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. :)

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...

 

Conundrum? Not really...

We’re a few weeks into this year’s trip to New Zealand. In a million years I wouldn’t have guessed the trip to go the way it has. It has been odd in a peculiar way. From the day we landed and the first fish, it’s been a bizarre circus for me personally. I’m getting a take from every single fish I line up on. No matter what we’re fishing for, rainbows or browns, it’s the same. See a fish, get a take. The only fish I haven’t have been a rainbow that was holding deep in a run, holding beside a fish we’d caught and I simply didn’t want to tie on a longer dropper nymph to get it. The other two were both browns on a formerly impossible spring creek that has been very good to us the return engagements. Those two simply looked at the flies but either took and I missed or ignored me altogether. Otherwise, It’s getting a little ridiculous. To the point that it’s almost a little tedious.

I stopped typing to read what I wrote above. I cringe in sharing that. I honestly don’t mean to sound like a pompous ass. Honest. I’ve been taken aback at how it has gone thus far. Between last year and this year’s trips, it’s been quite amazing fishing. In one run on one stream a few days ago, Amelia & I had 2 double headers and a single in a 10 m bit of water. All were 3 to 6 pound browns. In New Zealand?

 

I had a fellow earlier in our trip comment on my string of takes. His suggestion has some validity: why not go fish more heavily pressured rivers where the take isn’t guaranteed? While there is merit in that, the thoughts in my head are as follows:

WHY? If you know New Zealand enough to explore and to return to previous year’s waters that treated you well, or are able to deduct others that offer similar fishing, or you know the weather and water cycles to know where to be and when, why would you deliberately seek out pressured waters that others fish simply because they are known to produce big trout, especially when we aren’t here to simply catch big trout? As we’re here to enjoy intimate moments on some neat streams and creeks, with a few bigger rivers here & there, simply to engage some cool moments with trout (regardless their size – be it a 3 lb brown or 10 lb sea runner) then what is the point of going to where others fish with regularity and risk the chance that you’ll run into others and disrupt their or your day, especially when we’re all simply here to enjoy our time? Quite a conundrum.

We are completely comfortable to ‘only’ catch 2 to 7 pound trout from the type of waters we love, the ones that put you 13 feet from a 6 pound brown holding tight under a rounded mat of tree roots – where only a bow & arrow cast can be used as side, rear, upper back casts are blocked. To watch a fish respond and charge 3 or 4 feet to take your dry when you were hoping it might just consider your nymph… that kind of thing. Why seek out pressured waters where that is less likely?

The more popular waters also have a missing element: surprise and exploration. We’re excited about what we might or might not find on a new reach. One day earlier in our trip we literally bush bashed for an hour following a dry creek bed. As we walked up there was a bone dry channel. Then a trickle; then a corner pool; then a long glide and some almost waist deep water. It was looking great! Google Earth recon was looking excellent. But, then we came around a corner and the now babbling stream began to disappear into thickets of gorse and broom (nasty, thick and spiked weeds).  We marched onwards but only found ourselves mired in the thickest of nasty bush and the stream spread out considerably. A complete bust for trout. But, it was our bust, our wee exploration. Fun, hot, sweaty, miserable, hopeless, painful, hopeful, and full of anticipation that we might find a hidden gem with a trout or two. Of course, we’d likely catch them in that scenario, but the point was finding them, not the catching. The catching, by that point, is only a reflection of the effort. We weren’t so rewarded then, but 90% of the time we are, if only for one. And often, one is enough.

So, it has been an interesting trip for sure. We’ve fished some waters from years gone by. We have explored successfully (be it trout or not) and enjoyed our time. The weather hasn’t always lined up with the good fishing and the video work is a little lacking by our hopeful standards, but it has gone exceptionally well in so many regards. It’s been an interesting bit tho. I’m not used to the words “I’m getting a take from every fish I’ve lined up on for a month” and “New Zealand” in the same breath. It’s similar to last years’ trip where Amelia landed every fish she lined up on during an incredible 3 week run.

It simply reflects that it is no longer simply the fishing that brings us back here. Great friends, hope for new ones, hope for some amazing photos and video moments, avoiding the hellish winter at home this year, finally getting a great video of a fantail flitting about in a streamside forest, and countless small moments that go along with the endless string of trout that we seek in unique, intimate moments. At this point what is missing is a small cabin (batch) to call home, to share it all with friends, to enjoy what we’ve been able to enjoy. It’s getting to be so much like home,  a place to settle into might be the next phase of this experience in life. It’s all part of how amazing life can be, rising out of the simplest means of life as a fly fishing guide in Alberta, Canada. Life is wonderful, even in the smallest of things. We need more time with the people we care about, spent watching fantails, pukekos, wekas, and keas… or completely immersed in a moment with a trout…

Life indeed can be amazingly wonderful

 

2 Stupid

We all do dumb things, make stupid mistakes. We leave ourselves wondering "what the hell was that?" from time to time. Some folks do it more often than others, maybe because they're more prone to dumb mistakes or maybe because they're more observant and honest with themselves about those dumb mistakes. Thankfully, I'm not too prone to dumb mistakes but I certainly do 'em right when I do - and I am too observant to miss them. I also have a memory like an elephant - I don't forget my dumb mistakes. My biggest dumb mistake in life was in high school. The fad at the time was to wear boxer shorts and nothing else on my legs. I was one of the cool kids, walking around school in nothing but boxers. I'll clarify, I was pretty cool until after school, at the bus terminal where a few hundred people were milling about waiting for various bus connections. My girlfriend & I hopped off our bus and we had a little make out session to say "good-bye" for the day. The stupidity of the mistake of wearing only boxer shorts to school was soon, uh, obviously apparent. My error was looking right up at me. The topper was that they were white boxers with little red hearts on them. They had been loose fitting 5 minutes earlier. In hindsight, I'm still not sure how I gracefully exit that one. Of course, there is the obvious, pro-active answer. But try telling that to someone in grade 12.

So, enter 2 stupid mistakes on this year's trip to New Zealand. In fact, day two of the trip brought stupid move #1. Amelia was lined up on a nice fish in a shallow, gravel trough. I was on camera and so set up the tri-pod to film. She closed things on her end and the footage wonderful. But the fish turned and came downstream and she followed, coming past me. I moved out of the way and stepped backwards. And, of course, I heard a crushing, popping sound of a really nice Helios 4 wt rod. It was the only rod we broke this year, but having it happen on day #2 is stupid, especially since the obvious preventative answer was to put the backpack on the ground and lean the rod against it.

Oddly enough, stupid move #2 happened on the 2nd last day of the trip. Before flying to New Zealand we ordered a raft from China. We were told that the raft would be shipped by boat the next day and arrive within 5 to 7 business days to CHCH. With that kind of promise, I wondered if the money was gone, or, if the boats did arrive, would it be a Wal-Mart special. It took considerable effort, emails, tele calls, but the rafts did arrive 4 days before we went home, over 3 months post - ordering. Our raft is now waiting for next year's trip. There's a hitch, of course. We took our raft out for a spin on a river near our friends' place. The first was a short float on a nice, summer day with him. It was wonderful. The next day we took her out on a section of water above what we'd done previous. It too was a wonderful float. In fact, we were beside ourselves for how amazing a piece of water was right beside where we'd been so many times. The river was in prime shape, the rapids just perfect, everything was just amazing, really.

And as we came out of the open gorge, there was a short rapid with 4 or 5 waves of about 2 or 3 feet. At left of the first wave was a log poking up, so my plan was to have us paddle over the first wave and skirt left to avoid the bigger water to the right as it was covered in willows. No sense in needlessly testing the raft's sturdiness on willow branches in the rapids. But as we drew near, the log at left began to look a little 'off'', 'not quite right', different somehow. The first wave looked great through - a big, white roller with a beautiful wave to have some fun and roll through. About 4m up from the wave, the log at left wasn't a log - it was a metal post of an old guard rail sticking right out of the water. As we made that discovery, the boat came up and over the big, white roller - which should have been amazing. It was amazing. As Sharron came over the rock, mid air, she saw another big metal post - hidden under the wave. And then the raft simply came down with a thud onto it. And we were stuck - harpooned and sitting like a donut with a stick in the hole in the middle of a rapid. We stood up sideways and rocked and pulled. In 10 seconds or so we were able to un-harpoon the boat from the post. But, instead of floating away from the hazard, as I sat back to paddle, my end wedged up. I was now on yet another metal post of a guard rail stuck in another rock in the rapid. This time I pushed off the rock wall beside me and we drift off. We got to shore and walked back upstream. All along the opposite side of the river, tucked under the waves and in the willows, were old guard rail posts with 2" cable running through. Clearly, the old hwy had sloughed in and the railing wedged into the river bottom.

It was a stupid mistake. Our raft has a pretty good tear through the pillowed floor. It can be repaired, but having it happen on the second float on the second last day of our trip - not something we hooped for. But the mistake was obvious and a good lesson to learn. Given how often and voraciously rivers flood in New Zealand, no matter how much you get into the rhythm and feel of a river, never take anything for granted. Farmers lose hundreds of KM of fenceline and thousands of fenceposts each year to flooding rivers, and at any time and any place they might stack up and cause one heck of a river hazard. Thankfully we always play the safest route and float rivers that are likely to fish well, meaning we avoid class 5 rivers. But in all these years of guiding and floating rivers, I've never come across a 500 m section of river with 30 or 40 guard rail posts stuck into rocks facing upstream, all connected by 2" cable like that. In fact, this is the first hole I've ever put in any inflatable boat - and we've owned quite a number of them.
As we said upon getting out and looking - even if we'd gotten out and looked at the first post, we wouldn't have seen the others in the waves as they were completely hidden by the waves. Had we looked though, my hunch is that we would have walked that boat around 'just in case' given what we saw downstream. It wasn't a hard paddle, not a scary river - in fact it was a fun river. Who knew? But it opened our eyes to the hazards waiting in New Zealand rivers. Waaaaay too much farming to go blindly into any other river. Why is this a stupid mistake? I think we've only walked about 5,000km of rivers in NZ - you think we'd have put 2 & 2 together to figure out that there might be a few hazards due to flooding and earthquakes in NZ.

Go ahead... laugh

Amelia & I want to put a dvd out on some of our favorite aspects of New Zealand. One of those things has to do with tiny waters that are of no consequence to most anglers. We love them and they seldom are fished as they are typically barren of fish, save one or two fish over 1 - 3km length of water. We spent a lot of time this trip exploring and talked to a lot of land owners to access such water. Usually, we were told not to bother or pointed directly to where the owner, manager, or farm hands have seen fish. Helpful is very helpful. But, every now and then, when talking to the land owners, we get laughed at. Such was the case late December as we drove up to ask permission. The property owner simply looked at us, laughed heartily and continuously, "In THAT stream?!!! Are you out of your mind" - HA HA HA "In THAT stream? SERIOUSLY? You want to fish in that???"  We were almost told to stuff ourselves as the request was seemingly so outlandish. On and on went the laughter. We simply kept replying "We know that you know your land, but would you mind if we had a go anyway? We're here, we love the landscape, and we simply love photography..." 
After literally 10 minutes of being laughed at and having others on the property come over to see what was so funny, thus furthering the laughter in our direction, we were told we could have all the go we wanted.
So we did.
We tip toed along the tiny spring creek.
Through the grassy pasture.
Along the fenceline.

The spring creek looked stunning but it was not quite ankle deep.
If only we could find a bit that was knee deep.
We found it.
And we found this. 7.5 pounds of it to be exact. And we found a couple others quite similar.

 And then we found where the spring met the river a ways down. And that was full of fish.

We never saw anyone a few hours later when we drove back out from the property. Nor have we been back. We'd hate to be laughed at again, but, more to the point, we'd hate to telegraph that there are, in fact, fish on the property. So, next year, we'll drive up and knock on the door again. And get laughed at again. And we won't mind. Go ahead. Laugh. And 20 minutes later, when we're on the water we'll be laughing too.

Respite & Catch up

It is hard to believe we're this close to coming home. A week to go after 11 full weeks on the go, fly fishing New Zealand's South Isl. It has been a marvellous trip. Frankly, however, we're tuckered out. Literally fishing 7 of every 8 days, much camping, much walking, a lot of eye strain while sight fishing. A heck of a trip, but knackered as of today. With a week to go, I'm not sure how much fishing we'll do this week vs doing some filming of scenes for a couple of projects on the go, visiting friends, and letting the body recover. 3 months on the go at 8 to 14 hrs on the water each day, camping the back country... about cooked.

Let's catch up a wee bit though. Frankly, we haven't posted any photos from late Dec through mid Feb. When you're in the back country full time and come out for food, a shower, and a quick email check, time to update the blog and Facebook is at a premium.

Here's a few pics from a fun day we spent on a west coast river. It's off the coast highway and it looked like it has fish, so we decided to give it a go back mid December. We began at the bridge, headed upstream. The water was inviting, clear and nice pools. We saw no sign of fish as we went up, but the water was so intriguing we couldn't help it. But, as often happens when exploring, we found ourselves in trouble yet again. The river kept getting steeper. The rocks getting bigger. The drops higher. The walking on giant logs of beech trees got a wee bit tougher.

It was about the time that we were scaling over one such boulder and tucking under a log to pull ourselves up over the next boulder, having not seen a fish in 2 hrs of clammering and stammering the gorge that we decided to bail out. Looking for a way out of a gorge other than the way in isn't so easy. We spotted a track high above, but how to get there would present an issue. Stupidly, I decided I could pull myself up a sheer rock face to a plateau, then pull AJ up to me before scaling up to the track, and hope it led us out. Plausible, until as I was pulling myself up the first rock wall the bit I was holding onto let go and I slid down the rock wall 3 or 4 feet, losing a finger nail and scraping the hell out of my hand and arm. Like a good fly fisher, I'd rather wreck an arm than let go of the fly rod so I could steady myself. About then AJ piped up that we could have gone 20 feet to the right and come up a nice grassy trough right to the track. Easier, indeed.

We returned to the van and drove downstream of the bridge to the viewpoint high above where the small river reached the Tasman Sea. Beautiful, but we had to get a better camera view, walking back down the highway. And of course, when you spend your morning trying to kill yourself in the gorge, lose a finger nail, and then walk the highway looking for a camera friendly viewpoint is when you see the only 2 fish of the day, 200m above the Sea. So, back to the bridge, walk downstream, and drift HUGE cicadas over the snout of the fish you saw from high above. Go figure.