Todays post will be written in english in dedication to my non-swedish friends that i would like to update on my life that is little about anything other than trout fishing at the moment.
While at the Nelson lakes, i was having a short chat with a Fish and Game ranger who at first was boasting a bit about his catch at the Maruia river. But he quickly turned the steak around and admitted that it was the river that he would thank for his catch rather than his skills. And i share that attitude so i decided to go to the – according to the ranger, underfished, Maruia River.
Upon my arrival at the access point of Boundary road i had a repetitve walk back and forth over the Boundary Bridge. Allthough the rain was slowly but certainly discolouring the inbefore clear water, the numerous trouts did not allow for much time to pass before revealing themselves for me. Three steady trouts were soon seen cruising slowly down the shoreline were the water tend to be calmer than anywere else under the bridge.
At first i didn’t really like the area but upon sighting the three amigos cruising around underneath me my mind were pretty rapidly set up – i will park my car here and turn the driver seat into a bed.
And needless to say; I slept like an angel in my angelic Corolla. Allthough, The rain were pattering on the roof of the car allthrough the night causing a seed of anxiety to grow within me. I’m all alone, nothing to do but fishing and a set of discoloured rivers around me would much likely drive me to insanity within just one day. I mean literally. It would make me drive my way back to the insane civilisation, and i didn’t really like that idea.
Anyhow, i had a fantastic nights sleep but i wasn’t quite expecting the smell of all my roaring farts to hang like a thick mist in the car when i woke up. It was a rotten, tickeling smell that made me think one extra time if i still think that ones own farts, no matter how bad the smell funks, always smells good in some way.
After a short mindtwitch i took a deep breath with my nose and realised i’ve been right about that statement after all.
Wow, what a funky smell!
Nevermind. I got out of the gaschamber and made myself some porridge with honey and cinnamon, rigged my rod for some action and stumbled down to the river, singing discretly on Bruce’s legendary song.
The water looked like chocolate milk and the current was too strong for cross-wading so i spent an hour blindfishing the spot under the bridge were i’ve spotted the three amigos the evening before.
I then thought that i’d be better off further up the Maruia river, up closer to the headwaters were there’s probably less dirty farmland defiling the waters. A thirty minute drive later and i found myself close to the Springs junction were the water still was blurry, and allthough it really wasn’t clear, i decided to go for a 5 hour scouting mission upstreams.
Sadly, i didn’t take any photos from this area but nothing really happend during this walk. Not a single fish sighted for 5 hours in a river estimated by the Department of Conservation to be holding up to 186 brown trout per kilometre of its length. Well, maybe counted with all the spawnlings it might be somewhat accurate, thought i.
I did meet a guy resting his very own black and white English Springerspaniel dog along the river. The dog was lovely, just like my Selma from back home which is of the same kind of breed. Part from a Springerspaniel owner this guy happend to be a fishing guide in the area.
I walked with him for a kilometre or so while talking about dogs and fishing. He seemed willing to give me a lot of hints about the river but he was not that keen telling me about the tributaries and smaller streams in the area. Smaller streams tend to clear alot quicklier after rain than the major rivers, like the Maruia.
Eventually we said goodbye and good luck.
I felt slightly wiser as i lighted a fire out of driftwood for the evening. I gazed into the flames, heard how the busting flames and the sparkling river created a delightful symphony together with the leaves whispering as the warm evening breeze gently cruised by. I enjoyed loneliness like never before.
Tomorrows plan was to scout downstreams from the accesspoint to see what i could find. A scouting trip that made me discover the mysterious Rahu River, which water was slightly coloured like golden honey, yet so crystal clear. My heart started bumping when i realised that my discovery probably was a fishable stream, in difference to the discoloured Maruia River.
I sat down with a million sandflies swarming around my head while eating my two slices of bread together with a raw potato and a can of tuna.
Rahu river, golden water, golden brown trout. Oh yeah.
Bloody peace on all of the champs.