Throw some sand in

I've been taking my son Arthur out with me to look for trout on the river a few times this year.

This morning we went to a spot where I'd seen a trout yesterday.

We watched the water for a while, then Arthur started exploring the steep bank down to the water.

After climbing down to the water's edge, he threw a clump of sand into the water while making his way back up.

"That's probably not going to help attract a trout. Wait! Don't move!"

A trout had immediately appeared where the sand had landed.

A good start to the day

I lost a lure around high tide after snagging it on a submerged log near the Spring Creek township, and was able to retrieve it without entering the water the next day around low tide. 

Over 11km inland from the mouth, the Wairau River is still affected by the tides.

Getting back into it

I hadn't been fishing much at all over the last year. Last few years, really.

In September I was crossing one of the bridges over the Wairau and noticed the water was quite high, with a bit of colour - ideal for spin fishing.

The roads to the Wairau Bar and Diversion after the Kaikoura earthquake

I heard that there had been some damage to the road to the Wairau Bar after the Kaikoura earthquake, so a few days after the quake I rode down on the motorbike to take a look.

You could still get to the Bar easily enough dispite part of the road looking like it'd been plowed. The road splits before that point so you could avoid that part.

The end of the Wairau Diversion road was closed due to similar destruction but without an alternative route.

I walked down to the mouth and all appeared normal down there.

The wily trout of Spring Creek

I often see trout in Spring Creek, and have tried fishing for them, but never landed one. They'll follow a lure, but probably more out of curiosity than considering it food.

Today I parked the motorbike near the train bridge that goes over Spring Creek beside State Highway 1 for a quick look. There was a trout feeding just downstream of the bridge, so I set my rod up and had a few casts.

The trout followed my lure on the first cast, but that was as good as I could do.

I almost had a heart attack at one point - all of my attention was on the trout, and I didn't notice the freight train approaching until it barreled over the bridge above me. As much as I appreciate a lovely and accessible spot like this, there's something to be said for getting away from it all...

There is something very cool about trains too, though...

Time and tide

I haven't been fishing as much as I'd like this year, and haven't had much luck the few times I have cast a line in the water.

Some days, though, make up for all the fruitless efforts.

Earlier in the week I had been pruning some trees in the yard and trying to start the lawnmower, when I noticed my watch showed four fish.

My Casio 3768 showing a 'good fishing' rating
of 2 out of 4 fish at the time of writing.

Songs about rainbows

I received an email from Fish & Game about two and a half weeks ago. They were holding a 'Getting Kids Hooked on Fishing' event in Blenheim, releasing some rainbow trout into a netted-off area of the Taylor River near Blenheim's town centre for children to fish for.

My son Henry was booked in almost immediately.

Henry practising casting on the lawn at home.

Today was the big day, and we arrived a bit early (just before 9 a.m.). It was a chilly start, and we had to return to the car to upgrade Henry's sleeveless vest that I thought would keep his arms free for casting. His teeth had been chattering while we were peering into the water before the fishing started.

Set-up rods and tuition were provided; I helped Henry get going, and he was doing some nice casts - some a bit sideways, but all out where they should be. The rods had been set up with a bubble and little 'bait nuggets' on a hook. The bubble moved and bobbed down a few times, but Henry's interest started to wane when others were landing trout and he hadn't received more than a few tugs.

Then he was on! After a few minutes of fighting to get the fish in close enough to be netted (he was winding, and I was helping hold the rod in case it all went in the water), a nice 1.5 kg rainbow was landed.

It was a great morning on the river and a very well-run event. Hats off to all involved: Nelson Marlborough Fish & Game, Marlborough Freshwater Anglers Club, Hendersons (Blenheim).

Henry now has one up on me - I've only caught brown trout so far, and have been keen to track down a rainbow... I swear that has nothing to do with me over-cooking his trout on the barbecue when we got home...

Serenity Regained

Boxing Day: After we'd spent a couple of nights with my parents for Christmas, I took a detour on the way home on my motorbike - a spot I'd been meaning to explore for quite a long time.

I only saw one trout, but I think I'd rather see only one trout and no other people fishing any day. Must get back there soon.

Serenity (or the lack of it)

Despite the road to the south of the Wairau Diversion being open during the whitebaiting season, I only went down there once. There's just too many people around during that time for it to be enjoyable for me now. Possibly getting grumpier with age.

I popped down to the mouth a couple of times about a week ago to see how things were looking. The whitebaiting season was over, so I figured it should be reasonably quiet during the day while most people would still be at work.

The first day I caught (and released) four young kahawai. Nothing great, but a bit of fun - better than hooking nothing. I saw someone had a decent-sized kahawai, so they must've been around.

Next ride down there, there were only a few older guys around. A couple of them were leaving not long after I got there. I asked whether they'd had any luck. One of them called back, he'd caught four medium-sized kahawai, destined for his 'jars'. Preserving them, I assume.

I overheard them discussing arthritis pills and home-brew whisky while I started to fish.

~ The Irish whisky is a nice change, easy to drink. Too easy to drink! It sneaks up on you!

Eventually everyone left and I had the mouth to fish on my own. It's a good feeling to have a nice spot like that to yourself. Normally the fact that nobody else is around means there's also probably not many fish to be caught, but there's always the chance.

There wasn't much happening, but I cast lures and changed them a couple of times in case it made a difference (I pretty much always use the Blue Fox jigging lure in such situations these days).

Before too long a car pulled up on the other side of the mouth. A couple got out with their young child. They cranked up the car stereo and started fishing.

I left.

A new spot to explore

I've always loved 'exploring'.

I grew up on a farm, and started venturing into the nearby gullies when I was young, and as I grew older, going further afield around the coast and the hills behind us.

Being amongst nature and not knowing what was around the next corner or over the next rise was about as happy as I could be. I recall often thinking I had almost reached the peak of a hill, then realising there was another above it that I couldn't see before - and then usually more after that. The wilderness felt endless.

That love of exploring hasn't changed, but if it includes fishing spots, it adds a cherry on the top these days. Bonus points, of course, if I get there via motorbike.

I wrote about a perfect morning a while ago, with these ideas in mind.

More recently, a 'tip-off' from a friend led me to a new fishing spot nearby.

First visit there, I went upstream with my fly rod - saw three trout, scared them away quite successfully.

Second visit, I had a look downstream with my spin setup, again seeing three browns, hooking and landing the third.

I've been back and explored downstream as far as I can easily go with a rod, and still have more upstream for my next visit.

This area isn't too far from a highway, but nonetheless at least ticked most of my boxes for the ideal fishing trip:
☑   explore a new area
☑   ride the motorbike (or a boat)
☑   have a walk
☑   solitude
☑   see some fish, ideally catch at least one
☐   not hear traffic while exploring

Don't forget what you know

There were kahawai around, and they were curious, but I couldn't get one to grab my lure.

I was using the lure I normally use when targeting kahawai these days - a Blue Fox jigging lure. I like the look of them, the way the move in the water, and the fact that most people seem to use the tried-and-true hex lures for kahawai, so I assume that using something different will often give me the edge (one can always live in hope).

After fishing in the river mouth for a while, I shifted slightly more up-river, inside the mouth where it's a bit deeper, and was almost ready to call it a day when I remembered how I usually fish these lures (I tend to hibernate over winter and haven't been fishing much at all).

Back when I first discovered the lures, I found a jerky retrieve of three or so turns of the reel handle followed by a brief pause to let the lure drop seemed to yield the best results, with the kahawai often grabbing it during that pause.

Soon after changing my technique I hooked and landed a nice kahawai that ended up smoked and in a fish pie the next day.

Superstition

I wouldn't call myself superstitious, but I do often talk of luck in fishing, and I often ask someone fishing if they've had any luck.

Over summer I thanked Jim for a landing net he'd passed on to me, and told him of the trout I had landed with it. He said he was pleased that the net had proven lucky for me, as it had had for him in the past.

At least half-hearted superstition seems ingrained in most fishers. Denis Pain has a chapter titled 'Always Appease the River Gods,' in his book ... The Hours Spent in Fishing, where he tells of one season where he went against his usual rule of releasing the first trout of the season - keeping it to feed friends - and the bad luck that he had for the rest of the season.

A Dictionary of Superstitions, edited by Iona Opie and Moira Tatem, tells of some old beliefs using trout, including:

• Administer an ailing cow a live trout. (1852)
• Put a trout's head into the mouth of a child with whooping cough and let the trout breathe into the child's mouth. (1866)
• Put a live trout on the stomach of a child with worms as a cure. (1866)
• Bind a trout with bandages around the bowels of a child with worms and leave overnight as a cure. (1879 - The writer remembers this being done to a boy about seven years old, circa 1830)
• Let a trout swim in cow's milk and then drink the milk as an infallible cure for whooping cough. (1922)
• Take a pie dish full of cider to the River Rea and catch a decent sized trout and drown him in the cider. Fry the trout and make the patient eat the fish and drink the cider to cure whopping cough. (1932)

... and another cure for whooping cough - drink beer in which a live fish has been drowned. (1883)

The same book tells of cod fishermen believing that if a ling was the first fish pulled up after a boat has reached the fishing-ground it must be thrown overboard immediately to avoid bad luck (1886). During herring fishing, the scales of the fish must not be washed off the boat, neither must they be cleaned off the fishermen's sea-boots. If this is done good luck flees away (1885). The first hook baited is spit upon, and then laid in the scull (1886).

The Concise Maori Handbook, by A. W. Reed with A. E Brougham, informs us that the first fish caught with a new hook or line was dedicated to the ancestors of the fisherman, and that mauri were often used to help with the luck of a fishing voyage.

'Mauri' is essentially the life element of, for example, a forest or a lake, and assures the abundance of life abiding within. The name is also given to a talisman that represents the given life element. The talismen (often stones) were jealously guarded and secreted in a forest, near the banks of a river, and by the sea shore. If they were removed, the life principles departed and the food supplies could no longer be obtained.

I haven't had Jim's net with me for a while, and also haven't caught a fish for a while. I think I'll start taking his net out with me again and see what happens.

Monkey Bay Revisited... with surf

Continuing with the Monkey Bay theme, I popped over there yesterday to check out the massive surf that was coming in to Rarangi Beach.

From the lookout point you could see the waves pounding into Monkey Bay, so I walked down the track to have a closer look at the cave that runs through to the other side and opens out towards Whites Bay (I didn't go through the cave - the waves were coming all the way through to the entrance on this side).

The sound coming through the cave was deep and thunderous, so I tried to record it with a video on my phone.

I could see that the waves coming in to Monkey Bay had come right up and then down into the cave, but they seemed to stay at a safe distance after getting to the bottom of the track. Until I started recording some video.

Turns out the mic on my phone didn't pick up any of the bass sounds coming out of the cave anyway.

Monkey Bay

While browsing some Marlborough Museum archive photos online recently, I noticed the photo below and instantly recognised the view as Monkey Bay, just to the north of Rarangi Beach.

Copyright Marlborough Museum - Marlborough Historical Society Inc.

Here's my photo today of the same scene.

Looking south from Monkey Bay, Marlborough, New Zealand.

The people in the old photograph are listed as:

• Guard, Edward (Junior)
• Baldick, Darcy
• Baldick, Herman

It's hard to be exact on a date for the old photo, but I also found this one that gives the year as "about 1887."

Copyright Marlborough Museum - Marlborough Historical Society Inc.

This one lists "Guard, Edward (Senior)" as the man on the right-hand side of the photo. If it is Edward Guard Junior standing beside him (no name provided), looking around ten years old, then the Monkey Bay photo might be 20 years later, where he looks around 30 years old (give or take ten years!).

A lot of speculation involved, but by my estimation the old Monkey Bay photo must have been taken approximately 110 years ago - circa 1905.

The mystery of the salt

The river will provide you with trout and possibly the odd sought-after salmon (I've only ever caught one - that was before I even knew salmon came into the Wairau, and I ended up catching a salmon before I ever caught a trout); maybe a kokopu, which Jim mentioned a while ago he used to hook every now and then back in the day, but I've never even seen an adult kokopu, possibly due to the mass-slaughter of their young which make up most of the 'whitebait' numbers.

But the saltwater systems, they have many different kinds of fish as part of their ecosystems. A recent outing with my five year-old son made me appreciate something that I think I forgot - saltwater offers that variety and mystery that you don't have in the river.

We were out having a sail, planning on stopping for a fish. We ended up anchoring a stone's throw off Karaka Point. We both had kahawai on our hooks for bait.

I thought I heard my line peel off in a quick run, but there was nothing on there. I took the rod out of the rod holder, wound in a little line and held on to the rod. Then he was back! I set the hook and spent a few minutes trying to get whatever was on the end of my line to the surface, and that's the beauty of it - you don't know what's down there!

The rod and reel were part of a cheap setup that I leave on the boat, and I didn't know how strong the line was any more, so didn't bother tightening the tension up too much to force the fish to the surface.

After some good runs, a decent-sized barracouta appeared. I would've brought him aboard to take as crayfish bait, but was convinced to let him go, so managed to get my hook (a weighted softbait hook that I discovered a while ago gives that extra 'feel' when fishing with bait) dislodged with pliers while the fish was in the water. The other line had been severed, so must have had the same or another barracouta at the end of it. The longer shank on the softbait hook probably helped keep the line safe on my setup.

I won't be giving up on fishing the river, but think I'll start focusing on saltwater again for a while - seek out a bit more mystery.

Ferry Bridge

The southern side of the Wairau River, around Ferry Bridge, near the Spring Creek township - it's not an area I've explored until recently. I have had a look for trout a couple of times upstream on the northern side, and had some success the first time I tried fishing at night for trout downstream on the same side, but have haven't ventured nearby on the southern side other than up nearer where it joins Spring Creek.

I saw a couple of trout cruising along the southern edge from the bridge, slowly feeding their way up and down the river under the willows; one of them was quite large. When I first saw them, I had been down at the mouth fishing with my saltwater setup earlier, which wasn't really suitable for what would've been needed here, so I checked out the area with a mind on returning.

I took a few photos, and at one point, the larger trout appeared.

I didn't try fishing, but did come away with quite a few nice cape gooseberries from under the bridge, so didn't return home empty-handed.

***

Upon returning on the bike a few days later with my freshwater setup, I went back down to the water's edge and tried a lure, then some flies. The nice-sized trout was still lazily feeding up and down the edge of the river, but ignoring anything I threw out.

I returned home with only a bottle of wine from the nearby shop that day.

***

I went back to the same spot on the motorbike a couple of days ago, again trying a lure and a few flies with no success. The trout still coming in close to the edge, casually feeding upstream, then returning, always feeding from the surface.

He didn't seem worried by my appearance, or didn't see me. Seems unlikely he couldn't see me, though - I was right on the edge... I could've almost touched him as he passed.

I changed the fly to a blue-bottle fly imitation, and decided that as it didn't look like I'd catch the trout, I'd try to take a photo instead, so had my phone in my hand, ready to take a snap as he passed - the water was very clear and calm.

I almost put the phone away after waiting a while - the breeze picked up and I hadn't seen the trout. Then the breeze died down and the trout was right below me. I dipped the fly into the water, careful not to let any line touch the water this time, and the trout approached it.

Time stood still, as it tends to in such situations. Then the fly disappeared into the trout's mouth. I set the hook, and (stupidly) took half a second to try to snap a photo as I raised my rod and the trout sped out into the current - the photo merely getting some waves from the departure.

By the time I had put my phone away and realised I needed to work to keep him away from the underwater branches nearby downstream, I could see by the line moving in the water that he was already heading into them. I couldn't do anything in the end. Winding in the line, severed - I assume from his teeth.

I stared at the water for a minute or two. It's tough losing a fish that has been hooked.

Still, a new technique learnt, which I should have cottoned on to a while ago after reading about dapping.

I mentioned the episode to a friend yesterday - he said if I wasn't wasn't going to cast, I might as well just turn up with a 20 foot rod. He might be on to something there...

Wairau River Salmon Fishing Rules for 2015

The rules have changed for fishing for salmon in the Wairau River. In the 2011-2012 Fish & Game regulations, the salmon season wasn't clearly defined. I found out it was all year, after confirming with Fish & Game.

The latest (2014-2015) salmon season as defined by the regulations booklet sees the season now limited to be in line with the standard trout season that covers most rivers, 1 October - 30 April.

 

The far side of the mouth

As I write, the dry westerly is blowing outside. It's now December and the local whitebaiting season has ended.

One of the main things I miss about the whitebaiting season is the opening of the road that runs down the southern side of the Wairau Diversion to the mouth - it gets opened for the season, then goes back to being a private farm road.

I try to fish there instead of the usual north side whenever it's open. It makes a nice change - normally less people, an undulating road that's more fun to ride the motorbike on, and the ability to fish spots you can't quite reach from the other side.

November had a lot of wind; too much wind. The grass in my yard that hadn't managed to catch some water from the garden sprinkler turned brown. It'd been too windy to jump on the motorbike and go for fish. I did manage to get out for a ride and fish near the end of the month, though.

***

It was late afternoon, I was out in the yard and noticed how still it was. I checked the tide forecast; incoming, just after low. I grabbed my fishing bag, jumped on the bike and rode down to the Diversion's southern side, rode through the gateway (open/close gate - always leave a gate how you found it) and down to the mouth.

At the mouth, a few people were whitebaiting. Nobody was fishing on my side, but some were casting lures on the other side. I set my rod up and wandered down, casting once I reached the water. Nobody seemed to be catching anything. I walked down toward the surf, having the odd cast, then carried on around into the surf to see if any fish happened to be coming in.

Nothing seemed to be happening fish-wise and I sat on a log, wondering whether to pack up and see if anything was happening at the Wairau Bar. I find sometimes sitting back and watching for a while is helpful - you either have a nice quiet moment and/or discover something that might help the fishing.

Shags were swimming, diving, chasing small fish. Some fish that seemed quite big for a shag to swallow were being guzzled down.

I started casting into a spot where the current pushes into the surf and the birds were active in the water. I soon hooked a fish that felt quite big. I land a kahawai that wasn't as big as I originally thought. Hooking any fish is better than no fish. I stayed and fished more.

The birds were still chasing and catching. I also caught some more - some bigger, and lost some at the water's edge, in the surf. With the last few that I caught, I started running up the beach when I reeled them into the surf - I might've looked slightly crazier, but the fish didn't get away.

There still wasn't anyone fishing on my side, and nobody that was fishing on the other side seemed to be catching anything. It's a strangely nice feeling; possibly because if anything, the shoe is normally on the other foot.

***

I've had fun fishing at the Diversion mouth with my new rod/reel setup and feel strangely hesitant about heading up the river to my usual spots looking for trout. I'm not sure where I'll be fishing next, but I think exploring will be high on the priority list... although the northern side of the Diversion mouth will now go back to being more pleasant without all the whitebaiters around, so we'll see... the kahawai may stick around, and there's always the possibility of a sea-run trout or even a salmon before long.

If only the wind would abate.

In under the trees

From Tony Orman's great little book The Challenge of Fishing Small Streams in New Zealand; part of chapter 13 (slightly edited/shortened to fit this layout better):

When you fish overgrown streams you have to assess each situation individually. 

I recall one trout which rose just above a log jam. You could not get at it from below because of willows. So at dusk, as it rose steadily a metre or so above the obstruction, I carefully eased upstream and dropped the fly in a few metres upstream and let it float down, paying out line so there was no drag. 

The fish took the floating deer sedge quietly, I paused... one two three... then tightened and without yanking dictated to the fish, moving upstream a couple of metres. I was lucky I got away with it. It was a fine fish from a difficult spot, only overcome by an unorthodox approach.

Overgrown streams are worth looking at. Most anglers shun them. Perhaps they like it easy. Perhaps they don't realise what treasures such streams can hold.

Another way of fishing in tight spots is dapping. This technique consists of dropping your fly on the water and flicking it up and down if it is a dry fly, or letting it sink if it is a nymph. There is no casting involved. A good method for fishing off a bank or under willow. Dapping is reputed to have originated in Ireland on the loughs (lakes). There it was done from boats, usually with dry flies.

One Marlborough stream I know can hold some fine trout early in the season when they run up from the parent river. There were two particularly fine trout that held under a clump of willows and briar. You could see them through the twigs as they fed deeply on nymphs. No one could cast to them.

Ted tied on a weighted nymph and poked his rod through the twigs and branches. Then he fed out line until he had enough slack literally to drop the nymph in about a couple of metres above the trout.

The fish rose up towards the surface and Ted's nymph disappeared.

Until then he hadn't considered how he was going to land it. He tightened the nymph home and the fish bucked and drove away. Ted just let the fish go somewhere downstream. After a few minutes the fish luckily sulked. 

Ted passed his rod through the twigs and put his other hand downstream, transferring the rod from right to left. Then he eased his right hand through the gap and took it from his left, poked his left hand into another gap and transferred again. Four or five of these and he was in the clear, with the fish luckily still attached. There the fight took place. 

It was a fine 3.6kg (8lb) brownie which Ted quickly weighed in his landing net and then slipped back.

September in Photos

Lake Rotoiti. 

Wairau River. 

Wairau Diversion.