Wildside - Flounder Fishing Abel Tasman National Park

Floundering around in the Marahau shallows

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Floundering around in the Marahau shallows, Nelson Mail, 13 February 2010

Zane Mirfin reckons it's rude to turn down a fishing trip when invited, especially when it is with brother Scotty.


Gone paddling: Scott Mirfin finds it easier to transport a kayak than a boat on fishing trips.

There is always something refreshing about the sea – something calming and therapeutic that dulls the pain of everyday life and soothes the soul.

Here in Nelson we are fortunate to have an ideal climate and safe swimming beaches that are within easy reach. It’s often said that the best things in life are free, and when it comes to Nelson beaches, it just couldn’t be more true.

The coastline along Abel Tasman National Park has always been a shining jewel, with its golden beaches and azure waters.

Recently on a rare day off, my brother Scott telephoned with a cunning plan to go floundering that evening in Marahau – the gateway to Abel Tasman National Park. Neither of us had fished there so I was keen to go. I’ve always believed that it’s rude to turn down a fishing trip when invited, especially when it is with brother Scotty. We’ve had so many epic trips together over the years and have always enjoyed each other’s company in the great outdoors, so our Marahau adventure was to be no exception.

The plan was to set our nets by hand, wading off the beach, and then retrieve them with Scott’s two open-topped kayaks. Marahau had changed a bit since I was last there. Catching up with long-time resident Alec Rae at the beach was a hoot as we discussed floundering, hunting at Rotoiti, and the impact of tourism on local communities like Marahau.

After a long walk down the beach at low tide with fish crates on our shoulders loaded with nets and grapnel hooks, it was a relief to wade out and set our net along the beach.
T
he evening was magnificent, warm and sunny. After walking back to get the kayaks and carrying them to the water’s edge, it was fun to go for a paddle. The only other time I’d used a kayak like this was when salmon fishing the Waimakariri, where we’d floated 10-15 kilometres of river for the day, stopping to fish the goodlooking holes from shore.

Scotty’s boat was far more stable than my experience on the river and there were no problems out on the sea, gliding along on the tranquil water.

Kayaks have now become very popular fishing platforms in the North Island where there are limited boat launching spots. Kayaks are also great because you don’t have to tow a trailer, you can carry them down the beach, come ashore when the sea gets rough, and glide around to favoured fishing spots silently without scaring away wary snapper.
I
t’s a fishing method Scott and I will be using more often in the years ahead.

However, safety at sea is essential and wearing a lifejacket is vital, but more important, in my mind, is the need for a brightly coloured kayak, paddle and lifejacket so you can be readily seen by motor boats. Because kayaks are low in the water they can be difficult to see. As we paddled out into the gloaming, we wore headlamps for safety, and to check our nets with.

What a disaster it was. Both nets were so full of weed we couldn’t get them back into our kayaks. The only solution was to disconnect the grapnel weights and tow each net into shallow water where we shook the brown fuzz-like weed out as the tide fair roared in. We then loaded a net on to each boat.

If the weed was bad, that was nothing compared to our combined tally of flounder – a big fat zero.

Paddling back in the dark together was great fun. Looking over the side of the kayaks we could see all manner of baitfish: Mullet, garfish, spotties and eels. Scotty even saw a big flounder right under his kayak.

In hindsight maybe we should have been spearing flounder using a spotlight rather than netting but it didn’t matter – our exploration would be put to good use another time.

Pulling up on the beach, the magic of Abel Tasman continued with a full orange moon rising up over the horizon, lighting up the hills and islands.

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