DEE GHILLIE DOWN UNDER
A father and son on fishing in Scotland and New Zealand
It had been a good end of June week during a poor 2014 season. The team had banked 27 sea trout and nine salmon and we were reflecting while sharing a tincture with our wonderful ghillies how fortunate we had been. That was the end of our annual River Dee pilgrimage during which we cover the Deecastle, Waterside & Farrar and Craigendinnie beats. What transpired was to create something of a unique fishing experience.
The Deecastle beat, ghillied by Colin Espie, alternates banks with the Dinnet beat, which is watched over by Alastair Peake. While being shown some newly-opened Dinnet bank pools by Al one afternoon, he let slip that during the Dee closed season, with the generous permission of Edward Humphrey, he heads off to the Fiordland Lodge on New Zealand’s South Island to act as a guide for wild trout fishers. As I listened, the germ of an idea began to formulate – we were heading south to New Zealand to visit our daughter that coming Christmas...
Over the years I have enjoyed enormously introducing my sons to
the art of fly fishing. In fact my youngest, Rory, has become an avid and very proficient fisher; whenever he can he spends time with me wherever I might be fishing. Upon hearing that Al would not only be in New Zealand but almost exactly where we were headed, Te Anau, we started to plot. The Southland District is home to some of the very finest wild trout fishing in the world, and the fact that we were supposedly on a ‘family’ holiday would not provide an obstacle to this fishing experience. However, Rory and I both knew it needed to be negotiated with the family. We both also knew we wanted to be guided by Al. How many angler/ guide/ghillie combinations have enjoyed fishing on opposite sides of the globe together, we asked ourselves?
The Dee is a passion of mine. Not only is it the home of fly fishing for salmon as we modern anglers know it, but it also presents an enormous variety of pools, water and opportunities to catch the increasingly elusive Atlantic salmon in some of the prettiest scenery to be found anywhere on a Scottish riverbank. Additionally, in June and July there is often a good run of sea trout which provides exceptional sport for the fisher who is prepared to fish during the night. Indeed, Rory struck ‘ silver’ – in this case it was rather nearer to tarnished pewter – when he landed a 24lb fish from Simmons on Craigendinnie in 2012 aged just 16. What a wonderful experience for him, and also a joy for me to share, even if that fatherly pride had a somewhat bittersweet edge as I am still to catch a fish over 20lbs from a Scottish river despite having spent over 35 years trying.
Nevertheless, the Dee has been good to me. Over many years I have enjoyed wonderful sport, most years catching salmon, grilse and sea trout mainly at night, the latter being one of the most exciting forms of fly fishing.
Salmon fishing requires many things; the ability to read the water, to cast a well-presented fly, to deduce the correct fly and line combination to maximise the opportunity to cause a reaction and to experience that quite unique and thrilling moment when the line tightens.
Above all patience and persistence are the hallmarks of a good salmon angler; the truism that ‘ without a fly in the water you will not catch a fish’ still holds true. So, too, does the fact that when running a river, the salmon is in breeding not feeding mode, so while we can be proficient at the art we also rely on our quarry to act irrationally.
But as we were to discover on the other side of the Earth, the wild trout that live in New Zealand’s gin clear waters require a very different approach. The Redcliffe Bar in Te Anau is a proper old bar-restaurant, and after not seeing
‘ Upon hearing that Al would not only be in New Zealand but almost exactly where we were headed, we started to plot’
him since the Scottish salmon season on the Dee, it was where we were to meet Al on 19 December for a session to plan the next two days. Rory and I had travelled with our trout rods with floating lines and a variety of tip options; mine a 5 weight, 7 piece, 8’ 6” Orvis rod, whilst Rory has a 6 weight, 4 piece, 8’ 6” Shakespeare. Al was providing a range of the local flies mainly acquired from the self-proclaimed ‘world renowned’ Stu’s Fly Shop (www. stusflyshop.com). Stu originates from Aberdeen and his emporium is a must for anyone planning a trip to fish in South Island because his knowledge and enthusiasm are infectious, while his fly selection – he designs many of the flies himself – is extensive.
The next morning we drove to Fiordland Lodge to meet Al and be fitted with waders. Interestingly and reassuringly, the New Zealand authorities are very conscious of the need to ‘cleanse’ fishing equipment between each river to help prevent the spread of any disease or weed variety. The day before we had acquired fishing licenses locally and had gone to fish the Upakerora river which flows into Lake Te Anau, the country’s largest expanse of inland water.
Clouds threatened rain which was to prove challenging later in the day and the next. On arrival and after setting up rods we walked towards the river to our start point with antici- pation and excitement building. Were we really going to meet one of the sizeable trout – we were told they ranged up to 8lbs – and how would our little rods cope? Would we be sufficiently accurate and proficient at casting a fly at maximum range at the end of a 12ft rod with a tapered leader so that the main line would land downstream of a fish and the fly upstream?
Al had warned us that if lucky we would be able to cast over a fish twice, but that in all likelihood we would only get one chance. These southern cousins are easily spooked. As the rain poured down while we fished, we soon got the answers to these questions.
We also began to understand why the services of a guide are invaluable. Al’s first job was to spot a fish, usually against a background of stones; he would look for the shadow, displaying extraordinary concentration and water ‘sense’. As soon as he spied the fish, he would describe exactly where it was lying (could we see it? Frankly, no). This was followed by a period of intense observation; was the fish feeding? If so, was it feeding from the surface or below? Where did the fly need to be landed to ensure it passed within a close vicinity of the target? What fly should we use?
We needed to remember this is a feeding fish, very easily spooked, used to being fished for, not a running salmon behaving irrationally.
Casting a very heavy tungsten-weighted nymph at full range in a swirling wind is not easy. Persistence helps but the learning curve is horribly steep. Not only did we test our own patience but that of our guide. He just about managed to retain his composure as he tied on replacement flies, untangled some truly gargantuan fankles, encouraged us, and moved us around the beat in search of a suitable target. Rory and I fished alternating pools as we worked our way upstream. Lunchtime came and went with nothing on the bank. In fact nothing even moved but we are getting better at this game and we’re persistent.
Then it’s ‘Strike!’ followed by loud shouts of ‘fish on!’ The power coming through my rod is extraordinary; the reel screams and my heart rate explodes for a whole minute or more. I realise that I am imposing absolutely no control over the quarry that has swallowed my stone fly nymph. And then my fish falls off the hook, a long-range and entirely unwelcome catch and release. I stare at the point in the river where I last saw the fish; everyone is rather quiet and some well-known fishing expletives flow freely.
By now the heavy rain means that the river we have crossed a good many times is rising fast, and it’s time to beat a hasty retreat; our day is done. Roll on tomorrow.
The day brings new hope and a beautiful morning, blue sky interspersed with fluffy clouds; we drive for some distance to reach the upper reaches of the Mataura river, one of the few not in spate and renowned as a fine brown trout-only fishery. Rory and I are casting much better and are even able to spot fish for ourselves. The next lesson is to strike hard and fast, which I fail to do on several occasions as I find I lack the fast reactions needed for the Kiwi trout. They certainly don’t make it easy for you.
It is Rory’s turn. His target is spotted, his fly selected, and the cast is perfect. Suddenly the shout of ‘fish on!’ goes up. This time the fish stays on and is finally landed after a heroic struggle. Yet again the younger angler has caught a bigger fish than his empty-handed father, just as he does on the Dee. And just as he does in Scotland, our expert ghillie Al looks on with that same mix of satisfaction and pride he displays on the Dee. We may be on the other side of the world, but it feels like a home from home.
Then it was ‘ Strike!’ followed by loud shouts of ‘ Fish On!’