some new waters in Southland. And, in this area - the only one in NZ we've come across with windmill farms, we found ourselves stuck in a Nor'wester front. Thankfully we found some willow groves to fish as the winds howled. It actually wound up a quite successful day. But it wasn't until the evening that the full drama unfolded, as the peak of the front rolled through as the sun began to set. The winds knocked trees, whipped and bowed power lines, and the tussock grasses danced. It was amazing.

2 Most Magical

When we run into people in New Zealand, we always tend to listen a great deal more than we talk. We simply mention that we're Canadian fly fishers looking for beautiful waters to fish, not necessarily having the biggest or most fish, just to have a neat experience. Those beautiful moments can happen in a 10 foot wide spring creek, breaking the scene down to one ponga fern and a fantail chirping over our shoulder as we cast to a 4 lb brown, or that beauty can be as in your face on the large scale as a dramatic gorge on a sunny west coast afternoon. When we ran into an outgoing Euro couple, Robin and Liz, he was more than happy to share a few places he thought were beautiful to fly fish. We had  a chance to poke around a couple of streams he mentioned about 2 or 3 weeks later, and over those 2 days Amelia & I experienced an out of world fly fishing experience. Pretty? Stunning. Good fishing? Depends on your definition. Not a lot of fish, but when they average over 8 pounds and you work 12 to 15 fish a day and take them all, you wind up with those magical Tourism New Zealand days. The kind that everyone wants to sell you in magazines but happen once or twice in a 3 month trip. It just so happens we timed the weather and water conditions 'just so'. So, a great big shout out "Thank you" to Robin and Liz who put us on the two small waters where the following shots took place over 2 days. We haven't been back since as they are small waters with a very finite number of fish, but maybe we'll get back before we head home end of Feb. For as great a fishing result we had, the scenery and setting was simply stunning on these waters. Casting in the depths of the gorge on the one stream was magical, freely flowing line set against heavy contrasts of beech, rata, and pongas. To have big browns simply gorging on anything resembling a cicada the size of your thumb was a bonus. Amelia had an amazing run of fish as you'll see below. You can click on the images for a slightly larger version.

We'll update this blog again soon with some other amazing fly fishing experiences - not so much for sizes but beauty and neat, smaller scale intimate fly fishing.