Journey's End

I'll just pick up where I left off:

We drove south. Option #1 was too low. Option #2 was full of more didymo than a port-a-potty after Chili Fest, and looked none more appealing. Option #3 was too windy. This was our last option. 

It was tight little spring creek that was full of spunky browns who aren't afraid to use every piece of cover to their advantage when fighting. 

The following day we continued deeper into the rabbit's hole.

We soon ascribed it a new moniker, Improbable Creek.

This was one of the better fish we had seen, and I shouldn't have had two opportunities at it. But I did. And I certainly shouldn't have blown both of them. But I did. 

A fish came the middle of this bit, just off Lewis's right shoulder.

And he fought it underneath and through this bush.

This one came while blind-casting, literally, over 6ft tall tussock!

We then went back to the lake I'd mentioned previously. The surface was glass and the fish uninterested in anything in anything less than the most technical of presentations (think <18 on 6x). 

   

Thank you for your time.

We then packed up and headed back.

I had one more chance to fish before I was back stateside. I went at it alone and was rewarded with one fish on a random blind cast. Fish number fifty. The last fish I needed. 

And alas, the sun has set on another New Zealand summer.

The cool creep of fall had finally settled in on the South Island. Though it doesn't necessarily amount to much by the way of harsh winters most places, it is a long and arduous transition into spring some months from now. With most rivers having closed before I left, I began to feel the restlessness of stale potential setting in. It's time to move on, time to get going. A few nights in Auckland enjoying a couple concerts by my favorite band helped to quell the unrest in my legs for a day or two, but the 24+ hours of travel following finished me off.

So here I sit back in Colorado reflecting on another winter well-spent, but also weighing opportunities anew. Stepping on that plane always leaves me heavy-hearted, wondering when or even if I shall ever see this land again that means so much to me. That is always the question and always the regret in leaving. I know not if I shall return, I only know that with the end of one journey thus begins another, especially for someone returning somewhere homeless and jobless. Keep looking forward, keep pressing on. For lack of sufficient alternatives I believe I shall be moseying eastward for a change. It's been a long while since I spent a summer in Maine, and though I regret not having fisheries work to occupy me out west, I do look forward to revisiting some long forgotten waters back there. Anyone fancy a fish?

BENDER

Well. It's been a wee while since my last post, and I've caught a few fish since then. I reckon I'm about due, if not overdue, for an update. My only motivation for trying to get this done tonight is that come tomorrow morning after the desk jockeys have checked in for the work week they'll decide to either make something of the day or write it off. It's Monday, and there's equal potential to come out of the gate strong or coast into the week and pick up the slack at some point down the line. Somewhere along both of those timelines and diverging trajectories, sooner or later though, they'll get bored, pick up the key board, and start surfing. To those I know with desk jobs, I imagine you'll likely eventually mosey this way. I hope this post makes more people's day and/or week than it breaks, but I realize the potential for both of those outcomes.

Apparently, since you last heard from me I've accumulated an additional 3,000+ new photos, and up until last week I simply haven't had the time to sit down and go through them all to try and put together anything comprehensible. Thursday concluded a solid two-week fishing bender with a good buddy from the U.K., Lewis Hendrie, which was really just the tail end of a month-long fishing bender. Lewis is a guide in the U.K. and even fishes for the U.K. team in the international competition circuit when he's not trout bumming in New Zealand. We met through a mutual friend back in mid-March and have since fished together 26 of the past 35 days. There's too much ground to cover to bother with specifics, so I'm just gonna skip the foreplay and jump straight to the dirty stuff.

Fishing here,

Yielded this:

We then went here:

To a notoriously tough river that treated us exceptionally well, turning up gems like these:

Then we fished a really cool river full of awesome pocket water like this:

And caught lots of fish like these:

We found a primo campsite on this pool.

And watched this guy, among several others, feeding every morning when we woke up, and every night as we ourselves recouped from the day's efforts.

Then we fished here.

... but were informed shortly after our arrival that not only A) had the season been closed on that particular body of water for over a month now, but also that B) we were trespassing. She was rather nice about the whole thing really.

We continued south to here.

And I caught this: CHA-CHING!

A double-digit beauty that ate a small nymph on my 5th cast. The heavens opened up immediately afterwards and we sought shelter. When it cleared, this is the view we were greeted with:

A few hour jaunt further south brought us to a quiet lil town that's pretty central to heaps of badass fishing.

This was a nice little lake with more than a few brownies eager to eat dries.

This was a gin-clear river full of excitable rainbows.

 This river only gave up one fish each day we fished it.

This river is one where you go to test your mettle against picky fish. We did not find this so.

This creek was prettier than it was productive, but full of nice fish. They just fussy.

Well it's now late and I'm tired, and there's still more to go. So I'll leave you with a parting shot and hopefully be back to it sooner than later. 

To be continued...