New Zealand (vol. 5): The Tributary

16 - 18 November 2015

I first met Jack Kos in April 2015, a chance encounter on the bank of a river, far up a river valley in the middle of nowhere. He was walking in to the valley to begin a fishing trip and I was finishing up my last morning of a long weekend trip. Until our meeting, my trip had been a hard slog for no reward. He stopped to chat and gave me some advice, which was something along the lines of "use the smallest, sparsest unweighted nymph you have." He looked in his fly box and showed me the sort of thing I needed to use. A nice guy. It was no coincidence that within the next hour I hooked and landed my first ever double figure brown trout. And yes, a small, sparse unweighted nymph did the trick. Thanks Jack! 

Fast forward eight months and we had met up for a beer in Christchurch, chatted about fishing, and decided to go on a fishing trip of our own. Jack is one of the young, up and coming breed of New Zealand anglers and it was something of a coup for a rookie trout bum. I'd be bound to learn a tremendous deal from his local knowledge and example.

We initially decided to fish a very remote river, but the day before we were scheduled to depart Jack heard news through the magical fishing grapevine that the river in question had been devastated by a landslide. The fishing was no good. We made a last minute contingency plan. The replacement river wasn't as remote and humanity was never far away as the crow flies, but we intended to focus on a small tributary some way upriver. To add to the allure, a section of the access road had washed away a few seasons previously and it would take a fair hike to reach the tributary. This meant we were unlikely to run into day-trippers. 

Jack drove through from his home in Christchurch and collected me from the nearest town to the river, where I had stayed the night before in a campground. After a short drive we came to the end of a tar road, where a bridge spanned the main river we were to follow upstream. It was a big, boisterous river and the water had a chartreuse appearance. We crossed the bridge to the far bank and for a little distance followed an extremely rough gravel track through the trees, making full use of the high clearance afforded by Jack's 4x4. We drove until the road simply ended where it had been washed away by the river, and left the vehicle in situ. We loaded up our packs and set off on foot, rejoining the vehicle track after the short impassable section. It was a flat path and we didn't rush. We only had around 15km to cover before nightfall. Walking close to the main river we spotted a couple of fish and Jack tried his luck with two of them, to no avail. 

We reached the confluence of the tributary and the main river in the early evening. A hut was sited at the confluence and we would call it home for the next two nights. The hut backed on to a sheer cliff edge to a deep pool where the two rivers met. I hoped there wouldn't be any sleepwalking! From our lofty perch we spied several large trout patrolling the calm margins of the confluence pool. Our focus was elsewhere, so we never would find our way down the steep bank to try and tempt a behemoth from the pool - such is the abundance of rich pickings in New Zealand.

The hut was empty and when bunk beds were assigned and we were settled in, we took our rods and made for the main river upstream of the confluence. Much of the tributary was concealed by a sharp bend but we waded through it and assessed it, in anticipation of the following day's exploits. It was a moment of truth, because it would make or break the trip. Thankfully, it looked clear and inviting, and seemed to have a reasonable amount of flow. We would only find out for certain the next day, but we could at least breathe a sigh of relief. It wouldn't be a wasted trip.

We had a couple of hours to spare before sunset and didn't want to walk too far from the hut.  There was no track and returning in the dark would be difficult. We didn't have to venture too far, because barely 100m upriver, in the next pool of any size, we spotted a good trout in the yellow-green water and I managed to tempt it to take a nymph. It was a handsome fish. 

Just a short way upriver Jack joined in the action, by stalking a fine golden hued trout. I don't think I have ever seen a trout as yellow and I am always impressed by trout's ability to blend into their environment like a chameleon. It felt a fitting end to our first day: a good, equal reward after a hike. We returned to the hut, made a fire to dry our clothes, cooked food and fell asleep before very long.

I woke early with a tangible sense of anticipation and the bright, clear weather conditions outside matched my mood. After my staple trekking breakfast of blueberry flavoured oats, we set off to explore the unknown. I've come to realise the unknown is what truly excites me. 

The tributary was exceptionally clear and mostly shallow, but every now and again there was a holding pocket of water which we would approach ever so stealthily and scan for the presence of trout. In a few of these likely lies, we spied trout, large trout which seemed a little out of place in the thin water. Jack, as you would expect, would quickly spot them but he left the spotting to me so that I would develop experience. When I had my eye in, the trout were hard to miss. In a sense I felt I earned my keep on the trip, as the relationship wasn't just me hoping to be led by the nose to good trout.  

Stealth and delicate presentation of the fly were called for and when we got that right, trout came to the fly. I've realised I don't have any images of Jack with the fish he caught, because his camera was used to take photos. I remember that he caught two good trout - this fact stuck in my mind because I was proud to match his success on the day. It was instructive to observe and learn how he approached the business of catching these wily trout.  

Jack targeting a sighted trout (visible above the bed of dark gravel at the near bank)

 

I've looked at satellite images and calculated we walked roughly 5km up the tributary before it petered out of consistent trout holding water. Near the top, late in the afternoon, when the sun was still high and hot, I caught the best of my two fish. The trout was lying in shallow water near the edge of a good pool where it matched the colours of the rocks and pebbles beneath it. It was an easy spot in the bright light though, given away by its shadow on the streambed. The trout came up in a heart-stopping moment and took a dry fly into its cavernous mouth. Vitally, I remembered to pause a second before striking to let the trout descend, allowing the hook a chance to find purchase. When I held it in the net, the inbuilt scale showed a weight of 6¾ lbs.  

Thinking about it, four fish between us from 5kms of unknown, small stream water was a pretty good reward. We walked back to the hut tired but happy and had an early night. The next morning we followed the main river downstream to Jack's car and civilisation. I learned an immense amount from Jack and the confidence I drew from fishing with one of the best was a springboard to the success which followed. I also made a good friend in someone who was quite possibly a little more nuts about trout than even I was.     

Next: (Vol. 6): Fishing and Flying

Previous: (Vol. 4): The Big Fish River