(^12) FLYLIFE
the process. Thankfully Tim was too
busy fishing to a rising trout at the
very head of the pool to photograph
the moment. The final cast of the day,
at the furthest upstream point we’d
reach, saw a thickset rainbow rise to
a CDC Stimulator in the fast water at
the head of a deep pool. A fine way to
cap off the day.
INTIMATE WATER
The next day we began the walk
downstream en route to the road.
Rejoining the tributary we’d followed
down, our progress upstream was far
more enjoyable as we now had rods
in hand. The smaller water of the
tributary made for a more intimate
experience, although the fish proved
challenging. That evening we set up
camp beside a small pool that we
knew was home to four fish. Tim pro-
ceeded to catch one of these fish with
a deft piece of fishing made awkward
by the overhanging vegetation. Three
left. After dinner I made my way
down and sat at the head of the pool,
while Tim ventured upstream. As with
the night before, and the night before
that, when the sun set, the fish began
to rise. I sat on my rock and caught
the three remaining fish in the pool,
one by one. The final fish turned out
to be the fish of the trip. Slate bodied
and reminiscent of a steelhead, it was
a good inch longer than anything else
I’d caught and in prime condition.
Low light robbed us of the opportu-
nity to photograph it. In some ways I
like it that way, as it’s still vivid in my
memories.
Our trip was nearing its conclusion,
and it was with a little reservation that
we packed our rods back into their
tubes. The hike back up the ridge,
gaining 600 vertical metres in the
process, was grueling but the view we
were greeted with on the tops made it
all worthwhile. As we rounded a cor-
ner on the hill above our final camp-
site we were met by an unimpeded
view of tussock land all the way to
Mt. Ruapehu. The clarity of the sky
signalled a cold night, but I was still
surprised to wake to discover that the
condensation had formed a sheet of
ice on the fly of my tent. With one
final ‘cooked breakfast’ in our bellies
we hit the tops and began our walk
towards Mt. Ruapehu, knowing our
ride and a cold beer were waiting for
us at its base. Few things can compare
to that first sip of frosty cold beer after
a week in the hills, and Russell official-
ly earned the title of ‘Good Bastard’
for bringing a chilly bin full of them
with him to meet us.
Hindsight can offer the best per-
spective on a trip, but in this instance
I feel as though we achieved clarity
at the time. As we sat around the fire
one evening, a mug of Lagavulin in
our hands, we remarked on the simple
pleasure of what we were experienc-
ing. The fishing had been exceptional,
no doubt, yet no more exceptional
in objective terms than fishing we’d
each enjoyed far closer to the road.
The fish had been no bigger, no more
numerous and the methods of catch-
ing them no different. So why did the
trip resonate with us so much?
The fact that we’d walked to a river
that most only get to with the help of
a helicopter intensified our sense of
achievement. That we had hiked so
far, all the while carrying our lives for
the week on our backs, and enjoyed
superb fishing, had resulted in an
experience that was altogether greater
than the sum of its parts. The conclu-
sion we reached was one that we were
both acutely aware of in planning this
trip – sometimes it’s about a lot more
than just the fishing.
The scenery rivalled the fishing.
Rangitikei Trekking... continued
Salvation (cold beer) lay at the base of the mountain.
FL
lu
(lu)
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