Tag Archives: dry fly fishing

Fly Fishing NZ, Gita and Brown Trout

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pomardriv

HERDERS

They appear out of the mist in a small beat-up truck that has metal cage like kennels bolted to the flat-bed. A man and woman jump out and flip the latches on the cages. Several dogs, all Border Collies, bolt through the doors like thoroughbreds at the start of the Derby. The woman makes sharp whistling sounds and the dogs immediately respond. They push the sheep herd in the wanted direction. It’s a well rehearsed, beautiful choreography. Everybody knows their moves, even the sheep. The man and woman make eye contact with me and nod. They see me for what I am, an angler. I nod back. I’m probably on their property; their large sheep station; their ranch. They have thick woolen hats on. She’s in a bulky sweater. He’s in a tattered work jacket. It’s early in the day, cool and drizzly yet like all herders I’ve seen here in NZ, they are in shorts and high Wellington type boots. Their foot wear, like their truck, has seen a lot of miles. They head off on foot with the dogs and sheep leaving a trail in the wet grass, and disappear over a hill. I go down to the river. As I walk I keep hearing whistling in the distance. I’m on a high country station somewhere in Central Otago. I feel I’ve been here before even though I know I have not.

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high plateau road to river

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nz trout are thick, brown caught on dry-fly

THE CAMPGROUND

I’m up early checking and getting my gear together; my morning ritual. It’s still dark but the campground is alive. Touring cyclists are going through their own preparations: tinkering with their road bikes, their specialized shoes and cycling packs. They are as excited about the day ahead as I am. Some are already on the road. I can see bicycle lights strobing in the distant dark.

A fellow camper drops by. I can tell he’s an angler by his outfit: shorts over synthetic long-johns. It’s kind of the official uniform here for people who chase trout. His name is Remi and he is from France. He fly fishes NZ three months a year and has done so for several seasons. He asks me how the fishing has been. I reply, “slow for me”. He says it’s been, “slow” for him too and that other anglers are reporting the same.

Remi feels we are here “too late” in the season. He also feels there are “too many anglers” around. I tell him I was here last year at the same time and the fishing was excellent. He says, “the same time?” I reply, “the exact same time”. He looks puzzled

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sriffle

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heavy clouds

Remi and I talk about NZ rivers and trout. He’s a great resource given all the time he spends here. Then I head out to fish. Light is starting to flood the valley and I want my last day to be a full one. I’ve run out of food and first head for a local coffee shop that opens at 8:30 am most days. Sometimes it opens at 9:00 am. That’s small town NZ…open late, close early. I grab a couple of muffins, a large flat white (coffee) and a thick chicken sandwich. I’ve still have three large Smitten apples in the bottom of my backpack and a liter of water, so I should be good for a full day.

GITA

The muffins are gone in an instant and I think about what Remi said, “We are here too late…there are too many anglers around”. I didn’t want to hear that. I already feel jinxed on this trip and my angling confidence is low. Just before I arrived in NZ tropical storm Gita blew through and with it came heavy rain, high and dirty rivers. And the trout seem to be “off”. Many we have come across in the shallows seem to have lock-jaw and are inactive. Spotting fish has also been challenging with the heavy skies. Those that are feeding seem to be down deep and on nymphs; very tiny nymphs. When the water starts to clear and optimism returns we get another deluge. At times on this trip I’ve felt like hanging up my wading boots. I’m taking the weather personally which of course is irrational. But anglers are like farmers…much of our success or failure is dependent on what is going on above, in the sky.

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road to river

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fast dirty water

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roman’s streamer brown

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another streamer brown, photo by roman

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another pic of roman’s thick streamer brown

LAST DAY

The morning is still cold as I arrive at the river after visiting the coffee shop. I wet wade through a side-channel on the way to the main flow. It’s bright outside but there is high thin white cloud that is casting a milky glare on the river. I can still see through the surface but not a great distance. I feel I’ll be able to spot a fish in the shallows or one tight to the bank if I go slow and search carefully. Wishful thinking? I don’t know. In spite of walking 7 to 15 km a day on river stones and through thick clumpy Tussock grass for the last twelve days, with little sight-fishing success, I still have the energy and the desire to find a great fish. There are few things in life that I have this much resolve and patience for. I still have today. I have 8 more hours ahead of me. I’m going to put in my time and search.

It’s already windy which means this afternoon it could really blow and make angling and trout spotting tough. Morning might be my best shot; my best chance. At the first river pool and run that I come across I spot a large trout lying in the shallows. I’m shocked. Luck like this just hasn’t happened on this trip. It’s not moving much. It’s decision time: small nymph or little terrestrial dry? My hands shake at the sight of the impressive trout. I decide to go with what I’d toss at home. I cast and the beetle drifts a little, and I mean just a little (a few inches), to its left. No response. I cast again and this time it passes slightly to its right. Again, no response. After 2 or 3 more casts I get it right, the fly lands dead ahead of the fish and tracks right to its nose. His very large head tilts up and eats. What?!!! I can’t believe it. I set the hook, it holds and I eventually land it. When I take the trout out of the net to get a photo it lies motionless. I admire it for a moment and then without warning it bolts. I lunge with the net but it’s gone…no picture…I can’t believe what just happened.

I try to compose myself and continue on upstream and within 10 minutes spot another large fish on a bank in shallow water. Another chance. It rises to the fly, I land it and this time get a few photos. Then a little later I locate another great one on a bank. It also surfaces but the hook doesn’t set and it disappears into deep water and doesn’t return. I’m OK with that. I’m getting chances. More opportunity sight-fishing with a dry-fly in the last few hours than I’ve had in the past twelve days.

van

cargo van (home) my second week

The wind picks-up and then starts to howl and spotting fish becomes almost impossible by mid day. A bit of wind riffle on the water can actually help you see better. Too much, and it’s like someone has pulled down the window blinds. I persevere, spook one and then don’t see any more all afternoon. I return to my vehicle at 5 pm. I’ve walked all day and searched the water well. I’ve seen no other anglers. My best day angling of the trip. The door finally opened today. I had been standing there knocking on it all week and then it happened; it opened, just for half a day, but it opened. There was opportunity…two wonderful trout spotted and caught on dries. It’s why I came here.

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last day brown caught sight-fishing with dry-fly

 

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same last day brown

REVIEW

Roman and I threw streamers when the water was dirty and big dries when the sky and water started to clear. When the rivers finally settled we had some opportunity to sight-fish. We probably caught less than a dozen trout but they were good ones. Quality over quantity. It is what fly fishing in NZ is really about. Here are more photos of rivers, landscape and trout. Some of the fish pictures below are of the same trout featured above but taken at different angles.

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fast river brown taken on dry

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tropical

trout country?

calmwater

morning mist,  full day ahead

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rainbow on cicada prospecting

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angler access, river over 1 mile away in distance

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small stream, bright day welcomed

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love sight-fishing this river and landscape

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sight-fished brown, photo captures unbelievable girth

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riffles and wind, wide open terrain

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roman, brown on dry

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mid-sized brown on cicada dry, photo by roman

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brown on cicada on bank

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some good weather

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streamer brown, photo by roman

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field mushrooms

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dropping down from high plateau to river valley in morning fog

 

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cicada bwn

brown on cicada prospecting, photo by roman

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3treesnev

clear day

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handbwn

photo by roman

DIY Fly Fishing New Zealand: High Plateau

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For three days in a row I drove the dirt switchback road all the way up to the high  plateau. That’s where the river was. I’d get up early. My campground breakfast: peanut butter on crackers, a banana and a lot of water. I’d always wake up parched. I never hydrate enough when I fish. Sometimes I even forget to eat.

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The car thermometer registered 2 or 3C in the mornings. Once in town I’d grab a large coffee, or two, for the drive. Then it was the slow climb up the switchback leaving the fruit trees and vineyards of the valley behind.

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In the morning there was always some fog or cloud at elevation and the temperature would drop. Prehistoric looking rock monoliths would appear and startle me as I made my way through the mist. I imagined Sherlock Holmes on the Moors in The Hound of Baskervilles, and a huge dog with glowing eyes on the hunt. I also imagined William Wallace and his clan on foot in the Highlands disappearing into the fog, eluding the English who were also on the hunt.

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After the summit it was a short steep drop with hairpin curves descending to the river. I kept my hands clutched to the wheel. It was low gear, foot riding the brake pedal all the way down…coffee sloshing and spilling. By the time I got to the crossing and pulled-over it was around 8:30 or 9:00 am and sub-zero, usually around  -4C. Cold. When I exited the car I immediately regretted not bringing waders on my trip.” Stupid is as stupid does”.

By then the top of the hills far to the west were just starting to catch the morning light. I’d watch the glow with envy. I’d have to wait some time before it travelled all the way to me and brought warmth. I was early. Too early. I’m always too early when I go fishing.

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I wrestled my wading boots on over heavy wool socks. They were still wet from fishing the previous day and stiff with the cold. On my first few steps I walked like Herman Munster. It was like I had cinder blocks on my feet. As I moved back and forth they loosened up a bit. I got the rest of my gear together. Fingerless fleece gloves made the task bearable in the cold. I checked and double checked to make sure I had everything. I didn’t want to have to come back to the car because of a forgotten item. I wanted a full day on the river. I wanted as much time as the light would offer. I’d be covering a lot of water and wanted to go in only one direction until late afternoon. Until the waning light would remind me it was time to turn around and boogaloo back.

Morning frost turned my boot tops icy white as I crossed a field on the way to the water. Grass hoppers, cicadas and other terrestrial bugs were sluggish, some seemingly in a deep sleep. I knew that would change. The sun would bring some of them back to life and trout would be on the look out for them.

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Briskly walking the river banks warmed me and then river crossings would make me cold again. Upstream I went, feet frozen, reading and memorizing the water as I travelled.

Then the sunlight finally reached the river. I embraced its warmth. It was like nourishment. With the sun’s energy I knew things would come alive. With the light flooding the river I was now able to sight-fish. I could begin my search in earnest. My search for Brown trout.

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Not much had been written about this river on the high plateau, or at least I couldn’t find much. Several years ago I did come across one good story which caught my attention and stayed with me. It was written by a fly fishing guide. He described the region as wide open, barren, inhospitable and prone to hostile weather, and said the river was moderate in size. For an angler walk-wading, mid-sized water is always welcomed as it is easy to negotiate and locate fish in. The author reported the river did not hold many trout but had some good ones, even a few trophies, and said it fished best at the beginning of the season. Here I was standing on its banks near the END of the season. Wrong time? I didn’t know. I felt there had to be some trout around. And they had to eat!?

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I could tell the river had been fished over all summer long. The path alongside it was well warned by wading boots and sheep hooves. With a six month fishing season and a lot of angling pressure, I knew the trout here would be on high alert. With the wide open (no place to hide) terrain I’d have to take my time and be stealthy. I didn’t want to scare the few trout that I might come across. Things were going to be challenging…

By the afternoon the temperature had climbed and I was comfortable. I walked and watched. When I could, I climbed riverside hills and searched from elevation. I continued to make my way upstream. Then it happened. I spotted one.

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For three days I fished different sections of the river. Eventually I hit a gorge and it was time for me to stop. I never saw any one. The place was silent. Silent except for the comforting sound of the natural world. Every full day I’d get 2 maybe 3 chances at great trout. I think I averaged 1 or 2 to the net per day, all on dry flies. Although I caught some larger fish in a river further north and saw more of them in a famous river south, the trout in this river were the hottest, most spirited of my trip. I brought my energy and determination to the river every sub-zero morning and these Brown trout more than matched/equalled it. I frequently saw the backing on my fishing reel. Many months later I still keep thinking about two very memorable trout that out-dueled me.

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In a region described as inhospitable, I felt at home. In a region described as barren, I found a great river and some amazing trout. The high plateau…best place I’ve ever fished.

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brutal

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I had the week off and decided to get out-of-town. It’s something I haven’t done since March. It was a quick trip down to Sun Valley, Idaho. A 12 hour drive for a family vacation along with some fishing on Silver Creek. I’ve waded this beautiful spring creek before and connected with some of its challenging trout.

The air was thick with smoke all the way to south central Idaho. Several towns we passed through on HWY 93 were on evacuation alert. It was burning in BC when we left. It was burning in Montana as we raced through. It was also burning in parts of Idaho when we arrived. Did I forgot to mention that things were burning?! Sun Valley was Smoke Valley for most of the week.

smoke

 

reel

no visible life

I fished downstream of the famous Silver Creek Preserve section as understandably  “no pets” are allowed on the hallowed water. There were few bugs on the lower section; few rises; inconsistent rises…one here, and then one there 10 minutes later. Brutal.

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excellent wading, no wake

 

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One morning a brief Trico hatch occurred (once the smoke cleared) which I appreciated but very few good fish broke the surface. Just a lot of little guys. Guppies. Brutal.

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the oxbow in smoke

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oxbow, clearing sky

I searched the banks for signs of life: water displacement, any indication of a good one prowling or sipping, or gulping a terrestrial bug or anything. I watched and watched while baking my brain in the intense heat. In desperation I even fished blind, covering water with grasshoppers, beetles, crickets, damsel flies…brutal.

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cloud

Eventually I just had to accept the situation: that the fishing was poor and probably wouldn’t change during my brief visit. Things got easier after that (but not the fishing). At the end of the trip Smoke Valley cleared and beautiful Sun Valley returned. Our lungs breathed easier. My retriever stopped sneezing. I spent more time exploring the quaint town of Hailey, where we were staying, and a little less on the creek. I must say that if I had to pick one western town/region to drop into for three months every summer, and that was close to great fishing, this would be the spot.

rays

I caught several fish on the creek but managed only one good one in 4 days fishing. It was a brown trout, which was occasionally rising. It was one of the few good fish that I spotted. It took a small beetle. It was the prize of the week, and even more significant than it normally would have been, given how few opportunities there were to cast to large rising fish.

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We took a different route on the way home, driving interstate highways at a good clip after spraying our vehicle down with flame retardant (just kidding). Several areas we passed through were very smoky. Once we hit the Canadian border the smoke intensified. There was a fire racing through Waterton National Park. At home ashes were raining from the sky. Brutal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

35C

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It was 35C/95F in the river valley on Sunday. A lot of low, flat water. No bugs to speak of. No bugs for a while now. Just bright sun, heat radiating off of the river rocks and glare. A lot of walking and looking in the dead calm. Occasionally a subtle surface disturbance would bring me out of the heat induced daze. It would catch my attention. A trout or a mirage?

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abylight

bwn

brown on grasshopper

 

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beetle fly

 

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rainbow on ant

 

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bow

rainbow on beetle

 

rdout

the road out

 

combines

dinosaurs crossing the hot plains

 

mts

mountains cloaked in smoke and heat

august, slow

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” The horse I bet on was so slow, the jockey kept a diary of the trip”.

Henny Youngman

It’s late summer. Not much happening. Things are dry. No real rain in months. The grass crunches under foot. It’s almost the same sound as brittle snow in January. Forest fires are burning west of here. They have been burning a good part of the summer. The air has been smoky for weeks. Fresh, clear Rocky Mountain air is a myth.

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smoke-filled sky

Hatches on my local rivers are weak. Eventually we will run out of Weak and then enter the Strong realm again as things cool and BWO’s (may fly) make an appearance.

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Surface eating fish are hard to find during the day. You have to fish real late, on the edge of darkness, or real early. When the sun is up it means prospecting with terrestrial bugs: grasshoppers and beetles or their creative derivations.

hopa

bow

I missed a great fish the other day. Its rise was slow and it ate my impression even slower than slow. It lingered and I struck too fast pulling the grasshopper fly out of its mouth. I’ve been doing that a lot this year. Hmm…have to pause longer before I strike…got go slow.

Some photos from past couple of weekends.

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rockbed

snoozing on firm mattress

 

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Canyon Trout

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I went down into the canyon. It’s a fairly long walk. I haven’t been there in several years…beautiful place, eerie at times, especially when you’re alone. I took Abby with me.

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The angling was a bit slow. We are kind of between hatches: the Pmd’s are waning and the hoppers (not really a hatch) aren’t doing the “hop” yet. The canyon can be a good place for terrestrial fishing as bugs get blown off of the cliffs and fall into the river. The trout eventually clue in to this.

closeinf

They weren’t looking up on the weekend, however, I did manage to fool a few fish in the shallows that were willing to rise: rainbows. I was on the hunt for brown trout. Some fish took a good look at my fly but were skeptical and turned away. I saw several nice ones on nymphs but they wouldn’t budge from the bottom. The good thing is there were fish around and I spotted some.

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Abby on the cliff

Sight-fishing in the canyon can be challenging as the light-coloured cliffs reflect sunlight  casting an intense glare on the water.

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I’ll go back when the grasshoppers are more prevalent (hopefully soon) and the fish are on the lookout for them and showing themselves by rising. Then my terrestrial fly impressions will be more productive.

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shinyf

The Sock

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“Keep calm and wear odd socks”

-David Spires

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rainbow caught on PMD by author

My fishing sock returned! I’ve missed it. We’ve been separated for 6 months. I accidentally left it in New Zealand in a rental car at Christchurch airport. My friend, Roman, found it when he thoroughly checked the hatchback of the rental before his return flight to Canada.

The sock travelled a great distance. It went from Crowsnest pass to South Island NZ, was worn daily on many great rivers, then travelled back to Canada with Roman to Ontario. There it stayed for several months, dry but very eager to wade and fish again.

The sock finally returned to its home, the Crowsnest Pass, when Roman came out for an angling trip, with his two boys, Christian and Daniel.

It’s a well-travelled neoprene Simms sock. Now ready for duty on my local streams. It has been reunited with the other one. A sort of balance has been resorted and all seems right with the world!

Here’s a photo of the international jet-setting sock looking happy to be home again…

sock

This past week I had the opportunity to fish with some friends: Joe, Roman, Rick, Christian, Daniel and our four-legged tag along, Abby. All good angling mates. Fishing at times was tough but at the end of the week we all caught some fish….and a few great ones I must say. All were taken on dries, mostly sight-fishing. The weather was good…summertime in SW Alberta.

Some memories from one week in July:

-Joe’s favorite line, “Hey Bobby, I’ve got another one on”. One of his browns and a rainbow were the prizes of the week.

bigbow

rainbow on a PMD dry fly

 

bigbr

brown on PMD dry

-The boys, Christian and Daniel, double hauling into the wind. Both great casters. They picked up some nice ones and ended their trip with a multiple fish day on a cutthroat stream. Their favorite lines: “Hey Bob can you pull my fly line through the rod tip” and “My fly is stuck in a bush, can you un-hook it for me”.  Some of their fish…

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brown on dry

 

danielbow

electric cuttbow on beetle

 

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cutthroat on drake dry

Other memorable events: Rick casting from a seated position on the river; and the boys repeatedly asking their father, ” Can you untangle this”…

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river crossing

 

bull trout

Roman and Christian chasing a bull trout

 

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the group working a pool

 

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abby

 

hardday

long day

 

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brown on beetle

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rainbow on dry fly

I hope to have the chance to fish with them again next summer…in the meantime I’m going to put on that happy sock and wade a local river.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Local Trout Water and Dog

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With only a light breeze on Sunday I checked out my local tail-water river. Spring in SW Alberta has been slow in coming. Nothing new. I’ve been itching to get out as there is a ton of snow in the mountains and when the temperature finally heats-up and it begins to rain, a serious run-off will occur and it could last awhile….possibly a couple of months. So, the opportunity is now to sight fish (and hopefully the next couple of weekends) as the water is low and fairly clear.

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abby

 

There were some bugs on the river: midges were the most numerous type; then some Skwala stoneflies; and just a few BWO mayflies. I saw very few rising fish. It was a slow day. However, I managed what looked like a Cuttbow (hybrid) on a dry…a nice one, and missed a good brown trout at the end of day.

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Next weekend should be a bit better as hatches intensify. The BWO’s will get the fish looking up and rising.

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