| Posted: Feb 10th, 2008 |
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Jamie Cullinane's account of a large fish he caught.The story may change your thinking on the feeding habits of trout and how fish are 'affected' after being hooked.
There was an unspoken pressure as the three of us watched the big brown lurking in the shallows of the far bank. We were on to our third fish, having failed to take advantage of two earlier opportunities. As it was the One Fly, our patterns were fixed. Moreover, the weather was the antithesis of March in Nelson. Low cloud, lower temperatures and a steady rain punctuated by lightening perilously close overhead (we were unconsciously ducking at every flash) suggested that the water would soon deteriorate to unfishable level conditions.
It was my turn to cast. My father, Peter, (but henceforth Pete to avoid confusion) and I were going turn-about as we headed upstream. No doubt his outward exultation that I was to cast at the day's most promising fish was tempered by an inner angst. Coupled with that paternal desire to show a son "how it's done" was the fact that my earlier casts had been sprayed about the river like a Doberman marking its territory.
As if certain I would embarrass myself, Pete waited until Peter Warren—our exceptional guide for the day—was out of earshot and put a caring hand on my shoulder before imparting some advice that his father had once probably given him: "Don't fuck this up."
Peter and I moved back downstream to make our gentle approach up the opposite bank. We relocated the brown. While going through the preamble—check the back cast, feed out sufficient line—I asked our intrepid guide, "So, how big do you think he is?"
"About 5 lbs, Jamie, about 5," understated Peter. Behind my back, I'm told, he was holding up eight fingers and wearing a grimaced expression more at home on the weight lifting circuit.
First cast: good flight, smooth landing, right length—would've been a winner if it wasn't four feet askew…
The second cast was like a forward-pack try. Not the prettiest, but it got the job done. Rod went up, line went taut, then began to tap and tug: that feeling of delight reserved for the clean strike of a sighted fish—the privilege of anglers.
Big browns go deep and stay there, so Peter was warranted in moseying off to his dry bag in search of a camera…However, this big brown went shallow, began flopping about on the bank and stayed there. A One Fly newbie and not seeing any kind of immediate action out of our guide, I asked, "So Peter, what's the protocol here? Do I need to land or net the fish on my own?"
"No, no Jamie," chuckled a sagely Peter, as if he were addressing an eager but misinformed first-timer. "You've got another 45 minutes before he's worn down enough to land."
Now almost at my feet, I gave the fish a gentle nudge with my boot and replied quizzically, "Well…OK, but he's right here."
Peter sprang to action and scooped the cowed fish into the net.
8lbs, 70cm, Jack brown trout, in perfect fighting condition.
What followed might've been fly-fishing's answer to a Vogue glamour shoot. Angles and poses; clicks and flashes. But the monster seemed no worse for wear after his Fifteen Minutes, and upon release, ambled out into the current.
Peter and I were sharing pats and handshakes when a voice heavy with curiosity piped up from the far bank: "So, Peter, what's the policy on catching the same fish twice?"
As if to show us how little the big brownie thought of our antics, he'd resumed nymphing—only this time, he was sitting in the back eddy, actually watching us go through our celebration ritual.
A pause.
"…None, as far as I'm aware, Pete."
My father and I swapped banks. He may as well have cast from the same position, but instead guide and angler briefly went bush and reappeared upstream of the downstream-facing fish. No more than nine feet—rod's length—from their guileless target.
Two or three passes and he was back on the line. Peter sprang from the undergrowth like a boar to snatch up the trout. Not that he needed to…Once again it had splashed itself up onto the sandy bank like a submissive pup.
You'll never get a more natural smile out of Pete than when he's holding a big fish.
8.001 lbs, 70 cm, Jack brown trout. That's how we figured it, at least—on account that it had consumed two or three more nymphs between landings.
The fish itself was as enjoyable as the retelling back at the lodge that evening, amidst the drinks and camaraderie that can only be found amongst fellow fishermen. It's the kind of story that could only happen at the One Fly. |
| Posted: Oct 23rd, 2007 |
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Due to the invasive Didymo organism  , we ask anglers to leave their felt soled wading boots at home.
If you have rubber soles, or an aletrnative then that's fine, we will clean and soak them overnight during the event. |
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