Second Time Lucky

In relation to all matters fishing, I have come to expect the unexpected. No matter how carefully dates are selected for a trip to a particular destination, only certain variables, such as moon phases and tides can be predetermined. In relation to the weather, trips scheduled months in advance are always fraught with uncertainty. All that one can do is select dates which coincide with those months when the weather is likely to be relatively stable, and then just take it as it comes.

My first planned trip to Parengarenga Harbour was scheduled for March 2009. A reasonable bet on stable weather, it coincides with the tail end of the kingfish season, the beginning of the best fishing for silver trevally and is a good time for snapper. My expectations were high as we set off on the 7-hour drive to our backpackers accommodation at North Wind Lodge, just south of Parengarenga Harbour. Jane’s expectations were not quite so high—she loves the beauty of isolated locations, but is not fanatical about fishing, suffers from seasickness, hates touching fish and, most of all, does not like to see them suffer or be killed.

When we reached the Bay of Islands, a little over halfway, we received a call from our guide Nik Mathiesen. A cyclone sitting somewhere between the tip of the North Island and New Caledonia was generating gale force winds, rain and horrendous seas. We would have to abandon our plan to fish Parengarenga. Plan B was to fish the Bay of Islands where we might find some shelter from the wind. We found accommodation at Russell, and Nik towed his boat down from Parengarenga.

Despite strong winds we managed to get in several days fishing, the best being to surface schools of silver trevally and luderick (parore) feeding on krill. The snapper and kingfish were disappointingly small.

As we sat in our motel room at Russell listening to the waves pounding the usually protected beach, Nik scrolled through photographs on his laptop of scenes from Parengarenga Harbour. In most of the photos, the water was glassy smooth. There were photographs of clients holding kingfish vastly larger than any I had caught in Pittwater or Sydney Harbour. Jules Fantarella, from Tasmania, featured in a number of photographs holding snapper that approached, but had not yet exceeded, the magic 10 kilo mark. He had probably hooked many bigger ones, but they had escaped into the kelp and rocks. Nik also showed us video footage of a client who had hooked more than 20 large silver trevally only to see them all rip line from his reel, despite the drag being fully locked up, on their way back to the safety of an old shipwreck.

The result of all this was, of course, that I signed us up for another trip to Parengarenga the next year.

TAKE TWO

And so it was that in March 2010 we arrived at North Wind Lodge. This time Nik greeted us with good news. A large high-pressure system had settled over the North Island. However, as usual, there was a catch. There had been no bad weather for several weeks and the snapper fishing is at its best immediately following rough seas which stir up the food supply and discolour the water. Snapper are notoriously shy.

On the afternoon of our arrival we were at last aboard Saltflyer and on Parengarenga Harbour. It was as remote and as beautiful as we had hoped, with glistening white sand dunes and crystal clear water. There were no boat trailers in the region of the boat ramp and only one shore-based fisherman to be seen.

I was surprised by the depth showing on the sounder when Nik lowered the anchor—1.2 metres. I had anticipated that we would be fishing in much deeper water. Nik had positioned the boat in the shallows but within casting distance of a drop-off into deeper water (three metres). Our 9-weight rods were set up with intermediate lines and our leaders (two metres) were straight 30 lb fluorocarbon. Snapper and silver trevally flies were Fantarellas (orange, black and gold, or red and white) and Squimps. Our 10-weights were rigged for kingfish with intermediate lines and poppers.

Shortly after a berley trail had been established, Jane’s fly-line was almost pulled from her grasp and a fish was on. It was our first snapper for the trip—a fish of about 3 kilos. Jane caught several more snapper before I caught my first. Nik observed that women are generally more successful at catching snapper because they are more patient and therefore prepared to allow the fly to drift freely without any form of retrieve. The snapper simply pick up the fly and take off. Jane observed that though women are generally more successful at everything, fishing is nothing more than a matter of luck. It was true that I was struggling with the concept of allowing the fly to simply drift about without imparting some additional movement. After overcoming this temptation, my catch rate improved. Towards the end of our first session, several good kingfish appeared in the berley trail. They inspected our poppers from close range, nudged them, swirled under them but did not eat them.

MIXED BAG

Over the next several days we fish-ed Rangaunu Harbour, Parengarenga Harbour and North Cape, and caught numerous snapper to 4 kilos, silver trevally to 2 kilos, kingfish to 7 kilos, pigfish, kahawai and blue cod. It would have been nice to add a John Dory to our species list but despite their presence in the berley trail that did not happen.

On the last day of our stay we had arranged to take one of our fellow back-packers, a Dane named Casper, with us on our way out of the harbour to fish near North Cape. We were to leave Casper on a beach near the entrance where he planned to fish for sharks. Casper was equipped with a short game-fishing rod, a bucket of frozen fish and berley, a water bottle, and a towel. As Casper pushed our boat away from the beach I turned to Nik. “How is Casper going to get his bait out into the channel with that short rod?”

“Oh,’’ replied Nik, “he plans to swim it out along with his berley.”

Incredulous, I turned my mind to the relative simplicity and safety of fly fishing.

Our plan was to travel past North Cape in the hope of an encounter with some large kingfish. However, as we passed the Cape the wind seemed to change and the ocean took on an unpleasant chop, which accentuated the swell and Jane’s seasickness. Nik sensed the need to steer us back to sheltered waters south of the Cape.

We anchored in about three metres of gin clear and relatively calm water. Jane was happy because it was so beautiful—it was like looking into a large aquarium with small patches of sand surrounded by swaying kelp- beds and rocks. Nik and I were happy because Jane was happy! But while it was a location where Nik had caught large snapper before, our conditions were far from ideal. The water was too clear and calm.

The first fish to arrive in the berley trail following some small baitfish were kahawai. I was not thrilled by the prospect of catching more kahawai but I knew that they may attract large kingfish so they were welcome visitors. I caught a couple of small snapper, and a John Dory came into and out of view. Jane decided to have a few casts and Nik tied on her favourite black and orange Fantarella’s Fanny. Ignoring the berley trail and the sand patches, Jane cast over a large kelp bed. Suddenly the line went tight and a fish was on. “I think it is a snapper,” Jane said as the fish tore line from her pink ‘Reel in a Cure’ Ross reel and headed towards the shore in a straight line.

HIS & HERS

It was obvious from the start that this was no ordinary snapper. After ten minutes we got our first sight of the fish. It was a vastly larger snapper than all the others we had caught. Nik became incredibly excited as he hovered about, net in hand.

“Jane, that is enormous. Don’t lose it, keep the pressure on, don’t set the drag too tight.”

When the snapper lay in the bottom of the boat in the net, Nik’s level of excitement overcame him. He began kissing and hugging my wife! “Jane, you are amazing. This is the biggest snapper ever caught on this boat—it must be at least 11 kilos! It would be a world record.”

Following the release of the snapper and the conclusion of our celebrations (that is, mine and Nik’s), we resumed fishing. Almost immediately I caught a small snapper—perhaps the smallest snapper we had caught during our entire trip, and Jane insisted on a photo. The contrast with her fish could not have been starker, or more pleasing to her. I could tell from the look on her face that she had plans to distribute the contrasting photographs far and wide.

When the incoming tide petered out, we pulled anchor and headed back into Parengarenga Harbour to fish the run-out tide. Inside the harbour we dropped anchor in a channel three metres deep and began a berley trail. We had just commenced making our first casts when Nik said, “What was that?” He pointed to a sheltered area further up the harbour about 500 metres away. There was another large splash. We agreed that we should pull anchor and go and have a look.

We slowly motored towards the spot where the eruption had occurred. We were now in about a metre of water. About 50 metres away, and 10 metres from shore, about a hundred mullet leapt into the air like tiny baitfish.

I climbed around the half cabin of Saltflyer with my 10-weight in hand. My first cast in the direction of the bust-up was a disaster. In my excitement I had allowed the fly line to become tangled around the anchor well. Eventually I managed to free the line and to make a reasonable cast. As I began working Felty’s popper back towards the boat, two 15 kilo kingfish appeared in pursuit. They were in about half a metre of water and one of them was about ten centimetres behind the popper. It was an amazing sight. However, when they saw the boat they veered away never to be seen again. Yes, in retrospect I should have been out of the boat stalking them from the shore. Next time!

We returned to our previous position and resumed berleying. We had seen large silver trevally in the berley trail at this particular spot earlier in the week and our hope was that we might again attract these fish. I was hopeful that the two kingfish I had seen smashing the mullet might show up.

My mind was still replaying images of spraying mullet and 15 kilo kingfish sitting behind my popper when I had a take. It was a very powerful fish and fortunately for me one that insisted on swimming into the very strong current. The tell tale throbbing of the rod indicated that this was a silver trevally and not a snapper. Our first glimpse of the fish revealed that it was large, very large by New Zealand standards. When on the boat, Nik estimated its weight at 6 kilos. I was relieved that he did not kiss me. I thanked the fish fairy for the capture. I now had photographs of a fish of significance to rival Jane’s snapper.

UNTIL NEXT TIME

Our final day was drawing to a close and it was time to collect Casper from his isolated beach. As we drove towards the shore, we could see no sign of Casper. Jane was beginning to panic, concerned that Casper had been eaten by a shark, when we saw a shape lying on the sand. It was Casper asleep next to his fishing rod. When Casper joined us on the boat, we swapped stories of our respective adventures. Casper had not caught a shark and nor, thankfully, had a shark caught him, despite having swum his bait and berley out into the channel numerous times! He did say that he felt a bit insecure when he tipped his bloody berley into the water and could feel fish pieces washing around his legs.

That evening at North Wind Lodge, Nik showed us the photos of our trip on his laptop. I thanked the fish fairy again for my silver trevally. Then Nik showed us photos of 30 kilo plus kingfish caught on fly by two of his Danish clients fishing at East Cape. These were truly amazing looking kingfish and, of course, I have made a booking for us to fish East Cape later in the year. But, maybe I’ll leave Jane at home.