Wildside- Trout fishing out of Reefton

Don’t anger the fish gods

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Don't anger the fish gods, Nelson Mail, 15 January 2011

The opportunity to catch multiple double-figure trout in a single day is as rare as hen’s teeth.

Slippery fish: Trout don’t get big by being stupid, and the biggest have legendary cunning. Photo: JON PEPPER


Reefton is just an awesome place. The first town in New Zealand to have
electricity, it seems as though it has been trapped in a time warp ever since.

Although the town is small and stuck in the middle of nowhere, it oozes West Coast character and
charm.

Sometimes like last week, the first week of January, the town can feel so quiet that you would swear tumbleweeds will start rolling down Broadway, the main street. I just love it and so do visiting anglers who say it is like walking into 1940s Montana in the American West.

The rivers are the real drawcard, with a world-class lineup of emerald waters, tannin bush streams and big, brawling freestone rivers.

On the down side, the swamps and jungles of Westland can be a frightening place for many, dodging bad weather, hypothermia, floods, large boulders and incessant hordes of sandflies.

This past week or two it has had a lot of rain, resulting in flooding which has ripped the rivers of the northern South Island apart.

Anyone who doesn’t think floods are a big deal hasn’t had to fish in them or their aftermath. The trout themselves have had a pummelling and the damage to the fishery is immense, which is a sobering thought for the start of 2011.

One angler who had it especially tough was Briton Jon Pepper, whose international flights were cancelled before Christmas because of snow and ice at Heathrow Airport. Jon finally made it to Murchison after Christmas when the big flood hit.

The conditions were abysmal, but Jon is a real fisherman and persevered where only mad dogs and Englishmen can.

In Reefton, we hit our stride. The fishing wasn’t epic but it was good enough. On one ripped up
wilderness stream, mangled timber was strewn everywhere and the road was obliterated in places. Amazingly, I found a nice trout in the first stable pool and the first cast by Jon saw the 6lb fish lift nicely, taking his dry fly.

It was a textbook start and in the next pool Jon took an 8lb trout. It was just too good to be true. After that, we walked for miles for limited success, marvelling at the forces of nature and the power of water.

Another day, the fish came on later in the day. At 5pm, Jon took a lovely eight pounder that ran him into his flyline backing. ‘‘That was the last cast,’’ Jon declared but I had other ideas as I could see more fish upstream.

In his book, I Know a Good Place, Clive Gammons talks about the need to appease ‘‘the God of the Last Cast’’, but I told Jon to ignore the bunkum.

The next fish was a real beauty, and when it saw the fly, it pirouetted on its tail, sipping Jon’s fly off the surface ever so slowly and softly. Excitedly, Jon ripped the fly out of the trout’s mouth by striking too soon. ‘‘It’s over,’’ said Jon. ‘‘I’ve angered the fish gods by casting again.’’

I disagreed, spotting another big trout upstream in the fast water. Jon’s cast was straight and true. The trout’s take was splendid. Another solid 8lb trout in the net and a great way to finish the day.  The fish gods had been tamed. 

On our last day, something special happened. In the first pool, we again caught a trout, but not
just any trout. It was Jon’s biggest ever after five trips to New Zealand and hundreds of days of fishing here. It was a great way to start the new year. At 71cm long with a 46cm girth, it weighed well over 10lb on my scales.

There’s something electric about being in the presence of really big trout. Double-figure trout are rare beasts and most anglers will go to the happy hunting grounds never having landed one. Big trout have legendary cunning and they don’t generally get big by being stupid.

On the last pool of the day, I spied two special trout in the river’s glare while my heart leapt in my chest. The opportunity to catch multiple double-figure trout in a day is as rare as hen’s teeth and my hands shook as I replaced the 3x leader material and chose a fly. The cast was good, the fish lifted, and Jon’s rod pulsed and
jumped. His reel screamed as the fish shot across the river taking a full flyline and backing.

Soon, the trout was back on our side and things were looking bright, but a after quick dash around a tricky boulder, the line was shaved and the fish was free.

In shock, I rerigged new line and searched for the other trout further up the pool. It was still there, and in a repeat of the first behemoth, the fish lifted, took the fly, leapt fully into the air showing thick flanks and gut – another double for sure.

Across and up the river with powerful surges, the line sang and again things looked bright before the fish found cover deep in the pool and jammed a leader knot between two boulders, snapping the line and breaking free.

Aghast, we looked at each other in disbelief. The fish gods of Reefton had spoken.