A mate and I took off recently for seven days trout fishing in New Zealand's South Island, in the north part around the Nelson Lakes region. I think it is the best brown trout fishing in the world, certainly that I can ascertain from speaking to guys who have fished places I have not. The trout are not always as huge as some places but it is an extremely beautiful region. It is really a form of hunting with a fly as it is almost all sight fishing and sneaking up these streams, finding a trout, casting to it and catching it, really is a buzz.

Won't go into the old 'discussion' of dealing with obnoxious locals – most are fantastic – but I was forced at one stage to point out to a group who were watching NZ and India in a 20/20 and banging on about underarm bowling (and didn't know there was an Aussie present) that the underarm was the best thing that ever happened to NZ as it gave them a reason to drag themselves out of the fifties and also gave them something to whinge about every day – what other nation defines itself by a minor perceived injustice in a no-account sporting event from three decades earlier?

Plan was four days sharing Boris Cech, a German guide who is brilliant, and a terrific bloke, staying at a local motel. Then the final three days at Lake Rotoroa Lodge, with our usual guides – I fish with a bloke called Greg (have done so now around 4-5 times)who is sensational but no mollycoddling. We end up walking miles – sometimes 16 k's and more, climbing muddy, wasp-ridden cliffs, fording raging torrents and basically, tough if you go in. I find the toughest going is when you have to walk for several 100 metres up streams, as can't get onto the banks, in really strong currents sometimes thigh deep, on slippery and unstable rocks. With a dodgy knee, that kills me.

The Lodge is one of the great places on the planet – they look after you unbelievably well (who ever heard of a fishing lodge where, if you get up for a leak in the middle of the night, you get heated bathroom floors?) and have a full time (extremely good) chef, even if only a couple of people are staying. We had some great people from Arizona and Texas there at the same time as us.

If anyone saw the 'River Somewhere' episode in NZ, the guys stayed at the Lodge and fished the nearby D'urville. Boris was their guide. I'd been keen to meet him to ask if it really was the D'urville as I'd long heard strong rumours from some who were semi-involved in the production, that they got the big fish in the Wairau and not the D'urville. No idea why they would have hidden that – though it did send a bucketload of Aussies over to fish the D'urville. Boris wasn't saying much but at least didn't deny it. Others have been much more forthcoming.

Neither my mate nor myself particularly enjoy sharing guides, as I reckon it cuts your fishing way down – first day, I'd had three casts by lunch and fourth day, none – as your mate stumbles about or something else happens. But we did it this time. And we are extremely competitive so it was quite fun. It also allows a chance for some photography and also to sneak an occasional cigar.

We also took two chopper rides – feeling is that in general, though not always, if you want the biggies, a chopper ride is necessary. But very exy.

It had been a good, not great season. Boris had not got a trophy yet this season (here, that is a ten pounder – never understood why Americans do trout by length as you can get long, thin, snaky ones that are longer than really solid trout in great condition that weigh twice the old snakes – know what I'd rather catch) – he is known as the big fish guide and one year had over 30 trophies. Nor had Greg or, it seemed, any of the guides, though there had been a few 8lbers and their ilk.

We flew into the Rough on day one for an overnight camp, so had two days here. I think it is the most beautiful of all the rivers. Dense, old forests, with branches feet thick with moss, line the banks. I don't know where they filmed the bit in Lord of the rings re Fangorn Forest but it should have been here. If an Ent walked out, you wouldn't really be surprised. It is not a 'big fish' river but has reasonable numbers and the fish are just magnificently coloured – often gold, almost orange, rather than brown. Amazing how much they vary in colour from river to river. The first big trout I ever got was in this river so I love it. And the camp-out was a hoot – Boris used to be a chef and we had the duty free etc. Gus and I trying to climb into a tiny tent near midnight and set out our sleeping bags and blow up mattresses etc, was too funny. Gus decided that I 'allegedly' snore so then moved out but set up right next door to the tent and wondered why he could still hear me. Then dragged himself off into the bush. Claimed not a wink of sleep. Boris asked him if the rain had bothered him. 'What rain?'

I got five up to 5 ½, first day and Gus got two with a 6lber. The next day provided two while Gus got four. Most around the 5lbs.

One broke me off but went to the other side of the river and started feeding again – extremely rare. Hooked him a second time and even got the first fly back. This almost never happens – it had been about ten years since Boris had seen it.

Next day, we flew into the Deepdale, one of NZ's most famous rivers. It is the river Boris is most closely linked with though some other guides will not fish it at all, believing that there is a very good chance that there clients won't catch a fish. It is known as the River of Big Trout and Long Faces, as it holds seriously large fish but many who try come out empty. It is extremely clear, making it harder as the fish can spot you and will bolt, and has plenty of food for the trout. They are extremely spooky and picky. Gus got a 5 1/2lber, by far the smallest fish we saw. He missed one trophy by poor line management.

I had a crack at two trophies first half of the day. One had half a glance at the fly and buggered off – nothing much one can do, but the other, surely 12 plus and in magnificent condition, almost orange (it was in a large shallow-ish pool, with another almost as big twenty feet in front of it and feeding like a demon), looked a chance.

Now I reckon I have seen every possible way to lose a fish but I found another one. To have a crack at this fish, we had to go back and climb down through the bush well behind it, then sneak around a thin ledge, as it was deep at this part of the pool and then climb out on the back of an island of rock, hide behind it, and cast about 40 feet with a backhander – I just looked at Boris and said, 'you are kidding right?' Tried it and first cast went a few feet behind the fish, no one more surprised than me. The whopper actually turned and chased the fly, which stunned us all, then swerved last second but went back to serious feeding so we thought we might still have a shot. Tried a few more casts but just could not get it far enough when, mid cast, a searing pain shoots through my back. Our wasps are bad but NZ has introduced European wasps and they are killers, really severe. So I am flailing about trying to get it out from under my shirt, wailing like a banshee – Christ they hurt. Gus and Boris think I've gone mad. The trout not happy at the fuss. Managed a few more casts but it was all over. Had lunch back up on the cliff overlooking the pool and watched these two massive trout chase each other around the pool. Amazing sight.  

The view from the lodge

We continued on the Deepdale post lunch and saw some truly big trout but they are so so spooky here. Gus had a shot a trophy but a tiny bend in the drift of the leader and it was gone. It couldn't even entice a strike. All that said, it is a river I'd love to have another crack on sometime. Finally, we spotted one about 7-8 lbs, perhaps more, and it took the fly. A few obstacles in the pond but we had a long fight and I knew I had it beat. We had got it in close a few times and it was a serious trout. I could feel it just hanging on and I thought it was gone as we brought it in for the last time. Somehow it managed one last glorious leap – looked spectacular – and as it landed, it flicked the fly. Heartbreaking. Bad language, of the sort not seen on this family forum. I could not believe it. But there is nothing, agonisingly nothing, you can do. Once it is gone, that is it. So we trudged on to the next pond – most of the fish here are in the ponds, rather than just the river.

Gus had a crack at one almost as big and hooked it well. They bolt for cover and this one headed for a large rock in the middle of the pond. Gus was having none of it and in he went. The two of them are doing this sort of ring-a-ring-a-rosey round this rock with Gus forcing it out every time it would try and lodge itself. He was in up to his chest at times. Finally, the fish got a real strong hold and Gus is doing what he can not to lose it and to get it out. This involves mostly just keeping the pressure on until it can stand it no longer. This one was lodged tight. Boris went in with a large stick to try and lever it out. After about ten minutes of this, they realised that they were in fact, fighting a rock. The fish had wrapped them round it ages earlier and buggered off. More bad language.

Any fish out of this river is a bonus.

Gus and I both managed to fail to hook a couple more and we knew the chopper was due and were at the last fishable pool before the chopper landed. My shot and there was a cracker, a certain trophy, in this last pool. Whether it would have gone much past ten, who knows? But surely at least ten, though they can be deceptive. Amazing all, especially me, I get the cast right and the fish nails it and we are on. Problem was it rushed me, rather than take off up the pond, or more as expected, downstream to a massive rock – if it had reached that, we knew we were lost. Boris has lost fish to this rock before. Then the line loops round my left hand. So, I am trying desperately to untangle myself, to get the line back on the reel, to keep pressure on the fish and to keep it away from the rock. Paul Simon should have sung about 50 ways to lose a fish! Somehow, I managed it all but I knew that I had a major problem as the line on the reel, in all the chaos, had really bunched on one side. If the fish made a big run, I knew I was stuffed and that it would almost certainly break off, as it would not peel off evenly. The fish was too fresh to try feeding out line to re-do, and the pool too small – we would have certainly lost it to the rock. Anyway, it headed away from the rock and up and under a ledge, on my side. I put as much pressure on it as I dared and we got it out but back under it went. This went on for about 15 minutes with it going into hiding and then being pressured out, several times. I knew I was winning as it was taking less time, each time it went under. Eventually, we moved it downstream and almost had it in the net. I am always amazed at how powerful and how much stamina some of these fish have – had a few in following days fighting me and a very strong current and doing both with ease. Sadly, this fish still had plenty left, even if I had thought otherwise, and it made a run for the rock. I tried to hold it but as suspected, it broke off immediately, as the line simply couldn't get off the reel quick enough. Entirely my fault. New levels of bad language. This one hurt.

We choppered out but I was a bit despondent about the whole thing, then you remember you have spent the day in a magic location fighting big trout and loving every minute of it (bar a few seconds here and there), and really, that is not a bad day at all. But it was the first time I had ever been skunked in NZ. When it rains

Next day the weather, never great and promising worse, moved in. Rain. We had finished our flying so drove – Boris likes to drive miles and at serious speeds – to the Upper Gray (near two hours at high speed, which I had thought would get you from one end of NZ to the other), a river Boris knows well. The Brown Gray and the Blue Gray meet to form the Upper Gray – I am serious. Boris searched high and low for fish – where he would normally see up to 20, he found one, which Gus hooked and fought, then lost near the end. If the weather comes in and the pressure drops, often the fish will just disappear. We decided it was time to get out, have lunch and move to a different stretch – I still had not even had a cast at a fish. There is a local nutjob farmer, who apparently could not fish with a net and dynamite, who rushes down to the river if he ever sees anyone and takes up a post preventing others fishing. Strange place. He did this so we decided to drive another hour to Larry's Creek

This was a shallow pebbly river but had a lot of good sized fish, as we later discovered. We gave it a good go but they were seriously spooky here and bolted at the first chance. Gus hooked two and lost both right next to the net. Not happy, Jan! I couldn't even get a strike. Finally, the indicator dipped and I struck in text book fashion. Zip! Nothing! Only later when I went to hook up the fly on the rod did I realise that when I struck , the hook snapped off – breaking in two. Yet another way to lose a fish.

Skunked two days straight. And Gus as well. Not good but the fun was about to start! We had three days left, all from the Lodge with our old guides. Three great days.

Ken Gargett

(to be continued)