New Zealand is somewhere I’d dreamed of fly fishing for over a decade.
Over the years, talking with mates, clients, or basically anyone who's even remotely interested in fly fishing, the conversation eventually shifts to New Zealand. Crystal-clear rivers, wild mountains and, of course, giant trout. It’s the sort of fishing you see in photos and films and wonder whether it can actually be that good. With a break in my guiding season, I finally had an opportunity to find out.
The plan was simple, three weeks solo, living out of a van, fly fishing my way across the South Island chasing good weather and recommendations from mates and locals, a proper DIY fly fishing trip. For me, that was a big part of the appeal. Rather than having every river, campsite and day planned before I arrived, I could be surprised by new water, unfamiliar territory, and go with the flow.
Before any fly rods were strung up, I had to take in the scenery. Wild, jagged mountains seemed to rise out of the landscape in every direction, with gin-clear rivers running beneath snow-capped peaks. As cliché as it is, no picture or video can do this place justice, you've got to see it for yourself.
There was only so much sightseeing I could take before finally throwing the first casts. Like any new water, I am often humbled initially. Different fisheries have subtleties that can't be put into words or taught, you've just got to figure it out. New Zealand was no different for me. Not only new water to explore but a complete mindset shift from what I'm used to in Aus.
The good news was that there were fish everywhere. From 6-inch bows to the biggest browns I'd ever seen, although spooky, I'd lucked out with plenty of fish spotted. After breaking the dreaded doughnut with a few smaller fish, I'd set my sights on the big boys.
I quickly realised my Australian fly fishing habits weren't going to cut it in the Land of the Long White Cloud. As soon as fly line landed too close or taking one too many steps to setup for a cast and fish would spook, the big one's anyway. I knew my approach had to change. Sizing down tippet and flies, and fishing leaders twice as long as I'm used to was required to even have a chance at an eat.
After a day and a half of missed opportunities, it was the afternoon of day two where the stars aligned. After spotting a proper brown, I knew I had to make every decision count. After a dozen or so casts and about half an hour of working this fish, time stopped as his nose tipped up and headed for the dry. The moment happened in an instant while also feeling time had stopped.
Just like that, I'd broken my PB brown trout on day two. I don’t know how else to describe this fish other than exactly what I’ve dreamt of for over a decade. Standing there holding that fish on the second day of the trip was difficult to comprehend, but there it was, a 6lb brown, the account was now properly open!
With a cracking fish under my belt, confidence started to build and what followed were some of the best days of trout fishing I’ve ever experienced. There were big fish sight-cast on nymphs and dries all the while being in the most unassuming spring creeks and rivers with a standout fish coming from a stream barely as wide as a car.
Of course, a three-week fishing trip was never going to go entirely to plan. Rain settled in and started blowing out rivers. With some of the water I wanted to fish no longer an option, the trip became about chasing patches of good weather and heading further south.
After travelling further south and waiting out a few days of high and dirty water, success continued and even improved somehow. The highlight of the trip for me were the incredible mayfly hatches, and watching fish switch from relatively dormant to a sea of rises as the may's popped each day like clockwork. I'd never experienced hatches like this. Although very particular about which stage of the insect you were fishing, there were foolable, and I took full advantage.
With the three weeks quickly disappearing, I still had one thing I wanted to tick off the bucket list. Throughout the trip, I’d had the idea of camping and fishing somewhere properly remote. Somewhere deep in the New Zealand backcountry. With only a few days remaining, I decided to give it a crack. When I finally arrived, it was one of the most spectacular places I’d ever seen, let alone fished.
Wide valleys surrounded by huge mountains with a beautiful river running through the middle. It didn’t take long before I had the waders on and started working my way upstream. Eventually, another brown came to hand. Not the biggest of the trip at around 2.5 lb, but with the scenery I found myself in, it was one of my favourite moments of the trip.
It’s difficult to describe what a trip like this feels like after thinking about it for so long. For over a decade, New Zealand had existed in my head as the ultimate fly fishing destination. A place of giant trout, clear rivers and spectacular mountains. Then suddenly I was living out of a van, standing beside those rivers and casting to those fish.
It was everything I’d dreamed of, and then some.
Film and words by Pat Ryan