Pay It Forward

After we reunited with the other guys after our epic backpack trip, where we caught a ridiculous amount of big fish, we found out that their trip was a bust.  According to them, they caught one 3 or 4 lb. fish and had opportunities at only one or two others for the entire 4 days.  As we were finishing up our hike out of the river, we saw the dirty dog pulling over the bridge and I would imagine it looked as though we were skipping with an incredible bounce in our step after such a fun few days.  Even though it felt good to know we had the better beat of water, it sucked to know that Matt, who again was only here for just under two weeks, had wasted 4 of his fishing days on shitty fishing with poor conditions.

Our next stop was in Reefton.  The night before we stayed at a motel for cheap and had a pretty stellar night with some kiwi guys working at a mine nearby.  They claimed that there were eels in the creek running through the property.  Of course, we played devils advocate and called "bullshit" on their claim.  Immediately, one of the guys ran inside his room and came back out with a can of sweet chili flavored tuna and said, "Follow me".  We did and sure enough, as soon as he plopped the entire can of tuna into the water, an eel appeared, snaking up through a riffle below to investigate the delicious scents in the water.  Before we knew what happened, Matt had charged into the creek, looking to noodle up some eel.  With all of us heckling him from the bridge above, he made multiple attempts at grabbing it, but each time the eel either slipped out of his hands or Matt recoiled back in fear of getting bit.  Either option didn't bode well for him, as he was getting ridiculed for both.  We didn't receive any eel sushi that night, but overall it was pretty stellar entertainment for all of us watching.

The next day, since we all wanted Matt to get into some fish, we drove him and Les up a track up the Waitahu River just outside of Reefton.  This track is a 4WD road that eventually is impassible due to a washout across the road.  It essentially got them half way up and the rest of the way was a pretty easy hike along the road to get to the hut about 7km away.  Zach and I had a good list of water we wanted to fish, but first went back into Reefton to gorge ourselves on meat pies and coffee.  We then got back in the car and drove the half hour back to Springs Junction, found a camp site, set up camp and then departed for the river.  The stretch of river we chose was supposed to be pretty solid with plenty of fish and decent access.  We drove to the end of the road and found another vehicle parked there.  We cursed at the truck, kicked some dirt at the tires and then ventured back up the road in the direction we came from to find some access well above where they were parked.  We found a good pull off about 6km upstream of the other vehicle and dropped down to the river.  After plenty of rain the previous couple days, the river was clear, but raging.  After scanning the river for a safe place to cross, we found our route and committed.  The water was freezing and deep.  The word "shrinkage" doesn't quite do it justice.  We fished for most of the day.  We saw plenty of fish but because the water was so high, most of them were unfishable unless you waded chest deep and didn't mind dying.  It then started to rain and the fish spotting went to shit so we bushwhacked back to the road and walked the 3 or 4 kms back to the car.  We drove back to Springs Junction to a cafe and had some dinner.  Not knowing what else to do, we sat in the car, listening to music, watching the rain slowly ruin our fishing for the next few days.  It felt as though we both had this realization at the same time, but we looked at each other and almost simultaneously said, "I think the bar is still open in Reefton".

Relieved and excited for a warm establishment with a tasty brew, we drove back to Reefton, accepting defeat on the river.  It was Friday and that means Friday Night Rugby.  The bar was packed with an elderly crowd that night with a couple younger guys and what seemed like their parents.  Since we are still unfamiliar with the rules of rugby, we were asking the younger guy, who turned out to be a stud rugby player who played for a New Zealand national team in a tournament over in the states, about the rules of rugby.  They were really nice about it and definitely took the time to explain as much as they could.  After the game, we started chatting with them about who we were, where we were from, what we are doing here and all of the other friendly conversation topics.  It came up that we were heading back to Springs Junction and sleeping in tents in the rain and the mom offered us a bed at their house for the night.  The first offer, we politely declined but thanked them for offering.  However, as the night went on, the rain started pissing harder, they offered again and Zach and I kind of looked at each other, shrugged, as if to say, "why not?" and this time accepted the offer.

We followed them to their house, which was a beautiful home and they took us in like we were their own.  The stud rugby player turned out to be their son and we met two more of their kids once at the house.  They gave us a queen size bed and then brought in a blow up mattress.  It may have been the best night sleep I've had in a long time.  When we woke up, we were shown where all of the breakfast food was and as I was fixing up some breakfast, the dad, Malcolm, said something to me.  Now, what I have discovered about myself while spending time in New Zealand, is I am really bad at understanding English with an accent.  All I heard from Malcolm was, "mumble mumble mumble mumble trout mumble mumble mumble...?".  This probably isn't the best way to answer someone when you have no idea what they are saying, but I answered, "Sure" because it seemed like it was a question.  I thought he wanted to show us more pictures of trout he had caught.  When I was finishing up breakfast, I heard him say, "Are you about ready boys?".  When I heard this, I thought he was heading to work and wanted us out.  I went to Zach who was brushing his teeth, and told him that we should leave.  When we were all packed up, we loaded the car and went to go thank Malcolm for having us and that we were going to head out.  He looked at me confused and said, "You guys don't want to go see the Waitahu?".  I answered him, just as confused, "Oh sure, that'd be great...".  We hopped in his truck and drove about 5 minutes to a large warehouse looking building.  We thought he was just dropping a battery off to be charged and from there we would drive up the Waitahu River.  But, then he said "Follow me".  We did, not knowing what was going on.  We walked in and there is an entire garage of nice vehicles including a refurbished 1950s Ford 100 truck and a 60s Shelby.  All in mint condition.  We keep following him through the warehouse, he opens the back doors and reveals an even bigger room housing three helicopters.  Having found out the night before that Malcolm was a helicopter pilot, Zach turns to me and mouths the words, "I think he's taking us up in the chopper!".  Sure enough, he starts checking the helicopter, has us help him tow it out to the landing concrete area and told us to hop in.  At this point, we were aghast at the luck we were having and couldn't believe we were going to be taking off in a helicopter.  Honestly, we had no idea this was happening until we walked into the helicopter hangar.  We would have grabbed some cameras and documented the experience, but because of my damn inability to understand the New Zealand accent, we both left the cameras in the car.

We took off, and Malcolm showed us the area and the surrounding coal and gold mines in the hills.  He then took us up the Waitahu River and hovered above the hut our buddies were staying at to see if we could see them, give them the finger and possibly moon them.  When we talked to them after they returned, they thought we were a guide service that was jumping them on the river with fishermen.  This was exactly what I was hoping for.  It was one of the more unbelievable experiences I have ever had.  When we returned back to their home, we thanked them as much as we could and then parted ways, only to return later with a thank you note and a case of Speights beer for Malcolm and whoever else wanted to indulge.  We figured, since we met them in a pub, it was fitting to gift them with beer.

We are continually blown away by the hospitality the folks in New Zealand have shown us.  There is definitely a "Pay it forward" mindset here and it makes me want to bring that back to the States.  If the family that took us in is reading this, we thank you again for showing us such great generosity and hospitality.