ROLLOUT 5.0

van being packed. destination and directions know. queenstown bound, for money and for fish. and for the family. MEOW

Lost

the crew reassembled in Takaka, we were taken in by some more gracious hosts. at the end of a steep, switch-backing gravel road is the Hughes' amazing household. i suppose i have yet to find a home in this country which didn't offer exquisite views in one form or another and this one did not disappoint. epic deck views. you can just barely make out farewell spit in the second one:
we spent a few days exploring golden bay, spending a day cruising between takaka and the spit, spending the afternoon at wharariki beach and the evening at the mussel inn. i fell asleep wrapped up in a sheet listening to REK in this cave:
i woke several times, crawling further and further into the cave, keeping the sun's rays just below my face, thereby keeping me nice and warm but not too bright for a nice cat nap. a rainy next day let me catch another nap via plush carpeting. it seems i'm usually game for a nap most days, always waking up right on schedule. why not? the Russells were around as well and we feasted well that evening:
leaving Takaka, we headed south and west and reached the west coast that afternoon. reaching the west coast is another dramatic, to say the least, change in scenery:



a day or so later and we found ourselves with only a few days left before our return to Christchurch. we elected for a night in a hut and after crushing a supposed 3.5 hour hike in 2 hours, we were greeted with this sight:getting your first sight of the night's hut is always a great feeling. there you are, most likely sweating, muddy, thirsty and hungry with your 30 pound pack on your back. i usually raise my arms in the air in Rocky-esque fashion, but i don't think i think consciously to do that. it just happens. oftentimes, the tracks go through thick bush and you don't get your eyes on the hut until you're within a few hundred yards of it. this makes for an exciting end to most tramps, as the more tired you get, the more you look for the hut around each bend. when you're hiking up or down steep hills, you can count on the hut probably not being close. when you hear running water, you can maybe hope the hut's near. sometimes repeatedly saying "c'monnnnnnn HUT!" helps bring you closer.
this particular hut was quite nice: three rooms, two of which contained three-story bunks of three beds to a level, the other room a large common area with stove, kitchen, two picnic tables and benches galore and a back porch with wood splitting area. just great. i tested the capacity of our cooking pot with an entire bag of pasta, 8 servings of peas and carrots, two cans of pasta sauce and a healthy chunk of a cheese block. yum.

the day before we fished. no fish were seen until we were a good hour or so up the river. Lucas put perfect drift after perfect drift over one fish, getting two gut-wrenching looks, then a take on a pair of nymphs, which he set too soon, putting the fish down. it was my turn next and as we reached a very long, wide run, we started seeing the jaws come up. there's one! another one over there! again! you see that one?! i got into position for one fish, made two casts, the jaws came up and i set too soon. oi. i'm going to stop doing that. another fish was rising just upstream and three casts later the jaws came up again. i got a good set on that fish and we battled only for a brief minute before the hook popped out. an inspection of my fly revealed a bent hook. bah.

Lucas back in the river, casting to three fish feeding wildly. i watched from the high bank as he cast the trusty Parachute Adams over these fish. then the jaws came up and a solid hookup. war cries unleashed and the battle was on. as i made my way over to Lucas, who was on the far side of the river, we got our first look at this fish.

flying out of the water at a 45 degree angle like a rocket, the fish jumped. eyes widened as we watched it crash back into the water. i usually don't like putting size figures on fish i have lost or have seen lost, but being one who has held several 8+ pound fish in my hands and also having netted a fish weighing 12 pounds, i'm going to say it here now, that that fish was 10 pounds, easy.
Lucas fought this fish well. we followed it across the river, back, and back again, all the while discussing tactics and trying to figure out a game plan for netting this fish. the run we were was above waist deep in the middle and was between knee and waist-deep for the rest of it. it was a difficult spot to play a fish, let alone land it. there was a side channel downstream that we tried to work the fish into but the fish was not tired enough and too strong to really move it where we wanted. we had it leadered a number of times but were still very far from netting it.
each time the fish went across the stream, it also went downstream. rapids thundered below us and with every step downstream, they got closer and closer. every time the fish came out of the water it got bigger and bigger.
the longer you fight a fish, the more time there is for things to go wrong. this was no exception. we were a good 15 or 20 minutes into the fight when the fish took off downstream. reel screaming, us stumbling downstream behind, the fish entered the head of the rapids. it seemed as though it was holding behind a large rock, as the line didn't appear to be moving. i slowly moved into the current as Lucas held his ground, then slowly started feeling the line and then began pulling the line to unwrap it from the rock. the line kept coming and coming until there was no more of it. no fly, no fish. fish gone. down. stream. gone.

i watched as Lucas slowly began to grasp what had just happened. words don't provide much comfort in those situations, but i offered some anyway. the look on his face told it all. the Christmas fish that i goofed got to me real good and i knew this fish would do the same for Lucas.
losing an incredible fish is a tough one to swallow and there's not much, if anything, that makes it better. even if it were possible to catch another fish right after that, it wouldn't heal the scar completely. the fish is gone, you won't see it again. there's no smiling pictures holding the fish. no measurements to pass along to jaw-dropped mates. nothing of the sort. only a memory and an experience to take with you.

i have an ever-growing catalog of memories of fish i have lost and it seems that they're more lucid and easier to bring back than those memories of fish i have landed. i'm not quite sure why this is. maybe it's the knowing that there's no going back, no second chance, that makes it so tough to swallow. maybe it's the constant wondering of what you could've done different. maybe it's none of that, maybe all of it. at any rate, i know Lucas will never forget that fish. neither will i.

i couldn't believe how much my Christmas fish got to me and i think Lucas was similarly surprised over how much it hurt to lose that fish. it's an amazing feeling that i'm having a hard time putting into words. that's fishing i suppose. part of it anyway. what it is.

ROLLOUT 4.1

freshly showered, presently packing van. blue skies and calm waters in the distance from this current vantage point. destination: west coast, then south, then east back to that christchurch city. waters await. new roads await. un, deux, trois, allez!

A Great Snack, Any Time of Day:

peanut butter and honey sandwich

A New Year, Johannes, and Me

Christchurch left, north drove.
Lovers dropped off. Seek the freed alone. For a day.
Or two.

Hello 2010. Who are you? What will you be?
Midnight struck. Next to a fire. The fire. With the wine. And the stars.
And the thoughts of family and friends. What they're doing.
What they will do.
When I will see.
Not a fish in that river.
I could find.

Drive. Turn this way, that way.
Difficult to keep one's eyes on the road.
With these sights.

Plans made prior, go to Blenheim. Meet Johannes there.
Pick him up. His things. His rods. His reels. His flies.
Look at a map over a beer, point fingers here. And there. Go there?
Go there.

Try to help him learn. Tell him things I think.
I am only an angler. In a nother country.
Caught fish, one has. Catch fish when one wants, I cannot.

Anglers bond. On the water.
Freedom there.
Anglers bond. In the campsite.
Freedom there.
People bond. On the road.
Freedom there.

Difficult to translate,
"Three feet to the left of that orangeish rock and a rod's length upstream from the second clump of grass in the water,"
to another's second language.
Try.
Cold beer speaks everyone's language.
Welcome after long days on the water.
With no fish.
Curse the sandflies. Laugh the mistakes.
Talk. Listen. Look. Learn.
Ankles burn. Legs aflame. With bites.
From the sandflies. Devil bugs. No escape.
Until the night is cool. Then.
Freedom.

A pub. Old. Hello.
How many, one wonders, have had a pint.
Anyone I know?
Win two out of three. At pool.
Too good to go to only once.
Not a fish caught.
Not a fish in the net.
Not a fight fought, a dance danced.
Worthless guide.
Not a minute not enjoyed.

ROLLOUT 4.0

van is cleaned, packed, oil changed, clothes are (mostly) cleaned, etc, etc. rollout of ch'ch once again. it just started to rain harder. heading north and east then north and west, then south... maybe.

happy new year to everyone!

A Wilson Family Christmas, and, Other Thoughts

so.

christmas plans were finally made and after trips to the grocery store, liquor store and gas station, we left queenstown, right on schedule, around 3 pm. bags packed, boots tied tight, all seven of us hit the trailhead around 6?
the days are incredibly long right now. this allows for very late departures from anywhere really and also makes for lots of play/fishing time. it is dark around 10:30 pm. amazing.

our first camp was made and consumption began. camp foods of all sorts were brought out, made and shared. the vast majority of these foods consisted of pasta and/or sausage. so much sausage. the fire burned late into the night, stories were told, laughs were had. the stars shone bright.

eyes opened slowly the next morning but a fine day greeted us. some were off fishing early, others slept in a bit and lounged about the campsite. i made my way to a hut nearby to investigate and met two nice ladies Bretlyn and Shelley, fellow yankees. we chatted about our travels and they said they might stop by our campsite later.

an exploration hike by some of the crew yielded a camping site far greater than the great one we already had, so things were packed up quickly and dragged twenty minutes upstream where an oasis awaited. the site was worth everything. the most clear, aquamarine water you have ever seen came flowing out of a smoothed, worn gorge into a pool at least 20 feet deep. in the pool sat three very, very large fish. the fish hovered about in the sunlight, showing off their beauty for all to see. then the river widened and quickened as it went into another long pool holding a half dozen or more fish. a perfect leaping ledge offered swimming opportunities for everyone as well. between the whole group, approximately 2,000 pictures were taken of this stretch of river.
how many fish can you see?:soon after setting up camp the ladies joined us for the festivities, as it was christmas eve. consumption was the activity again as all sorts of appetizers, foods, candies, chocolates, bottles and stories were passed around the campfire from afternoon all through the night. the fire again burned late and a family was made.

gathering under Papa Wilson, the nine of us united as siblings. we welcomed christmas as if it were new year's, sang a bit and laughed a lot. merry christmas!
due to the surrendering of my tent to the ladies and the late night nature of the campfire, i awoke on christmas morning in my sleeping bag, on the ground next to the campfire. i had my mummy bag pulled over my head to protect me from the massive cloud of sandflies that hovered above me buzzing. merry christmas!

eyes opened a little more slowly this morning but soon all were smiling yet again. "breakfasts" were made and enjoyed. slowly i collected and put on the necessary accessories for some fishing and then set off on my own, not knowing or really caring how long i fished for. i was content. it was christmas!

the river winded this way and that with high banks and deep pools separated by long runs of small rapids. every big pool held fish but the ultra clear water, the overcast skies, winds and my hangover made the fishing challenging. i continued upstream after unsuccessfully fishing to fish in pool after pool, my frustration building but my urge to hook a fish growing. these fish were mostly rainbows, holding in fast, deep water. it was tricky to get flies to them.

i thought to myself that a christmas fish would be appropriate. just one would do. all i needed was a fish that i could work with, one in shallow water feeding, one that was just a bit easier than these other ones i was seeing. i continued upstream, around bend after bend, looking for fish, seeing some, casting to them and not hooking them. my hunger grew. i drank from the river and continued on. one christmas fish, that's all i'd like.

i approached a pool and saw a fish. i walked slowly behind the shape in the water, preparing to cast with a couple nymphs when i saw a sight that made my heart soar and me hit the ground in hiding. the fish made a huge side-porpoise, sucking down a bug off the surface of the water, about 6 feet off of the bank. oh my.

i watched. the fish came up again. and again, this time chasing a bug downstream. my hands were shaking as i cut off my nymphs and tied on a parachute adams. and then i waited for the wind to die down. for maybe twenty minutes or a half hour i sat on the bank on my knees, fly in one hand, rod in the other, staring at this feeding fish while the wind whipped downstream.

finally i realized that i just needed to cast. i cast. panic struck immediately as i could not see my fly on the water. then i spotted it and realized that it was right on the money, i had made nearly a perfect cast. in the split second that i saw the fly and realized that it was about to float right over the fish's nose, a massive pair of jaws came up from the water around my fly.

and i blew it. i pulled the fly right out of the fish's mouth. fish goes down, stays down, game over. one cast. i couldn't believe what had just happened. i sat on the bank, head in my hands, nearly crying, thinking about what had just transpired and the occasion and the whole scenario, everything. it was laughable but it got to me good. i stopped fishing and made the long walk back to camp, thinking about the fish the whole time. while in camp i shared the story and just stewed on the fish, thinking about it over and over again. add that one to the ever-increasing list of fish that got away, that i'll never forget.
the sisters and brother Al left camp late that afternoon and more consumption followed that evening from the remaining 6 brothers. the fire again burned late, Papa Wilson keeping an eye on us all. rain greeted us in the morning and after prolonging our dry-ness as long as possible under our tarps, we started the long process of packing up and packing out in the pouring rain. but not before the fishy brother Chris landed an 8 pounder right in front of the campsite. ha! happy i got to net this guy. six brothers loaded into the turbo diesel and the trip back to queenstown was made. many van laughs.
we were greeted by the sisters and Al back in queenstown with cold beers and a homemade cake. amazing. lots of laughs again that night.

lucas and i made the 6ish hour journey back to christchurch yesterday, picking up a seasoned traveler on the way. our conversation in the van really got me to thinking about my plans, when i'll leave here, where i'll go next, what i'll do. the longer i am here, the longer i want to stay and for a while i had been thinking that i'd extend my stay and push my return flight back. but, here's the thing: if i do get on that plane on february 16th, then i land in another amazing place, and the adventure continues. this may be a "glass is half-empty" kind of view, and i usually don't subscribe to that train of though, but it is a way to look at things: the longer i'm here, the longer i'm not somewhere else new. the travel bug has stung me good, that's for sure. these thoughts spiral in my head all the time and then i usually just end up laughing out loud, realizing that it's fruitless to try and plan this right now. but i do know this: at some point, i'll make a decision to either get on that plan on february 16th, or not. i'll make a decision then, right on schedule.

random thought: you can get meat pies in queenstown for $1.15. epic. brother Chris says that if he could have the power to pull any food item out of his pocket whenever he wanted to, it would be a meat pie. i think mine would be a burrito. what's yours?
thinking about that fish was too much for me. i had to go back. i suited up and walked for an hour stream to that hole where he was earlier. he was there. he was feeding. i watched for a bit then tried to cast. the wind was even worse and i could barely get a fly to turn over. i managed to get a good cast with a blowfly and the fish took a real good look at that but the jaws never came up again. walking back to the campsite again i felt strangely better than i did after leaving the spot the first time. at least i went out swinging that time i suppose. ha. oh well.
from here we'll be heading north, then west, then south. i hope everyone's well!