February 25, 2011

Driving day!

Originally we had planned to drive from Motueka to Greymouth, sleep over there and continue to see the Fox Glacier further down the west coast. We first headed inland, crossing the South Island towards the coastal town of Westport. With roughly 5000 inhabitants it is one of the larger towns on the west coast.

The population pattern on the South Island is extremely skewed towards the east coast. On the east coast there are larger cities like Christchurch and Dunedin with populations of 400 000 and 125 000 respectively. The west coast has just over 30 000 inhabitants in total, with the largest city, Greymouth, weighing in at a mere 10 000 inhabitants.

Now, why could this be? The explanation is pretty simple: rainfall.

West of New Zealand there is just ocean, ocean, ocean. With winds coming from the north-west all clouds created over the Tasman Sea flow freely until they hit the mountain chain going down the South Island, the Southern Alps. The clouds are trapped and dump their contents on the poor souls who have chosen to live here. Annual rain on the west coast is measured in meters. In some areas the annual average is over 7 meters. Bergen, the rain capital of Norway, is a desert compared to this place.

Aaanyway, in the morning we stopped at a winery just outside Motueka. The dessert wine we had had at the restaurant in the church yesterday was out of this world, and when we passed the winery making it, we stopped to have a look

and do some tasting. Norwegian tourist, wallet in hand, ready to invest:

Notice the sign, no free-riding here, this is a serious business.

Afterwards we decided to have some tea and coffee. No problem making fresh coffee when you are driving with your kitchen behind the back seat. Having a camper van does have some advantages. Ahhhhh:

We hit the road again and drove through a beautiful hilly landscape.

Soon we were following the Buller river.

Before leaving on this voyage we had pretty much researched and booked everything up to and including the Cook Islands. In a powerful booking sprint on the Cook Islands we had planned and booked everything for the North Island on New Zealand. With the camper van, we could be much more flexible on the South Island, but were also much less prepared. We had made a tentative plan, but now that visiting Christchurch was out of the question we had a very tentative plan of driving around the coast anti-clockwise and see what comes our way. Cool.

I had heard lots of stories about the great trout fishing in New Zealand. This introduced species thrives here and many rivers contiain populations of monster trout. One of the things I wanted to do was to try to catch at least one of those large trouts.

As we drove along the Buller river it looked very tempting. I got out my magic stick, the 3G modem I had purchased at the airport in Auckland, and logged onto the internet. I rediscovered the invaluable site nzfishing.com, which contains descriptions of all the major water ways of New Zealand, complete with fishing access points, bag limits, other rules, hints and tips. When I had looked at it in Norway I was put off by the heading “Fly fishing in New Zealand,” but the site covers bait fishing and lure fishing as well.

After my shallow research  before leaving Norway I found out that the only fishing deemed worthy for any man over 14 in New Zealand is fly fishing. The few references I found to bait and lure fishing were in sentences like “This method is less demanding and is a good exercise for children learning to fish” and “Anyone can catch a trout in New Zealand with a spinning rod. The challenge is to catch one while fly fishing.” Spinning is the local word for lure fishing.

The Buller river turned out to be the largest protected waterway in New Zealand. “Protected” in the sense reserved for fishing. Now we are talking! We stopped in a small town and I asked at the local gas station where I could buy a fishing license. I was told to go to the hardware store. Luckily, before I got there, I almost stumbled over a very large sign in the street outside the builidng next to the gas station. it said, in large friendly letters “Tourist information. Buy your fishing license here”

They knew nothing about the local fishing possibilities, but willingly sold me a national license. Google was my friend and I ended up choosing the Owen river, a side river to the Buller. i did a good sales job on the advantages of getting off the beaten track to see some real South Island nature and Helene was willing to change our plan for the day. I was in business.

We took off from the main road and shook our way up the Owen valley on a gravel road:

We found a great spot where we parked at the side of the road. We were starting to see the advantages of having a camper van. There were no lodging offers around here, but with our van i could now fish both late in the evening and at sunrise. Excellent!

Not long after we had parked dinner was served:

Adrian and I left for an evening fishing expedition. The landscape was beautiful and the stretch of the river here looked perfect. According to nzfishing,com “the fish tend to be in the 4lb range though many larger fish are present throughout the river.” Really? Pinch my arm, please.

Look at that river:

Adrian and I took turns casting. We worked our way systematically up the river. After just a couple of hundred meteres Adrian spotted the first two monsters in the water. OMG! They were fantastic specimens, probably around 2 kilos (4 pounds), as promised. I cast behind them and presented the lure. No reaction. They slowly glided away. Oh well, they probably saw us and got wary. We made sure to cast far from where we were standing after that. We saw several others, but never had a single bite. One followed the lure while Adrian was fishing and came quite close to the shore, but turned around when it got too close to us.

Adrian gave up after a couple of hours and I continued until it got dark.

I tried everything. I changed lures and went through everything I had. The entire range of trout lures, then perch and pike lures, wobblers, spinners, fish imitations, black ones, silver ones, orange ones, red ones. I even tried salt water lures. I fished the streams, the borders, the holes, under trees and where creeks hit the water. No luck.

It was completely frustrating.

Maybe the morning would be better, after a night of darkness most fish are very hungry.

From the sunset and the longitude (using the GPS app on the iPhone) I roughly calculated when the sun would come up. I set my alarm to 5:30. I was going to get one of those fish if they wanted to or not.

When I got up it was pitch dark. Strange. Oh well, my calculation was an estimate, the sun would be up soon. I got dressed, prepared the fishing gear, and strolled down to the river, using my phone as a flashlight. It didn’t seem to get any lighter, the stars were still out, there was no moon, and I had a hard time fishing. I remembered some good spots from last night and cast my lure in the dark.

I soon realized I had done a mistake in my calculations. We were west of 180 degrees longitude, not east of it. Ouch. The sun would come up about 2 hours later than I thought it would!

I continued fishing in the dark.

It was quiet around me and a great experience to feel everything gradually coming to life. Slowly, ever so slowly, I could start to make out the landscape around me. Then the horizon to the east gradually got brighter. The number of photons available made the rods of my eyes give way to the cones and the black and white landscape became colored.

Eventually the sun came up. What a miracle a sunrise is!

As soon as I could make out the bottom of the water I started to see fish. They were out in large numbers. At one point I saw a group of well over 10 large trout. One was much larger than the others, and I could see the characteristic bent jaw/lip that you only find in very large trout and salmon. That beauty must have been around 5 kg (11 pounds). I was hidden behind some bushes and managed to place a cast a few meters behind the group. I was using a yummy spinner that most reasonable French or Norwegian trout would have swum after like it was chocolate mousse and happily swallowed without thinking twice.

My heart was beating faster and faster as the lure slowly made its way towards the group of fish. It was the perfect cast. The lure had not scared them when it hit the water and it was coming at them in the direction of the water current, just like natural food coming down the river. It was easy to adjust the depth, i had a clear line of sight. I got ready to do the counter-strike, to set the hook, as the lure closed in on the trout. Ah, Helene and the kids were going to be mighty impressed by their husband and father now. I would come back with a prize trout we all could have dinner on later today.

Then the most incredible thing happened. The type of thing a fisherman can tell his fishing buddies and children about for decades to come. A fishing tale so odd most people will not believe it.

The fish slowly moved aside and created an opening in the group for the lure. There was no panic or swimming away, just a gentleman-like movement to make room for this most unexpected guest.

And so, from my hiding place behind the bush, I could see the lure slowly make its way through the opening while the trout were watching it. It was as if they took off their hats while she passed. Good morning, Mam, what a beautiful day!

I was completely disgusted.

Needless to say i returned after 4 hours of fishing with nothing in my bag.

Eirik

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