Icey Indicators

The dark smudge wavering mid- current in the Tongariro’s Big Bend Pool could be clearly seen from the height of the heavily vegetated bank. The true right bank here is not for the novice; it is swift and deep with virtually zero room for anything other than a carefully timed roll cast. Nobody fishes it, the common follow-the-crowd mindset of lining up with other anglers on the more easily accessible true left bank is their own downfall.

Dan’s indicator dips and he executes his often talked about signature side-strike to set the hook — well, he has no choice due to the overhanging vegetation. A chunk of fresh-run chrome takes to the air, and now the fun begins. You can’t follow ’em and you can’t winch ’em back up using oversized tippet as you just won’t get the eat, nor the right drift in the first instance, so it’s a case of hold ya tongue right and hope for the best.

The 6lb hen rainbow erupts on the opposite side of the pool, right in front of the other anglers as they quietly murmur to each other: ‘He’s in again!’ In another flurry of white water, the fish takes off, seemingly heading back to the safety of the lake, but Dan has a handle on it — he’s done this a million times before. Toing and froing in the current with varying side-strain angles sees the fish within a rod length in the near-bank slack water, and victory is certain. Dan’s diminutive WF5 line is like coat-hanger wire in the sub-zero morning air — fly lines just aren’t made to take this form of punishment and often become kinkier than a swingers club in these freezing temperatures.

In a moment of carelessness, Dan has wound his near frozen strike indicator through the tip guide, and all hell breaks loose at close quarters. Essentially handicapped with a Tenkara rod on a powerhouse of a fish, something’s gotta give, and it does… CRACK goes the tip section of the 5-weight Sage on a last ditch bid for freedom — the #16 Glo-Bug embedded in the fish’s jaw is the only reminder of the morning’s shenanigans as she continues upstream, untethered.

Dan looks at me, and after a flurry of expletives sets off on the 20-minute trek back to the campervan to grab his spare tip. He’s been here before, like the time he thrust his rod into the 40,000rpm blades of my drone, hovering overhead as I filmed him releasing a fish. One of the benefits of the Sage ONE Elite — they come with a spare tip! Winter fishing… pfft… who’d do it!

UNIQUE CHALLENGES

It’s certainly not everyone’s cup of tea. Winter fly fishing can be miserable at times, especially persisting through driving rain and gale-force winds, your lips so cold you’re unable to talk. Those 10 things on your feet? — they no longer function as they should, slipping and sliding over the most minuscule of obstacles.

The flipside is that it’s a time of year on the New Zealand angling calendar that offers both a unique and memorable experience. From the canals in Twizel where the mercury can dip to -10°C or less and the chance of a 30lb trout is very real, to the rod-guide-freezing central North Island rainbow runs, winter fly fishing presents a uniquely different set of challenges.

Naturally, with colder temperatures comes reduced insect activity, so we need to adapt and seek slower water where fish expend less energy, and use more visible, larger flies so as to entice an aggressive response. After all, many of these fish are in the rivers with one thing on their mind, and feeding often takes a backseat to procreating. That’s not to say they don’t eat — they do — but drifts have to be on-point as these fish won’t exert any more energy than is absolutely necessary to move for food in the cold water. It needs to come to them, literally right on their nose, to be accepted.

BIG STREAMERS

Fishing big streamers to trout in winter transforms the angling experience into an exhilarating pursuit. Introducing large, territory-encroaching streamers mimicking wounded or egg-stealing fish, becomes an irresistible temptation, or more-likely an annoyance they must act on. The visual spectacle of a voracious trout aggressively attacking a sizable streamer right at your feet provides a jolt of excitement. The challenge lies in the strategic presentation and retrieve of the streamer, enticing a strike with a calculated, erratic retrieve being particularly effective.

Fishing these large heavily-weighted streamers not only demands skill, it is all about the ‘lob’ — opening up that loop so as to actually get the fly moving somewhat elegantly in the first place. Some know this style of casting as the ‘chuck and duck’ — the instantaneous crouch as the huge streamer follows your line at head height on the forward stroke, so as not to scone you on the noggin!

How big is too big? Well, there is no limit, the only thing being the angler’s casting ability and their reflexes to the above-mentioned chuck and duck. The rod used to deliver such an air resistant fly is also important — your 7-foot 3-weight has no place here.

Removing yourself from the ‘winter mindset’ will also ensure success. Yes, trout sometimes do summer things, like eat dry flies in winter.

WINTER SURPRISES

In July 2023 over a beer in Turangi with Andrew Burden, or AB as he’s affectionally know to his friends, we hatched a plan to fish the Waiotaka the following day. A skilled angler, AB spends more time on and in the water than the fish he chases.

Now, the Waiotaka is tiny. I have fished it many times, but it’s always at the bottom of the list, or side-lined as a backup stream to visit if nearby waters are coloured-up from heavy rain. The thing is, with small streams in winter, the trout, along with their desire to spawn, still feed. And as in the case here, a small stream that feeds into a massive lake the size of Singapore can at times be so thick with fish, you could almost walk on their backs and not get your feet wet!

Much like the Waiotaka, the equally productive Waimarino Stream is just a hop, skip and a jump from here and provides a similarly intimate winter angling experience. It’s sometimes hard to get past that ‘small stream, small fish’ mindset, but both the Waimarino and Waiotaka regularly give up fish of 10lb or more, from May through September. The one huge bonus for me is being able to sight-fish your quarry 99% of the time in these smaller, intimate waters, and use summer gear for winter trout, something that is incredibly enjoyable and rewarding.

AB spots a fish lying motionless in the shadow of an undercut, the only clue to the red-flanked, hook-jawed jack’s presence being the ever-so-slight movement of his tail in order to hold position, seemingly undisturbed by the dozen or more anglers that have traipsed past him that morning throwing massive blobs of chartreuse yarn. My #10 Para Adams is sent hurtling towards the fish on this cool July afternoon, with a small nymph underslung like a deer hanging under a Hughes 500 chopper.

Whoomph! My #10 Para Adams disappears in a flurry of spray, and we’re off! Closing your eyes for a minute, forgetting you’re wearing chest waders and four layers of clothing in 5-degree heat, you could be forgiven for thinking you’re in a high summer situation. Winter fishing is like that, it’s full of surprises — in this case, dispelling that old myth that trout in winter don’t take dry flies.

LAYERING UP

The other surprise, a far less enjoyable one, is just how damn cold it can get! Being cold can affect you in many ways, both physically and mentally. Along with making you grumpy, it decreases dexterity (good gloves for winter angling are essential!), making it challenging to tie knots, handle small flies, or even reach for that spindly handle on your reel. Your sanity is at stake here, so wrap up!

Winter angling is comfort angling — a riverside fire, cook-up on the bank, sipping a sly whiskey from a hip flask or a coffee from a thermos while watching the steam unfurl around you. It’s those early starts — grabbing a pie from the local bakery, and de-fogging windscreens. Heck, even a cigarette or cigar looks inviting to us non-smokers!

Ignoring the fact that you can’t feel your toes or fingers, your nose redder than Rudolph’s, it has its charms.

You need to be able to regulate your body temperature to adapt throughout the day. Layering is key, being able to shed layers once that sun is up, or pile it all back on once that southerly front bites. Not forgetting that being cold can also lead to life-threatening situations such as hypothermia, so preventing discomfort and potential health risks associated with prolonged exposure to harsh weather conditions is really important.

Quality Gore-Tex outer layers are worth their weight in gold. Despite the initial outlay, a decent shell is an investment that will last 10 years or more if looked after, and it is often the key item to fight both wind and rain. Flexibility is also important — non-restrictive clothing that won’t impede movement when casting, wading and walking. Well-designed gear with features like adjustable closures, well-placed fleece-lined pockets, and ergonomic, peaked hoods to keep driving rain off your polaroids, ensure we can focus on the pursuit without being distracted by discomfort.

WINTER FISHERIES

With many of New Zealand’s South Island waters locked up through the colder months, the North has a plethora of options, from lakes to rivers, spring creeks to headwater streams, many remaining open in winter. The canals of the Mackenzie Basin are the exception down South, but the area receives massive pressure through the cooler months — a reputed 40% of the country’s total freshwater angling effort.

I personally have never held a fondness for the South Island canal scene. Despite being surrounded by majestic snow-covered peaks and huge trout, it is a very ‘man-made’ fishery. The heavily channelised banks and concrete structures remove any sense of ‘wild’ for me, and fishing for a feed certainly seems to take preference over the ‘sport’ aspect for most anglers.

I’m continually amazed at the quantity and quality of winter options New Zealand has on offer, and I simply cannot fathom why so-called keen anglers simply hang up their boots. The exception being increasingly large groups of Australian anglers who flock to the central North Island year on year. Many forgo their usual summer-season South Island trips in favour of the Taupo and Rotorua regions, relishing in the camaraderie of riverside catchups, ease-of-access and virtually zero travel required once there. Here in winter there’s no worry if there is another angler in front of you, guides won’t jump you, and there are no choppers landing just upstream to unload a handful of wealthy American tourists.

For many, the appeal of winter lies in the solitude and tranquility that comes with fishing in New Zealand’s quieter off-season. The rivers and lakes take on a different charm, and there’s a unique satisfaction in successfully tempting trout in challenging conditions. The colder temperatures acknowledged, many still find a certain thrill in embracing the elements. I, for one, can’t wait!