New Zealand (vol. 7): A Watershed Moment

25 - 31 December 2015

I agreed to meet my friend Nick Moody on Christmas day at a café next to a T junction in the road. Other than the shut café and an empty parking lot, there was nothing else around for miles in the vast open space of Southland. Cars would pass on the road infrequently, but most sensible people would have been enjoying Christmas day at home. Nick was hitching a lift with friends from the south, and was late. An hour ticked over from our agreed meeting time and then two. I didn't have a mobile phone with an active signal so I had no way of contacting him. I had nowhere else to go, so I brewed cups of coffee in the parking lot on my gas cooker and waited. Eventually a car turned into the parking lot and Nick hopped out with his rucksack, looking a little sheepish. The hazards of relying on others for a lift, he said, and something else about hangovers.

We spent several hours in the car, heading south west, catching up on news, until we reached our staging post in the early evening. We had planned an eight day hike-and-fish trip which entailed the following: a boat trip in; a hike up a river to its source; crossing over the watershed; dropping down into another river system; hiking downriver to the sea; taking a boat to the nearest town and then hitching a lift back to my hire car some eighty miles away. In the end we agreed to cut the trip down to six days so that we could arrive back in civilisation on New Year's eve. We had ideas of seeing in the new year with a beer and fireworks and, with a little luck, a couple of friendly local girls.

This trip marked the culmination of six months in New Zealand over consecutive trout seasons. I was reasonably fit and could spot trout well enough by then. On top of that, the weather gods truly smiled on us. It rains for more than 200 days a year in this part of the world but somehow we had six miraculous days of sunshine and blue skies. Looking back, it all came together beautifully, a pinnacle of sorts, and in some of the most dramatic scenery I have encountered anywhere in the world.

Off the boat and into the wilderness, we branched off the main river and followed a tumbling tributary up a gorge for several miles. Eventually the incline tapered off and we encountered some serious looking trout water. 

These rivers held rainbow trout, pale ghosts in the limpid water. I find rainbows much harder to spot than brown trout, but these fish were feeding freely and seemed much less wary than in other parts of New Zealand. Cicadas were on the move and it helped that the fish were looking up for these substantial morsels.  

We camped in the lee of mountains for two nights, the sound of the river a constant companion. The night skies were clear with a stunning array of southern stars.  

After those two days of happy isolation and unwary trout we hiked back down the gorge and rejoined the main river. We had to make a bit of distance up to reach our overnight camp, where the river forms a series of lakes. We enjoyed an hour or two of great sport on the lakes as the sun set.

Up early the next morning we followed the river to its source. The valley grew narrower with each step as the mountains on either side came together until they were one. The mountaintops had snow in places and countless waterfalls of melt water cascaded down the near vertical slopes to join the river. I have never tasted better water.

Up we climbed until we reached the summit of the watershed divide, exhausted but euphoric. 

To the south, the valley we had just traversed.

   

To the north, a new drainage and new hope for what might lie undiscovered down below. Inwardly some relief too, knowing it was mostly downhill all the way to the sea from here. The steps would be easier.

On this side of the divide we found brown trout, an altogether different challenge. The water here had a different feel to it. It was slower, wider and had deeper holes. More serpentine and foreboding. Fallen trees were a  common sight in the river. Where they lay in the water they added a dishevelled look to an otherwise pristine picture. Perfect brown trout water.

Here too there were cicadas and happy trout.

On the last night we sheltered in a hut. Nick had kept a fish and we cooked it and ate it in candlelight as the sun set over the mountains.

We hiked out the next morning and arranged a boat to a nearby small town and road. I didn't fancy our chances of finding a lift. Who would want to stop and make space for two scruffy looking men with backpacks? But New Zealand is a special place of kindred travellers - before long a Japanese couple stopped and offered us a lift. I did pity them though. It had been six days of sweat and dirt and I could only imagine the aroma we must have contributed to their car.

We walked 45 miles in those 6 days of adventure and discovery, catching trout on dry flies seemingly at will. I felt a terrific sense of achievement when I made it back to my car. I miss that freedom of discovery and the liberating sense of truly open and wild space.

We drove to the nearest town of any size with the immediate aim of buying some hot food. We each bought a takeaway meal and I remember thinking I had never tasted a better hamburger. A week in the mountains eating two-minute noodles can do that to you though. Next, we found a hot shower in town and had a New Year's party to remember.

Incredible that it has been almost 4 years now. How time flies. Is it me, or does it pass quicker with the advancing years?

Next: (Vol. 8): Journey's End

Previous: (Vol. 6): Fishing and Flying