My school sends the HS kids on outdoor-related experiences each year.
These can take many forms. ranging from cultural excursions to Vienna,
service-related trips to VietNam building houses, or mountain climbing
expeditions to Indonesia. Twenty kids go on each trip, which last a
week in duration. During the week, we have about 50 of these trips
going out, all over the planet.

This year, I decided to create my own trip and combine two of my great
loves and create a river-running (canoeing) and flyfishing trip to New
Zealand. After much on-line research, I chose the Rangitikei River on
the west coast of the North Island as the venue. Its a naturally fed
river, with a bell-shaped flow curve throughout the summer season, but
with occasional floods. The river is deeply entrenched in some chalk
and limestone cliffs, and carves sharp bends with deep pools
throughout its length across the western New Zealand countryside. It
tends to flow in the range of several cubic feet per second, but with
occasional floods in the tens of hundreds of CFS. It is also known to
have some rather immense rainbows.

Months of prep work went into the trip: I made arrangements with
outfitters for canoes and guides, contacted land agents to arrange
transportation and hotels on each end of the trip, presented the trip
idea at an open marketplace, got a full slate of students signed up,
and ran a series of pre-trip orientation meetings where I taught the
kids everything from how to paddle their canoes to how to set up a
tent to what to pack and where to buy it. I inspected their gear,
recommended packs and sleeping bags, sent permission forms home,
arranged visas and travel permits, made copies of passports and HK ID
cards, and finally after all that prep work, last week we were on our
way.

Unfortunately, I also came down with a bout of bronchitis the day
before the trip departed. I spent the entire flight to NZ with the
chills and fever, and by the time we arrived in Wellington, spent the
night at a hostel, and transported ourselves to the river region north
of there, I was far too sick to participate in the trip. Because of
the threat high water from some impending rains, at the last minute we
changed the river venue to the Whanganui, which is steady class 1-2
fla****er, and much less formidable. After one night on the water it
became incredibly obvious that I should not be on-river, so I excused
myself, left the kids in the capable hands of our three river guides,
and went back to the base camp to recuperate for the week.

After two days and a handful of medicines, the fever and chills were
replaced with total boredom. Since I was already in-country, and
because there was so much about the Rangitikei I was unfamiliar with,
I rented a car and drove to the river region so that I could scout the
river throughout its length. Also, the threatened rains did not
materialize, so I wanted to see what the access routes and river basin
was like.

As I stated, most of the river is deeply entrenched, so it was
difficult to get a good look at much of the watershed. What I could
see showed me a crystal clear stream, snaking its way down a very deep
vertical-walled canyon, piling into the wall at turns, carving
cavernous overhangs and deep blue pools. At one point, I was looking
over a very scenic overview and noticed a jeep trail that passed
through the yard of a farmhouse and appeared to snake its way down to
the river. I thought for a moment about asking permission to trespass
and hike down the trail to the river, but then reconsidered as it was
quite a long way to hike in (and out), and I felt a bit uncomfortable
about disturbing the locals this far off the beaten path.

But then I reconsidered...I had come a hell of a long way to get to
New Zealand, and was there with my rental car, without the kids (who
were in very good hands), with my fishing gear in the back seat, and
with a day to spare. It seemed a bit ludricrous to let a moment of
insecurity stop me from potentially seeing the river up close, and
maybe getting a chance to cast a line. So I drove down to the sheep
gate, let myself through, drove across the fields to the house, and
pulled up in the driveway.

The woman of the house spotted me through the window and came out. She
asked if she could help me, so I handed her my business card, and
briefly explained that I was in NZ with a bunch of students who were
on a river trip, and that I was researching information about the
river that ran in the canyon through her backyard, and wondered if she
could answer some questions about water flow rates, flood regularity,
campsites, fishing, etc?

She was very accommodating, and we talked for about 15 minutes. Then
she mentioned that her husband who was much more knowledgable was
guiding some fishing clients on the river and was going to arrive at
take-out at the end of the jeep trail in a few hours, but if I could
drive a 4WD, I was welcome to save her some time and drive the jeep
down to the river and wait for him.

A few minutes later, I could not believe the change in my luck. I was
driving down the mile-long access trail in a 4WD, fishing gear in the
passenger seat, with permission to fish the private stretch of river
at the end of the road. I worked my way down the double-track through
some steep slick patches, and out on to the gravel bar at the
riverside where the road ended.

The river was beautiful; crystal clear, rocky runs into deep pools.
The flow was in the range of a few hundred cfs, the shores were wide
gravel bars with plenty of room to backcast, and the shallows were
easily wadable.

I worked my way to the top of the first hundred-meter long riffle,
tied on a copper john, and proceeded to nymph the run. Cast upstream,
strip, swing and lift, retrieve. Step to the left, cast upstream,
strip, swing and lift, retrieve, Step to the left, etc. About halfway
down the run, I got my first hit. Something fairly solid slammed the
nymph, then took off across the stream. I breathed a small 'thank
you', raised my tip to set the hook, and nothing. Hmm. I stepped to
the left, cast upstream, striped, swung the nymph and lifted....and
BAM, another huge hit. Again, I raised the tip to set the hook, and
nothing.

I retrieved the nymph and checked the hook; sharp and shiny, but maybe
the gape was a little closed. I bent the gap open a bit, took a step
to the left, cast upstream, stripped, swung and lifted, retrieved.
After a few dozen more casts, again I got slammed by something large
and again it spit out my hook.

By the time the raft came drifting down, I had gotten a half dozen
world-class hits, but none of them had been on my hook for more than a
few seconds before the LDR. Sadly, I reeled up and walked down to the
raft, introduced myself, and hopped in for the ride back to the top of
the cliff. Michael, the guide, was very congenial, and after a bit of
chatting I decided to spend the night at his place (his 'farmhouse'
turned out to be a rather exclusive fishing camp), and the next
morning his client Stewart and I took the 4-wheeler back down to the
river to fish some more.

We headed downstream from the run I had nymphed the previous evening,
and tied up a slightly different rig. Where I had been nymphing a solo
copper john before, this time I tied on a larger copper john 12 feet
below a strike indicator, then a smaller stonefly imitation a few feet
below the CJ on a dropper tied at the bend. I was using a new 4x
tapered leader, with a 5x tippet for the dropper. It was harder to
cast this rig, but it was the usual set-up for this river, according
to Stephen and Stewart (who had caught two 5-pounder Rainbows the
previous day).

The run itself was unproductive, but at the bottom of the rapid the
river piled into the wall, forming an undercut and a deep blue pool
inside the bend. I cast the nymph across the current, let it wash
through the undercut and into the deep pool, then WHAMMO! I got hit
very hard. I pulled back, there was a brief flash of silver deep in
the pool, then nothing. Damn. I retrived my rig, and saw that the 4x
leader had parted right above the top nymph like it was a wet noodle.
I inspected the break to see if it had come free at a knot, but the
break was clean with no pigtail...it was a straight break-off. Wow,
that must have been a huge fish to snap my leader so easily.
Unfortunately, it was also a very skittish fish as it did not hit
again. I got a few more hits in the runout of the pool, but they were
much smaller. Within a few hours, it was time for me to go, so Stewart
and I piled onto the 4-wheeler, and reluctantly drove up out of the
river valley and back to the lodge.

In the end, I did not bring anything to hand, and I'm not sure why. I
did get about a dozen HARD hits, but I suspect that I am
underestimating how hard the beaks are on these large trout, and am
not setting the hook hard enough. My instictive setting motion is
based on years of catching smaller fish, so its hard to override
muscle memory at that moment and really yank back. The one big hit I
got that took my hardware was probably a huge fish...the river is
known to have a few resident 10 pounders, and of course it gets larger
in retrospect, but I'm sure I missed the largest fish of my life just
then.

In any case, it was a magical evening and morning on the Rangitikei,
and I am psyched to make arrangements to go back to Stephen's lodge
for a week without the overriding obligation to my students or the
school, where I can really indulge myself and enjoy some more New
Zealand fly fishing.

--riverman