March 22nd 2025

Fishing New Zealand !?!  Heck yeah !
Most of us midwestern FlyFishers could only dream of fishing in such an exotic place, eh ? So when a cruise trip to New Zealand popped up, I felt I should try to move heaven and earth to get a day trip while there.
Making arrangements from the other side of the globe is not as complicated as you might expect. Still, much of it is on a wing and a prayer, with fingers crossed.
At last the day arrived, and I was the first person off the ship that day. With an early start at 7 am and several hours drive, my guide Casey Cravens and I motored through the gorgeous countryside dodging fog, watching the red sun rising, and me opening several cattle gates before we arrived at the riverside on a gravel bar.
There was a fish rising here and there, on the flat wide water, which ran down into some quick rifles and then under a road bridge. After trying a dry dropper in the fast water with no success, I switched to a black wooley bugger in the riffles. No success.
We moved up into the flatter water back with the dry fly, even though there were few rises.
There were willows hanging over on the far left side which suggested casting the dry fly and floating underneath imitating a falling insect (even though there were still almost no rises). I suspect the guide was putting me in spots where clients had caught fish before.
I tried to be especially stealthy while walking up the middle of the 70 foot wide flat water, casting, then taking a few steps upstream.
I was quite proud of my placement, from time to time getting within a foot of the bank and floating under the branches. (Even though no fish were sufficiently impressed).
The guide was moving upstream ahead of me scouting for rises which looked more promising. Eventually I got into narrower water with lots of overhanging branches.
I spotted a bug on the stream, which I was able to catch. It was a rusty brown mayfly spinner of about size 16. (A spinner has transparent wings, but still lays eggs, I learned.) So Casey tied one on as the end fly about 2 feet below the top fly.
The rises were coming a bit more frequently but always seemed to be about 10-15 meters (not using yards here) beyond my casting ability. I appeared to be chasing the fish.

This required casting nearly straight upstream. This method is reportedly the most effective way to present a dry fly since you don’t spook them by over “lining” them. Yet it presents the problem of needing to quickly strip to keep the slack out in preparation for a hook set.
As most dry fly fishers are aware, a a bit of a delayed hook set helps a bit. But too much slack doesn’t work at all.
After what seemed like hours of whipping the water I finally got a take, and (quite luckily) was able to hook the fish. As he got closer in, I could see he was a rather small but wild brown trout, that took the rusty spinner (the second fly) Having no net and the guide being 40 yards (40 meters) upstream, I played him myself and was able to get a picture of him in the water balancing the phone, rod and fish avoiding dropping the whole mess.
I snapped a few shots noticing the fish was barely hooked in the side of the mouth.
He cooperated enough for the pictures and then released himself.
Surely not a trophy fish or even a remarkable one; maybe 12 inches long. Nonetheless I’d accomplished my goal of catching a fish in New Zealand !

As Hope springs eternal in the soul of a trout fisherman, I had fancied my luck was changing for the day.
As I continued upstream the river got deeper which required getting out of the water and walking through the “paddock” (cow/ sheep field). Interestingly the fields are surrounded by electric fences. My guide, Casey was pretty adept at holding them down while I stepped over. Avoiding the cow patties and sheep poop was the challenge for the next 150 meters/yards.
We got to a gravel bar and turn of the river which looked like a great place to try one of the crackleback flies I had brought. Ten minutes of stripping brought no action, so we moved up along a cut bank where a client of Casey’s had caught a nice fish a week before. No fish for me with the black woolly bugger either…
Upstream from the cut bank, the water flattened out and was fed by some nice riffles.
While casting in the foam line along the right side, I had another strike but missed it.
Working up to the riffles, I could see the occasional fish rising and porpoising out of the water. A few casts later, I hooked a nice brownie, but he shook himself off after a couple seconds.
Still fishing those same riffles, I continued with the rusty spinner dry fly and finally hooked, played and landed a wild brown trout.
Again, it wasn’t a large fish but was maybe 13 inches long. Without a net, I walked him over to the side and put him in the grass alongside my rod for a picture.
He was slow to revive, but holding him by the tail, and waving him back and forth in the current revived him.
Time was running short, with 2 hours to get back to the ship before it left (ideally with me on board). After all, the ship’s next stop Hobart in Tasmania was 1159 miles by air from Dunedin NZ.
(Pretty important to get back in time. )

After a quick stop to pick up some road beers we made it back with 15 minutes to spare before the ship departed.
Heart attack (for my wife) averted.

Casey, the guide, originally from Texas but 30 years in New Zealand, was a former English major and a very well read man. I enjoyed meeting him greatly. He was complimentary toward my level of fishing experience/ability, and seemed genuine about it.
Catching 2 rather small fish is nothing to brag about, but I got some satisfaction from picking them up on the other side of the world.
Doing it was be something I’ll never forget.

Dan Stag