Fishing in New Zealand represents
the quintessential essence of trout fishing - what we all
dream about on a trout stream - coming round the corner
of a stunning aquamarine river and seeing a huge brownie
supping emergers from the surface film. There is nowhere
in the world that can offer more opportunities to cast to
large sighted fish in crystal clear water. It will not happen
every day of your visit for New Zealand suffers its fair
share of rain that now and again spoils the party, but the
rain also makes the fishing that much better once the weather
settles. The photographs of stunning rivers and huge fish
are a reality in New Zealand. It is not a numbers game at
all, but it is the epitome of classic upstream trout fishing
to "high stakes" fish that demand a certain amount
of skill. Entomology is not a key, partly because your guide
will know and have all the right flies, but equally New
Zealand trout fishing is more about presentation than the
right fly. The size of the fish is truly remarkable given
the quantity of them and apparent void of younger fish,
but we strongly believe that our rivers are in as good shape
as they have ever been. A view supported by our results
from this past season.
A Trout Fisherman's
Dream Close your eyes and imagine
a freestone river so clear that the water looks blue, like
the turquoise of a swimming pool. The sun is shining, lighting
up every boulder, pebble and silt particle lying on the
bottom of the river. In the company of your new fishing
companion, your guide, you stealthily walk along the river,
your eyes scanning for shadows in the pocket water. Your
guide freezes, crouches to the ground, you follow, concerned
that you did not react quickly enough. He turns and whispers
pointing to a particular place in the river with slow deliberate
movements. Your eyes follow the direction of his finger.
You are delighted by your improving ability to see what
your guide is gesturing at, yet still astonished at his
eyesight. As the shadow becomes clearer and your vision
focuses on it, your thoughts turn to pure anticipation of
the matter in hand.
Together you creep back a little
and discuss a game plan, agreeing to stick by the choice
of tackle. You are using a rod recommended to you, a nine
foot, 4 weight armed with a dark coloured floating line.
It presents a dry fly beautifully with the light line yet
can cast a heavy nymph if necessary. It is easily capable
of handling big, salmon-sized trout. You are using far longer
leaders than you are accustomed to, on a couple of occasions
sixteen to eighteen feet. You have grown used to this tackle,
and are quite at home with the other rod you have brought
- a nine foot, 5/6 weight rod. The flies are a mixture of
local and standard attractor patterns, this particular one
is a largish Royal Coachman. You are content with your flies;
these fish do not seem to demand a great knowledge of entomology,
but do demand stealth and accuracy. Once spooked they are
sometimes gone for days which certainly increases the stakes.
You creep into the river wearing
shorts. The water is cold yet the sun warms your back. Slowly
you begin to cast, lengthening your line with each back
cast. Soon your line is moving perfectly in a tight loop,
but you do not have the nerve to release for fear of spooking
the shadow. You find the nerve to send the cast, but pull
the line back at the last minute with your left hand. The
dry fly lands short of the fish. The fish moves with purpose
to the left, out into the current and your heart sinks.
Your guide, who is a little ahead in order to get a better
view, gestures to you. He whispers that the fly landed a
foot short of the tail and the fish only moved to take a
nymph and is back on station. The adrenalin begins to pump
again for the game is not lost. This time you are a little
braver, you make the full cast, the dry lands to the right
and is pulled further right by the current. The fish does
not move so you pick up the line being careful not to lift
too early so as not to disturb it, a tip emphasised by your
guide.
Again you prepare with endless
false casts until you feel happy to commit yourself. You
are now reading the situation better and have realised that
the water is pulling to the right so you are aiming a little
to the left of the fish in the hope that the water will
bring the fly down directly over it. The cast is made. It
looks good but will the fish come now that the fly is in
the right place? To your dismay he suddenly moves across
to the left with speed to grab another nymph. He never sees
the fly. Your heart sinks, but the fish comes back on station.
You now have to repeat the perfect cast. Up comes the line
and after numerous false casts you shoot the line again.
The fly lands too far to the left, you think you'll have
to go again, but the fish thinks differently and moves a
yard to the left and slowly comes up and, as if in slow
motion, takes the fly off the surface of the water. One...two...three...
you strike and the fish is on.
The mighty fish comes to the
surface and thrashes, throwing its head from side to side.
Then it goes deep and heads for the middle of the river
amongst the rocks. It holds for a while giving you enough
time to smile at your guide, but slowly lets the current
turn it and takes off downstream. You have no choice but
to follow and you begin to pick your way downstream through
the boulders always holding your rod high in order to keep
the line from getting caught. Ten minutes later, having
wound your backing on the reel, you are again on level terms
with the fish.
Another ten minutes pass and
you are another thirty yards down the river. Now things
are looking good and the guide has his net ready, but there
is still the "net syndrome" to overcome. Countless
times the fish sees the guide or his net and streaks out
across the river despite the guide's attempts to land the
fish from behind. Eventually having manoeuvred the fish
into a small bay the guide scoops it up. He pulls the weighing
scales from the handle of the net guessing the weight of
the fish as he does so. He then puts the fish down, unhooks
it and hands it to you announcing it as a 6½ lb pure
wild brownie. You cradle the fish whilst some photographs
are taken and then wade into the river to release it. The
fish swims away slowly at first but, with a flick of the
tail, disappears across the river. You look up surveying
the stunning scenery around you and the pure magnificence
of the river. You feel good, you never knew you could fish
that well. You shake hands with your guide and decide it
is time for lunch so out comes the picnic.
You have just been fishing
one of New Zealand's South Island freestone rivers, with
one of Lake Rotoroa Lodge's experienced guides, and there
was no exaggeration in your dream. But, please do not be
misled, it is necessary to have a guide. He will become
a firm friend whilst enhancing your fishing experience,
however accomplished you are. You would be lost without
one, particularly on your first trip to New Zealand.
New Zealand represents the
finest trout fishing in the world. It requires the utmost
skill and concentration offering the richest of rewards
not just in terms of fish but also spectacular scenery and
good company. New Zealand's Lake Rotoroa Lodge is a Mecca
for any devoted trout fisherman.
