Things in Cans

When camping, especially for an extended period of time, it is important to vary your diet so you don’t begin to go insane.  In the first week or so, while traveling in New Zealand, 90% of our meals have been prepared on our fold out table and heated using a Whisper Lite camp stove.  Most everything is water based, usually originating from a bag or a box, dehydrated and crusty until doused with boiling hot water.  A college freshman would succeed at a higher rate in the wild, due to their love and reliance on ramen noodles to get through the rigors of class and studying.  We’ve played around with different combinations of foods, sauces and seasonings, but I believe the true MVP goes to canned chicken.  We’ve discovered this treat at many of the local grocery stores and they come in a ridiculous amount of preparations and flavors.  Diced, shredded, pulled, the chicken is seasoned with sea salt, cracked black pepper or flavored with Italian tomato, sweet chili or just basic chicken salad.  You can add them to rice, noodles, or just eat them alone with a slice of cheese and stuffed in a pita.

Cooking at a campsite is sometimes a chore, because in our case, we spend all day walking miles along a river and then come back tired and wishing we had a menu to order from with an extensive beer selection.  But, we don’t have that luxury and in that case we must continue to make things interesting and further hack into the creative side of our culinary mind.  College students will have so much to learn from us when we’re through with this interim in Kiwi land. 

Epicness

You ever have those days when everything seems to match up right, the stars align, you can do no wrong?  Today was all of that and then some.  Last night, we just happened to meet back up with the girls in Twizel and had a pretty fun night at what the kiwis call a holiday park, which is essentially a New Zealand version of a KOA.  We bought some wine and the makings for burritos and had a relaxed, fun time.  We also randomly met up with a guy we had been emailing back and forth with for the last few weeks named George.  He’s a buddy of a guy that Les and I know from Steamboat and he just happened to have hitchhiked his way to Twizel and just happened to be staying at the same campsite.  Weird.  After a few glasses of wine and possibly a pull or two from the bag of wine, we ended up inviting him along with us for the next few days while we fished some rivers near Twizel and Lake Tekapo.  We didn’t really think this one through considering we can barely fit the three of us in our car with all of our gear.  But, we couldn’t back out on our invite and the next day, rocking a brand new headache from the cheap wine the night before, we somehow made it work.  There honestly wasn’t an inch to spare in the Dirty Dog and for the hour so drive, Zach and George got real intimate and shared a seat in the back.

Now, on the map, it showed that the road we were to take to get to these rivers as a legitimate, maybe gravel road.  However, from what we’ve read about this road, we were in for a treat.  About 20 miles or so after starting our trek down what turned out to be a road cobbled with river rock, we remembered that we forgot to buy a tire iron in case we got a flat.  We have a perfectly good and sound spare, but no way to change it.  We’re slowly finding out why we got this vehicle for so cheap.

We finally got to the river only to find an RV and an SUV parked at the campsite and what appeared to be a solid baker’s dozen of chairs set in a circle around the campfire.  We saw a husband, wife and their son unpacking some gear, so we pulled in to see if they were fishing.  Of course they were, but they didn’t mind if we worked around them and fished different water.  By the look of them, they didn’t worry us too badly as far as them catching fish.

We found a spot for us to camp, set up our tents, rigged up and were gone.  We walked up the main body of water, but the lighting was a little weird and spotting fish was a challenge.  We looked to the east and noticed another line of willows that will usually signify another stretch of water.  We hike over to the tree line and found this gorgeous piece of river.  I jumped in below the other guys and immediately started spotting fish.  I lined up one solid, maybe 2.5 pound brown and stuck his ass on the first cast.  I saw a second fish and made a cast with the same Amy’s Ant pattern & stuck another one of similar size.  This went on for three more fish and after 5 casts, I had 5 eats and 3 fish to hand.  It was definitely one of those special moments on the water that you can’t necessarily put into words and give it the justice in deserves.  Being out here with 2 other guys doesn’t allow for you to have that time alone that sometimes as an angler you crave.  As fun as it is, fishing these waters in a group and having the camaraderie and support of a couple buddies, those times spent alone on a river is very refueling and meditative time.  It is a time like this, which completely rejuvenates my soul.

 I ended up meeting up with the other guys and we continued having the best day of fishing I have seen for a long time.  Today also put Zach on the board after landing a beautiful 3.5 lb brown on a dry.  He was pumped and we were really excited for him.  Hopefully today got him over the hump, and built a foundation of confidence, so we can now just fish.  The pressure is off. 

We were trying to count, and overall we had to have had at least 20 opportunities for gorgeous fish, all ranging from 1-5 lbs.  The stars were definitely aligned for all of us today and the best part is, we’ve got two or three more days of it. 

Starry Starry Night

I'm lying here in my tent, trying to find the best position to write in my journal.  It turns out that lying on your side, journal to your left seems to be the best.  I had a funny, yet sobering realization tonight while sitting around the camp fire.  I was gazing up at an almost unfamiliar night sky, full of flickering specks of light.  You become accustomed to seeing your world in such a particular way that as soon as your surroundings change, no matter the circumstance, your world can immediately seem flipped upside down.  In my case, my world literal seems upside down.  As I lost myself in the starry night, as I often do on beautiful nights such as this, I became transfixed on Orion's belt.  I got a little excited, as this was the only constellation I recognized in this foreign place, only it looked a little different.  It was upside down.  Even though I have fully embraced the fact that I am almost 10,000 miles from home, Orion hammered that fact home tonight.  I'm not home sick, but it does make me miss the ones I love and care about, knowing that they (though at a different time) are gazing at those same stars, only from a completely different perspective.

Oh... yeah... and I caught a five pound brown today.  Damn you Orion for making me so damn sentimental.

More pictures and stories to come...

Tight Lines and the Art of Farming

We finally got out on the water to see how our skills match up with with what is called the "Upper Graduate" type of fly fishing in New Zealand.  Through the conversations we've had and the literature we've read, we had mentally prepared ourselves for a tough road of humbling failure.  New Zealand is a place where the conditions are always difficult, requiring long casts, impeccable accuracy, long leaders, lots of wind and rain, and maybe most importantly, stealth.  Having not experienced the fishing and all of the factors that go into it, we didn't know exactly what to expect.  The anticipation of actually driving to a river was unbelievably great.

The first river we fished was the Broken River, a rainbow trout fishery notorious for 1-3 pound fish.  We figured it would be a perfect warmup for us and it was relatively close to where we have been staying for the last few days.  The girls joined us as well and all five of us piled into their Toyota Vitz, which you could equate to a two door speck, only this one has four doors.  Needless to say, it wasn't the most roomy vehicle to ride a decent distance in.  On top of the long drive, we soon find out that there is a 20 km dirt road that leads to the river.  In most situations, this road would had been fine.  As far as gravel roads go, it was in great shape.  The Vitz, however, has the clearance similar to a wet piece of toilet paper.  We were going roughly 10 mph the entire way and bottomed out when straddling golf ball sized rocks.  Each way tacked on another 2 hours each way, which definitely cut into our fishing time.  But, sure enough, slow and steady wins the race and we got there.  After another mile and a half of easy road hiking and one decently lengthy and steep decent down to the river, we removed our rods from their tubes and began rigging up.

The Broken River was gorgeous.  It definitely had some glacial melt as could be seen by the cloudy, turbid waters.  It definitely remained mostly clear, but gave us a bit of an advantage, as we could stand a bit closer to the fish when stalking them.  It didn't take long for us to start hooking fish, however, these fish were averaging around 10-14 inches.  I have to give them credit, though.  They were strong, healthy fish that thought they were twice as big.  I'm not sure I have ever fought a 12 inch fish that has ripped line from my reel in this manner.  Though, these weren't the fish we had come to New Zealand to catch, we got a good warm up, shook off the rust and, if anything, built our confidence a bit.  Between the three of us, we probably brought around 20 fish to hand.  Not too shabby for the first outing.

We spent the next couple days searching for a vehicle to buy so we could begin our journey.  After searching online through multiple websites and visiting a couple car dealerships, we finally found what we were looking for.  A really cheap vehicle, with 4 wheel drive with a diesel engine.  We were soon introduced to our Nissan Torrano, or better known as: The Dirty Dog.  It could definitely be classified under the "beater" category, however, it runs and I guess that is all that really matters.  One draw back is it doesn't have a stereo, so we will either have to warm up the vocals or more realistically, will rig up a mount for Les' iPod speakers on the dash.

About a month or so ago, I contacted Chappie Chapman, who is a well known guide in the area.  He was referred to us by our buddy Jesse Robbins, who we are finding out is a legend around these parts.  We felt is was important to have a day with him to learn how to spot fish and any techniques that we were not familiar with in the States.  He picked us up on Thursday and we headed south to the Ashburton River.  Chappie is definitely a character.  He has a story for any situation and is just an overall great guy.  We picked his brain on the hour and a half drive to the river and learned quite a bit just in the car ride.  When we got there, we rigged up, I strapped on the pack with all of the lunches and water and started walking.

It was amazing watching Chappie work.  His ability to spot fish is unbelievable.  It definitely taught us to take our time and really scan a piece of water.  Most of the fish we actually spotted and fished to, we probably would've walked right on by had we been on our own.  The next thing we learned and kept learning throughout the trip was, in the words of Jesse Lance Robbins, to "wait longer" on our hook sets.  There is a phrase in New Zealand that is famous for anglers to say when a fish eats your dry fly.  "God save the queen".  In theory when a fish comes up and eats your fly, and you say this phrase, it will allow for enough time for the fish to close his mouth around the fly and ensure a successful hook set.  I was the first out of the three of us to get an eat and I think I got to "Guh" when mentally saying "God save the queen" and ripped the fly right out the fish's mouth.  I don't think the fish even broke the water's surface before I violently pulled the fly off the water.  This happened two more times and a couple of times with Les and Zach before we finally got our first fish.

The major difficulty, on this particular trip, was the wind.  The "Norwesters", which is a wind that parallels the rivers, making it extremely difficult to cast accurately, were in full force.  We've all casted in the wind, but normally, it is the type of wind that may die down after awhile.  This wind was relentless.  If anything it progressively got stronger and more mischievous.  Les hooked the first fish after waiting for what seemed like an eternity to set the hook.  It was a nice maybe 2-3 pound brown.  It felt good to actually see a quality fish in the net after missing so many previously.  I was really pumped for Les.  It was amazing how much fun it was to see the fish spot the fly, engage and engulf.

As soon as the winds got almost unfishable, we back tracked, hopped in the truck and rerouted to a different creek that holds an impressive amount of big browns.  Chappie wouldn't disclose the name of the creek, however, when they get this good, I probably wouldn't tell you anyway.  Ha!  We walked upstream for a bit and started spotting fish.  It took another little bit to get the fish to eat or to not spook the fish we were fishing to due to inaccurate casts caused by rusty casting and fierce gusts of wind.  Les hooked his second of the day, which was a beauty.  Right around 5-6 pounds.

The day concluded with another gorgeous fish rising in this little slick behind a submerged branch.  The sun was right in the fish's eyes, so we were able to sneak in pretty close.  It took a solid 30-40 minutes to entice this fish with a good half dozen different flies.  On the sixth presentation, the fish followed it down stream and ate.  In my head, I was screaming, "DON'T FARM IT!! (For the non fisherman, To Farm is to set the hook too early and miss the fish) DON'T FARM IT!!! WAIT LONGER!!! GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!!!"  Sure enough, with what seemed like 5 seconds after the eat, I set the hook, only to find my line tight and alive.  The fish was much bigger than I thought he was.  I got him to the net and Chappie estimated him to be roughly 6.5 to 7 pounds.  The adrenaline rush of catching something like this, especially after working so hard to get him, is unlike anything you can ever imagine.  It was a beautiful thing.

The day ended with a beer for each of us by the truck.  We shared some stories, had some laughs and reminisced on a great day on the water with a great guide.  Hopefully, what we learned from Chappie translates to the water for when we venture on our own.  We leave this morning to head south.  We will soon learn whether we know anything about catching trout in New Zealand.  My confidence is high, however, I am mentally prepared for a humbling learning curve.

Separation Anxiety

We got to the Christchurch airport on a Friday.  Since our flight landed at around 1 am, technically it was on a Saturday.  But who really cares what day it was.  Since the very beginning of our journey overseas, we have had issues with our luggage.  Immediately, when we pulled up to the airport in L.A., we were told by the lady at the front desk that we could only have one carry on and that we couldn't bring our fly rods on board the plane.  I've never seen this policy and, to be honest, it scared the shit out of me.  For all of you non fly fisherman, your fly rod is your most precious item you own.  Without actually having any children, I could compare it to the love of a child.  You protect it.  You nurture it.  You never let it leave your side.  When someone tells you that you can't bring it with you, it feels like you've just been told that your kid can't join you on your flight and that he must be checked plane side in a crate.  But don't worry, they have their own special cubby in the cargo space.  That makes me feel a lot better.

Anyway, since all of us had two carry ons, we had assumed that we would have to check one and pay the outrageous baggage fees in order to do so.  We ended up switching some things around and checking our bags, which turned out to be free.  Jackpot.  However, all of us stood there, glum, with a bit of separation anxiety as we watched our rods drift away on the conveyer belt of doom.  Aside from the sentimental value that a fisherman has with his rod, essentially it is also very similar to watching a stack of hundred dollar bills equating to $4,500 disappear and hoping that throughout its journey, the baggage people handling that stack doesn't have sticky fingers.

We were told that after we plane-side checked our fly rods that we would be able to pick them up as soon as we exited the plane in Brisbane and then carry them on for our next flight to Christchurch.  So, when we landed in Brisbane, we waited around the skyway for our rods to arrive.  No rods.  We tried to find the baggage claim, but that required us to go through customs and we heard that Australia is very strict on the smuggling of illegal guns, drugs and immigrants.  So we decided to hold off on that one.  Ha!  We then went to the lady at the transfer desk and started bombarding her with questions about our predicament.  She called to somebody with her two way and told us to wait until she heard a response.  We waited for about 40 minutes and finally went up to check in again only to find out that she forgot about us and needed to check again.  Long story short, we found out that the rods would be transferred onto our flight to Christchurch.  I just hoped they were given a special cubby to fly in.

Once in Christchurch, we waited for our bags like normal at the baggage claim and they were getting plugged out in a consistent timeframe.  Everything was going great until the bags stopped moving and the tram stopped.  As you could have probably guessed.  No fly rods.  We worked with a gentleman, whom I approached due to his official suit and tie look, to try and figure out our rod situation.  Of course, in an english speaking country I found the only guy in the airport that didn't speak a lick of english.  How he got hired to handle a stressful job like dealing with lost baggage of mostly english speaking patrons is beyond me.  He spent a good 45 minutes cross checking to make sure we had all of our checked baggage, when we clearly, over and over again explained to him that all of the bags that we had checked at our arrival in LAX, the bags that were clearly stacked in front of us, that we could physically see, smell and feel were all accounted for.  For some reason, he continued to make sure we had all of our checked bags.  He was very thorough, which probably scored him points with the boss in the interview process listed under his strengths.  However, his common sense lacked a touch.  Finally, we got through to him that the baggage stubs for our checked bags were different in appearance than the baggage stubs for our fly rods and he didn't have to continue to check to make sure we had all of our checked baggage because he could trust us that all of them made it.  Unbelievable.  Finally, even though we weren't quite on the same page, I could safely say we were at least on the same chapter and were able to start the process of filling the paper work for a safe delivery of our precious fly rods.  You can imagine how well describing rod tubes and fishing gear went with this guy and we began to mentally prepare ourselves that we may not have rods for this 3 1/2 month long fishing excursion.  I was tempted to purchase a how-to DVD on the art of noodling.

A couple days went by and still no emails, phone calls and most importantly, fly rods.  We ended up going to the airport to check on their status because the phone number wouldn't let me through.  We kept following signs for incorrect areas and at one point found ourselves up in an administrative office with a key pad security entrance and cameras everywhere.  We spun around, in fear of being tackled and arrested by TSA and finally found the right area and arrived at a window for Air New Zealand, which is not the airline we flew from America.  We acknowledged that we understood they were not who we needed to talk to, but we needed to know who we should talk to.  They told us that the airline we flew only flies into Christchurch at 5:30am and at midnight and when they aren't flying in, are not present at the airport.  Lovely.  So we exited the airport, head down and talked of bleak scenarios of a fishing trip with no means of catching fish.  When we pulled up to the house, we walked inside and sure enough, in the back room, Les screamed like a girl and sprinted out to us, fly rods in hand.  Trip saved.

I can't explain how much of relief it is to know that I wasn't going to have to resort to noodling on the most elusive and difficult trout in the world.  Let the fishing begin.

Heading Down Under

Well, the time has come.  After months of preparing myself mentally for this seemingly mythical trip, it is here.  I thought that after purchasing my plane tickets for New Zealand, it would become real in my mind, but for some reason, it hasn’t quite sunk in as to what I am actually about to do.  I procrastinated for a week prior to my departure, saying initially that I would have my bags packed and ready to go by then.  I had all of my gear in a corner of my room taunting me and beckoning me to act, however, it didn’t end up happening until late the night before.  It took all of a half hour to organize my clothing and gear on my bed, constantly downsizing and objectively predicting what I would actually need.  I am notorious for over packing and in this case, that option isn’t an option.  One pair of pants, a few pairs of skivees, a few pairs of socks, a couple t-shirts, rain jackets, two pairs of wading shorts and pants, camping gear and of course, my fishing gear.  Two packs and two carry-ons later, I had what appeared to be an overwhelming amount of stuff packed tightly into the chosen bags.  It was a strange feeling lugging all of the bags down to the front hall to await being loaded into the car for my drive to the airport the following morning.

I left early, being driven by my sister in law, Christine, on Monday morning to drive the two hours to Milwaukee airport to get to my 12:55 pm flight to Los Angeles.  What I didn’t realize when I booked my flight, was I chose it due to its cheap price and not by where the flight passed through.  I ended up having to fly from Wisconsin to Atlanta to then fly all the way across the country to L.A.  If anyone can tell me how that makes a lick of sense, please feel free to let me know.  Instead of having two potentially shorter flights, I ended up willingly signing myself up for a three-hour flight followed by as long of a domestic flight as they come at around 6 hours or so.  That’s ok though, because I love flying so much.  (Insert sarcasm here).

My flights were uneventful, however, I do have an unbelievable knack at booking seats next to large individuals.  Being a larger guy myself, there isn’t a whole lot of flexibility when it comes down to extra space on airplanes.  I am usually one of the last people on a flight, simply because I could either sit and wait in the tight, constricting space of an airplane seat or I could sit and wait in the luxury of the airport seats with legs stretched out in luxury.  The departure time won’t bump ahead if I board early or late.  When I board a flight, since most everyone is seated ahead of me, I am intently scanning ahead to see who will be my future seat buddy for the next X amount of hours.  I got a little excited when I saw the crown of a white haired lady that looked to be small and compact.  When I reached my row, I immediately noticed she was a little wider in the hips and in addition to that extra width was wearing an aggressively large ankle length puffy winter coat that cascaded into half of my seat.  I assumed she would remove the coat, however, most likely due to her older age, and being cold by nature she remained content with her outer wear choice.  I sat down next to her, passed her the awkward half grin, signaling “hello” and took my seat.  I searched for my seat belt, which she was inevitably sitting on, and pursued to gingerly search until I had to ask her to lift a cheek.  Once I was belted, I felt the pressure of confined space and realized that her coat felt as though its pockets were stuffed with multiple pairs of down mittens, causing an uncomfortable pressure in my side.  Luckily, this occurred on the shorter of the two flights and I wasn’t stricken with claustrophobia for too long.   

I got into Los Angeles that night and was greeted by Les, Zach and my buddy Alex who was nice enough to house us for two nights while we waited for our flight out of the country.  My arrival was met with nothing else but Wild Turkey whiskey, which I haven’t been too accustomed to drinking in the last four months while living at home with Mother.  Needless to say, my brain became a touch fuzzy resulting in a glorious first day in California.  (Insert sarcasm here). 

We didn’t do a whole lot very quickly on Tuesday morning.  We got some breakfast at the Firehouse, which is maybe just under a mile from Al’s house in Venice.  After devouring some chicken fried steak even though the gravy tasted exactly, in my opinion, like Shark Bites fruit snacks, we “rested” a little more once we got back to the house.  We then ventured to Venice Beach, which is a spectacle in itself.  Lot’s of crazies.  I haven’t heard so many people so angrily talking to themselves in such a short amount of time.  There was once guy yelling about a “F#CKING REBATE CHECK!!!”, another woman really angry at something (couldn’t make out what exactly that was), and another guy who was really fed up with his “F#CKING PHONE CHARGER!!!” that was dragging in the sand behind him.  I can totally understand that one.  That damn phone charger dragging like that?  Totally unable to be picked up to prevent the damn thing from dragging in the sand?  “F#CKING PHONE CHARGER!!!” is right.

The rest of our stay in L.A. was fun.  It was pretty relaxed.  We went out to eat a few times, had some laughs and ended our interim in California on Wednesday night.  Our second wave of flights from L.A. to Brisbane, Australia and then Brisbane to Christchurch, New Zealand were a little more eventful.  First of all, the alcohol was free for the entire flight.  We didn’t get out of control with this, however it made the flight a little more doable.  After watching my third movie in a row, I got a little restless, rallied the troops and headed to the flight attendants area to inquire about beer orders.  After grabbing a VB (Victoria Bitter), we went to mess with Les, who was doped up on Ambien and then resided in the galley area between sections on the airplane.  We stayed there for at least 3 or 4 hours, hanging out with various other passengers and conversing with all of the flight attendants.  At one point in the flight we had the curtains closed on both sides, while the flight attendant poured us a shot of rum.  It truly was a different plane experience than anything else I had ever experienced.  When the pilot turned the “Seatbelt” sign back on, we returned to our seats and slept for the remainder of the flight. 

We spent the next 12 hours in the Brisbane airport, being harassed by ridiculously inflated prices.  We bought a sub from Subway and started singing the song, “14….14 dollar….. 14 dollar foot long…..  Pretty depressing.  Other than sit at a food court table, and stare at floor, we spent the rest of the time sleeping on the couches at the terminal.  For some reason, that second flight, which was only three hours long, felt like an eternity.  The anticipation and the fact that we were going on hour 30 of our travel day, made the last lag seem longer and more drawn out.  But, we got to Christchurch safe and sound and were ripping and roaring to start our adventure.  New Zealand, here we come!!!!

Jitters

It is about a week away from my departure to New Zealand.  Anxiety is at an all time high.  I know deep down that I am excited, but my nerves and the overwhelming feelings occasionally mask my excitement.  I have all of my gear in organized chaos in the corner of my room.  In the next couple of days I hope to have all of my bags packed so I can leisurely get myself out the door and gone.

It is a strange feeling knowing that I will be abroad for 4 plus months doing nothing but traveling, sight seeing and most importantly, fishing.  I have never in my life had this opportunity nor will I ever get it again.  I am privileged to be able to just drop everything and go and I do look forward to taking full advantage of it.  It's times like these that you truly feel blessed in life.  And I'm sure I'll feel even more blessed hoisting a 15 pound brown in a river somewhere down under.

I look forward to being able to share my experiences with everyone.  I'm hoping for luscious scenery, luscious rivers and luscious wi fi.  Until next time.