My friend had driven over a certain back country road on several occasions and every time he drove over a particular bridge which crossed a large river he had a good look. He had heard whispers of lots of big fish in the river below.
He told me about it and I was sworn to secrecy if he took me there.
Having a secret river which no others know of is rare but a jewel to most trout anglers. While I hadn’t been there before I enjoyed the delightful anticipation of the big fish we expected were probably there. Fishermen are super optimists.
Leaving the car perched beside the road bridge we clambered down the slippery rocks to the river bed below and waded across the shingle river bed to reach the hidden track.
Carrying broken down rods through the supplejack and cherrywood underneath large beech trees made for a horrible change from open grassy lined river banks of popular rivers we had fished.Perhaps that was why the river was secret. Other anglers wouldn’t have looked past the tangled vegetation? But the stories told in hushed tones of this new river were such that large trout were in this water. Eagerly we pushed on.
It was cicada time and this hidden valley proved a worthwhile challenge to even the most ardent exploring angler.
A good hour and a half tramping up the bush clad valley occasionally out onto sandy beaches proved worthwhile as the river eventually opened out to a very wide valley with the river coursing down a bouldery bed.
Fast flowing white water rushing over a rocky bottom gave the river a Tongariro River appearance to me. Several large trout under overhanging beech trees, avoided our clumsy attempts to cast to them . But they were there and in bulk. My companion fished ahead of me as we pool-hopped sharing the moments.
Standing on a medium boulder and casting a large cicada ahead of a tree which overhung the river made for a new experience as a 4lb jack exploded from the depths. Tugging and twisting through the white water he raced around the reach looking for somewhere to hide. At the bottom of the run he found a rock and paused catching his breath as I frantically raced after him reeling in line.
We both waited until he decided to take off again. I was ready and putting on side strain I pulled him into the net which my companion was holding for me while taking photos.
It was my friend’s turn next as he crossed the river and beached a lovely hen caught in the head of the next pool. A fish each was ample from our new found stream.
We headed back downstream vowing to return soon to our secret river and stay a night or two. Bubbling with excitement at our discovery we headed back to the bridge.
Back along the hidden track suddenly we were startled to spot three large packs and the three anglers, all with rods and all obviously with the same plans as we had began the day with.
Our secret was no longer a secret.
Dreams can be fragile.
Having a secret river which no others know of is rare but a jewel to most trout anglers. While I hadn’t been there before I enjoyed the delightful anticipation of the big fish we expected were probably there. Fishermen are super optimists.
Leaving the car perched beside the road bridge we clambered down the slippery rocks to the river bed below and waded across the shingle river bed to reach the hidden track.
Carrying broken down rods through the supplejack and cherrywood underneath large beech trees made for a horrible change from open grassy lined river banks of popular rivers we had fished.Perhaps that was why the river was secret. Other anglers wouldn’t have looked past the tangled vegetation? But the stories told in hushed tones of this new river were such that large trout were in this water. Eagerly we pushed on.
It was cicada time and this hidden valley proved a worthwhile challenge to even the most ardent exploring angler.
A good hour and a half tramping up the bush clad valley occasionally out onto sandy beaches proved worthwhile as the river eventually opened out to a very wide valley with the river coursing down a bouldery bed.
Fast flowing white water rushing over a rocky bottom gave the river a Tongariro River appearance to me. Several large trout under overhanging beech trees, avoided our clumsy attempts to cast to them . But they were there and in bulk. My companion fished ahead of me as we pool-hopped sharing the moments.
Standing on a medium boulder and casting a large cicada ahead of a tree which overhung the river made for a new experience as a 4lb jack exploded from the depths. Tugging and twisting through the white water he raced around the reach looking for somewhere to hide. At the bottom of the run he found a rock and paused catching his breath as I frantically raced after him reeling in line.
We both waited until he decided to take off again. I was ready and putting on side strain I pulled him into the net which my companion was holding for me while taking photos.
It was my friend’s turn next as he crossed the river and beached a lovely hen caught in the head of the next pool. A fish each was ample from our new found stream.
We headed back downstream vowing to return soon to our secret river and stay a night or two. Bubbling with excitement at our discovery we headed back to the bridge.
Back along the hidden track suddenly we were startled to spot three large packs and the three anglers, all with rods and all obviously with the same plans as we had began the day with.
Our secret was no longer a secret.
Dreams can be fragile.
<c> Large trout were there.
