New Zealand: Spring Creek Salvation

A season that seems to already have peaked is what awaits us this year. Weeks-on-end with high temperatures and hardly any rain have taken their toll on many of the local New Zealand trout streams. The small rivers are too warm and its inhabitants not too keen on feeding. We learn this on the first day. The decision to move south-west to a colder climate is taken already before we explore the last pool in an almost dried out mountain river…

By ANDRÉ PEDERSEN, Images by JOAKIM ANDREASSEN

A bird-like life is about to be lived, moving with the weather covering enormous distances to reach rivers scarred by floods and droughts for thousands of years. From north to south, the colossal mountain ranges rising from the edge of grassy steppes make a scenery that shortens a five-hour drive to a heartbeat day by day.

As we move further south along the west coast, things are greener. The trees leaning across the road make a dense and living roof as we drive through the tunnels of mossy stems with leaves covered in fresh dew.

The sound of cicadas compliments this jungle image that the west coast emanates. The rivers we cross rise in the mountain range that defines what is east and what is west on this island. They are all trout rivers, but down here, just a hundred yards from the Tasman Sea, they look nothing like it. Not before the big rivers braid out in smaller streams a few kilometers from the coastline do they appeal to people looking for trout.

The song of the bellbird is subdued in this dense and flowery forest, but we still listen to its melody for ten minutes as we stretch our legs a few miles outside the township of Whataroa. Where we are heading is a place I’ve been before. A secret little spring creek just as far south as this road goes. It’s not actually a secret. Nothing on New Zealand is anymore, but I kind of feel like it’s mine.

This creek has everything as long as the angler doesn’t ask for too much. It’s narrow and short, but what it lacks in size it surely makes up for in charm. A sheltered stream in the most rural of places, winding its way silently through its meanders, never in a hurry, but calm and steady. It’s kind of mysterious this little creek of mine, even though the water is way too clear to leave anything at all to the imagination.

As the sun rises the next morning, the sharp and chilly air still has a hold of the little valley we’re in. There is not much being said as we boil a pot of coffee, waiting for the sun to clear the fog and fill the first pool with light.

Even Tommy is quiet at this time of day. It’s been a few years, but nothing about the river has changed. As the beautiful morning colors flatten out with the rising sun, a trout rises behind a willow. Not long after, Joakim brings his first of many New Zealand trout to the net.