Zane Mirfin FISHING Articles 2008 -2012

Wildside - Young & Hungry

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Young & Hungry, Nelson Mail, 10 October 2009
The opening of the fishing season is a great day for renewing friendships and reminiscing.

❞ We all had a blast. I enjoyed spending time with my boys, explaining all manner of things as we quietly stalked upriver.

Unforgettable: Ike and Jake Mirfin with a brown trout caught on opening day 2009.
OPENING day of the trout fishing season has always been one of the highlights of the outdoor calendar. Every year on October 1, thousands of hopeful anglers venture forth, rain or shine, in the hope of catching an easy trout or two.

Part of the attraction is to get out after a long winter cooped up inside, fantasising about clear rivers and new equipment to test. It’s also a great time to celebrate the arrival of spring with the onset of warm, sunny days, green grass, spring lambs and budding willow trees dotting the sinuous curves of the waterways.

Then there are the trout, lean and hungry after a tough winter of spawning and cold waters. Most anglers get excited about visiting favourite locations to see what populations of trout are in residence for the coming season and to target fish that haven’t encountered anglers for at least five months. Opening day can be the worst day of the year to go fishing if you like solitude, but it draws anglers back again and again with a siren call that non-anglers will never understand.

This year, we ventured forth on a family effort with family friend Steve Burns and his son, Tate, aged 4 1⁄2. My two boys, Jake, nine, and Ike, seven, were keen to go on their first opening day, too, and were wide awake at the first blast of the alarm clock at 5.15am.

The Burns and Mirfin families have been friends as long as I can remember. Our fathers, Neville and Stuart, were hunting buddies long before we ever did family stuff together, and the three Burns boys and two Mirfin lads have great memories of many days over many decades of fishing and hunting together.

This year, opening day was even more special because Neville had died last Christmas.  Neville was a fantastic man, the epitome of enthusiasm, and he had a wonderful sense of humour. He was a great friend, mentor and role model to many young men, including the Mirfins.

Last year, on the eve of opening day for 2008, Neville phoned me to fine-tune the details about taking his grandson,
Tate, and my boy, Ike, fishing, but I had bad news for him. The weather forecast was abysmal – snow, rain and
freezing polar blasts. ‘‘We’ll go,’’ said Neville enthusiastically.  ‘‘It’ll be good.’’

I talked Neville out of going that day – too far to go in bad weather. The kids would get wet and cold. Fishing would be
a waste of time, etc.

All sensible comments, but I was really stupid and I have kicked myself ever since that Neville and I never got to fish
together again. I had broken my golden rule that if you get asked on a hunting and fishing trip, you should go. So opening day 2009, Steve and I were going to go fishing with our boys, come hell or high water.

We went early, and to our delight, Neville’s favourite opening-day fishing location was all ours. We decided to split up, with Steve and Tate heading for one branch of the river and the Mirfins fishing another, agreeing to meet up at lunchtime by the vehicle.

We all had a blast. I enjoyed spending time with my boys, explaining all manner of things as we quietly stalked upriver.

We had to navigate fences, inflowing creeks, prickly bushes and mud puddles. The fishing was slow, but I was able
to keep the boys interested as they learnt outdoor lessons along the way and I kept my eyes on the water.

We saw a few fish, but they weren’t doing much. The moon phase was poor and the water very cold. Close to lunchtime, we retreated to the car fishless, my tail between my legs.

Steve and Tate had not returned, so the boys practised casting with their spinning rod. I was impressed at how much
the boys had improved from earlier attempts – and out of the corner of my eye, upstream in a pool we had fished earlier, I finally spied a feeding trout, swinging from side to side in the current. This was more like it, and my cast furled out, straight and true like a lover’s kiss. The fly sank home, the rod bent and bucked, and that magic feeling that makes trout fishing so addictive signalled that the fishing season had finally begun.

Ike took over the rod and fought the fish with sore arms until he finally had it flapping in the shallows, while Jake managed to net the fish on his third attempt. The boys were jubilant, but when I suggested releasing the 2kg jack, both were close to tears as they insisted we take it home. ‘‘OK,’’ I said, ‘‘but you’ll have to kill and gut it.’’ So we had a lesson on how to clean a fish and ended up looking at all the various bugs in the gullet that the fish had been eating. Ike even pulled out a freshly eaten mouse from inside the trout.

Soon, Steve and Tate were back with a tale of woe about a lost fish, but not much else. It didn’t matter. The three boys had a great time together, playing on the edge of the river while Steve cooked sausages on a gas cooker for lunch.

It was just like the old days, a generation before, as boys with the names Burns and Mirfin soaked up outdoor memories and experiences that would stand them in good stead for life in the years ahead.

In my experience, opening day has never been a good time to catch a lot of fish, but it is always a great day to renew friendships, revisit favourite places and remember old friends. I can’t wait until next year to do it all again.
 

Nothing beats a whirlybird.

 

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Nothing beats a whirlybird, Nelson Mail, 26 September 2009

East Coast Helicopter Pick Up: Ken August, USA, loads up after a great day's fishing
 

Helicopters make everything easier - from finding choice hunting and hunting spots to getting safely out of them.

Some of my greatest trips have been in Hughies and the craft has plenty of reserve power for dicey boulder landings or backing out from under overhanging forest canopies in tight river gorges.


Helicopters are just great machines. They have speed, manoeuvrability and space-age looks to be the perfect magic carpet ride to choice hunting and fishing locations.

Helicopters have always fascinated me. I'm not a pilot but I enjoy getting skyward whenever I can, enjoying wonderful views and epic adventure.

As a guide, I'I've been fortunate to travel regularly in helicopters as part of my job and I've had hundreds of helicopter rides exploring the length of the South Island over the past two decades or so.

The northern South Island has many helicopter companies and we are spoiled for choice in a region awash in helicopters.

My favourite is the old workhouse Hughes 500 - the C,D,and E models. The H500 is a really grunty machine, with that characteristic whine of the turbine engines. Some of my greatest trips have been in Hughies and the craft has plenty of reserve power for dicey boulder landings or backing out from under overhanging forest canopies in tight river gorges.

Helicopter travel is generally safe with the industry being heavily regulated by Civil Aviation, and helicopter maintenance is regularly monitored and audited. Skilled pilots are in abundance and many of the older pilots came from the halcyon venison recovery days in the 70s and 80s when deer were hunted to very low numbers.

There are some great books available from this era and Mike Bennett's The Venison Hunters is a classic. If you want a real thrill, buy a copy of The Last Great Adventure on DVD. It has some phenomenal flying footage of the pursuit of deer, with live capture guys throwing themselves out of helicopters on to the backs of fleeing deer.

The wild west cowboy days were not to last, however, as animal numbers dwindled, deer farming came on stream and wild animal export markets dried up.

Helicopter companies then moved into agriculture, forestry and tourism with a lot of work from government departments and organisations such as the Conservation Department and Animal Health Board.

Early in my guiding career, helicopter access was fabulous because we could go wherever we wanted. But regulation crept in as DOC management plans progressively excluded helicopter access and limited the numbers of operators with concessions in certain areas.

Today, helicopter-free areas in the Northern South Island include Molesworth Station, Paparoa Wilderness Area, Tasman Wilderness Area, and now restrictions for flying into the main-stem Karamea in Kahurangi National Park.

All the new rules achieve is to increase hunting and fishing pressure in smaller geographical areas.

Interestingly, in Kahurangi National Park, as tourism and recreational helicopter users are increasingly managed, DOC acknowledges that the majority of helicopter use in the park is by its staff.

Some of the ugly aspects of helicopter use include balance of power issues, with many helicopter companies competing for access to the same resources. Some days it can be like playing musical helicopters as everyone is racing for the same location.

Many recreational hunters are concerned about commercial helicopter shooting. Contentious issues are the shooting of trophy stags, chamois bucks and Thar bulls by overseas tourists from choppers and the technique known as "spot and drop", where a trophy animal is herded into a place where the tourist hunter can disembark from the helicopter before shooting the animal. The NZ Deerstalkers Association, of which I'm a member, opposes this practise, which seriously affects recreational hunting.

Fishing etiquette is also vital with helicopters, with good guides and recreational anglers always flying the water first to check for other anglers, while staying high enough not to spook the trout.

Most trampers are generally accepting of helicopters, especially when they understand that helicopter access often Pre-dates tramping use of some wilderness areas.

Good helicopter pilots are great people and I've been fortunate to fly with many of New Zealand's legendary pilots. Some of the long-time pilots have a lot of knowledge and history to share and time in the air can be handy when things don't go to plan or the weather closes in unexpectedly.

Some of my greatest adventures have been based around the weather and I have fond memories of helicopter trips in abysmal conditions. One time, we were stranded at the Mohikinui Forks hut for days as a rainstorm created a massive flood that reached up into the trees on both sides of the wide valley.

The first time the helicopter came fro us, there was nowhere to land so the pilot had to leave us there. When he returned the next day we had to swim a flooded channel, with gear, to reach the chopper.

Another time on the West Coast, the weather totally crapped out and we were fogged in with abysmal visibility. I knew it was bad when the pilot landed on the tops and took the doors off to stop us soaking-wet anglers fogging the bubble.

I sat there in the back with freezing cold wind whistling past my frozen ears and hands, holding on for grim death to all the doors that were on my lap as we made it to safety following the sag in power wires to the Buller River below.

Whether it's at the start or end of a successful wilderness adventure, the approaching whine of the helicopter turbines kick-starts an adrenaline turbo-charge through the veins.

Climate change be damned, I'll burn my A1 jet fuel and av-gas any time.

 

When the Kahurangi Lion Roared

 

Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, When the Kahurangi Lion Roared, The Nelson Mail, August 29, 2009

Outdoors people can have thousands of safe and enjoyable experiences in New Zealand, but things sometimes turn pear-shaped without warning.

"As I reached the main river I witnessed a huge wall of water, carrying whole trees, as the river exploded in front of my eyes"

Our kids are only allowed to watch one weeknight TV programme and this winter they chose Man vs Wild.  This is where a British ex-military guy, armed only with a knife, challenges himself to survive in hostile environments all over the world.  I had the greatest time snuggling up with four children in the spare room watching the programme with them.  Explaining things to the kids along the way, it was great to see them thinking and asking about survival and coping in the outdoors. After the programme we would
often talk about some of my own adventures in the outdoors and I’d regale them with tales of land crabs in equatorial Kiribati, fishing with bears in British Columbia, living on moose meat with Lapp reindeer herders north of the Arctic Circle, even catching trout in Colorado lakes at altitudes higher than Mt Cook.

My heart as an outdoorsman belongs firmly in New Zealand, and here I’ve had thousands of happy, safe and enjoyable outdoor experiences and episodes. But ones that really stand outare where things haven’t gone as planned and an outdoor trip has become an outdoor survival epic.

Most of my truly gruelling adventures have involved water, particularly extreme rainfall and flooded rivers.  On one hunting trip into the remote Whataroa River in South Westland, we were marooned on a piece of high ground between an absolutely angry main river and two raging side creeks.  Confined to a sodden pup tent for four days in abysmal deluge conditions, it was quite an experience.

With improved knowledge and modern equipment, the outdoors should be a much safer place. Regrettably, this isn’t always so and people still regularly make bad decisions and take fatal risks.

Perhaps my greatest outdoor challenge so far was in Kahurangi National Park, on the banks of the famed Roaring Lion River.
 It had rained overnight, but the river was low and clear as I crossed at daylight in search of some easy venison before the chopper was due to pick us up at lunchtime.

We had just completed an arduous fishing adventure further up the river on foot and I was feeling bullet-proof. Under-dressed in shorts, poly-pro singlet, PVC raincoat and a
knife belt, I commenced stalking around grassy river-flat areas hoping for a deer to show itself, when it happened.

Water appeared from nowhere in a gushing waterfall high on the hillside above the Beautiful River (a Roaring Lion tributary), and in one motion I turned and ran toward the main river instinctively knowing what was going to happen next.

As I ran up the dry riverbed, water rushed to meet me.  Dirty water, mixed with sticks and vegetation, rose alarmingly up my legs.  As I reached the main river I witnessed a huge wall of water, carrying whole trees, as the river exploded in front of my eyes. A
shot from my rifle alerted my sleeping companions to my plight as the full might of the storm hit.  I couldn’t find shelter as the rain fair pelted down, turning the forest floor into a swamp. Sitting helplessly under a tree, I started to get cold, and being wet, I started shivering. Without shelter I was probably going to die.

There would be no help from my companions across the flooded river, the helicopter was never going to arrive in such conditions, and the only person who could solve my predicament was me.  I decided to make shelter and came up with an idea of using the numerous tree ferns available. Making an A-frame structure, I dragged two rotten logs together to go underneath to get me up off the swampy ground. I spent an hour or so cutting fern fronds with my hunting knife, dressing the shelter, and staying warm in the process.  At last I was ready to crawl inside, pulling ferns across the small entrance way. Above me the storm raged as I lay warm and snug in my dark bunker.

When the storm abated, I emerged from shelter, and went to check out the Roaring Lion which while raging had become less angry.  Fred managedto throw a can of corn beef and a silver-foil space blanket across the narrowest point in a plastic bag.  It didn’t quite make it but I was able to scoop the rapidly sinking bag up with a long stick while hanging out over the river on a small tree, to the cheers of my companions.

Darkness came suddenly, and I retreated 400 metres back into the forest, but I couldn’t find my shelter anywhere.  Blundering around, I realised I was facing my second predicament of the day and while at least it wasn’t raining anymore, the wind was rising
while the temperature dropped.  Wrapping my foil safety blanket around me,I cursed as the old folded foil broke into a hundred useless rectangles.  I spent the night so cold I thought my  chattering teeth were going to crack every tooth in my jaws, and ended up
running round and round a tree in an attempt to stay warm and avoid nodding
off into oblivion. 

Just when I thought I couldn’t last much longer, a pinprick of light through the forest canopy showed daylight was on the way.  Soon the dawn chorus was in full swing as I checked the Lion in the half light. While still big it was clear enough to see the bottom.
Bouncing downstream through the chest-and-neck deep crossing with my rifle held over my head, I emerged 50m downstream on the other side, to big hugs from my concerned companions who had hardly slept all night worrying about the idiot on the other side.

Interestingly, Aimee (in the days before marriage) had called home that night while on holiday in France after a bad dream sensing that her beau was in big trouble.

As the chopper pulled us to safety later in the morning, I reflected on the close shave. Since that time, I’ve been more careful outdoors and will always remember the time when I saw the Lion roar.
  Mouse feeders are often easy to identify, with wide thickset flanks, big full bellies with hard nugget-like chunks being able to be felt from the outside...
Huge New Zealand trout feasting on rats and mice are the stuff every trout angler dreams of. Big, fat, heavy brown trout, engorged on a turbo-charged, protein rich diet of rodents are something to marvel at and enjoy. But it only happens once in a blue moon, in those special years when the native beech forest produces an abundance of surplus seed, which causes rodent populations to explode in number.

Most New Zealand trout are limited in size by the food available to them. Many trout streams here have limited fertility and are not the insect-rich waters that premier overseas waters often are. So, when they get a bumper terrestrial food source, trout are only too happy to take advantage of it.

Recently, I read reports in the Nelson Mail about increased catches of rodents and predators by volunteer trappers in the Brook Waimarama Sanctuary area. I also noticed a few more rodents around my garage this winter before I put out bait stations, with the excellent name of ‘‘departure lounges’’.

With the general trout fishing season due to open on October 1, I’ve been busy fielding inquiries from international anglers interested in the fishing prospects for the coming season. Reports from Nelson Lakes Conservation Department staff would indicate that a spectacular beech seeding in autumn has paved the way for a substantial increase in rodent populations in the spring and summer.

New Zealand rodents range from small to a massive 30 centimetres for a big Norway rat. Rodents are prodigious breeders and a female rat can produce 12 litters of 20 rats each year, according to pest contractors Target Pest, potentially having the ability to have thousands of descendants a year, which is a lot of trout food.

When rodent populations boom, their predators, such as stoats, ferrets and weasels, also peak, which is bad news for native birds and invertebrates, which suffer when rodent numbers abate. Cuddly little critters such as rats and mice don’t get a lot of positive press from government organisations and the media, but they are actually pretty interesting animals and, whether we like it or not, they are part of the history of humanity as well.

European history is richly laced with tales of rats and mice. In New Zealand, rats were of cultural importance well before Europeans arrived on the scene, with kiore or Polynesian rats being a treasured part of Maori culture, having spiritual value to some iwi. Maori considered kiore a delicacy. Rats fattened on a diet of berries and invertebrates were trapped and preserved in their own fat for those cold winter days, long before Walt Disney’s Mickey Mouse, Ratatouille or self-styled love rat Major James Hewitt.

Over the years, I’ve been fortunate as a recreational angler and professional fly-fishing guide to have been involved in the capture of an unfair share of very large brown trout, many of which have been fattened on rodents. Some seasons’ trout will be 1kg to 2kg heavier than normal in many rivers, and we all dream of trophy trout 4.5kg and bigger.

So how do the mice and rats end up in the water?  It seems rodents range far and wide nocturnally for food, move to new territories, die of hypothermia, drown, and fall or swim in rivers and so become available as trout fodder.

Most mouse-fed trout are caught on traditional tackle offerings such as dry flies and weighted nymphs during the daytime, although we have caught trout on mouse imitations fished during the night shift. Slow-stripping a large floating deerhair mouse imitation across a still pool after dark can provide exciting fishing, although, interestingly, the trout usually take the mouse imitation quite softly.

Rubber mouse imitations or other topwater poppers also work well on spinfishing gear, with the advantage being that anglers can cover larger distances with longer casts and also avoid standing in the water among the eels. Mouse feeders are often easy to identify, with wide, thick-set flanks, big full bellies with hard nugget-like chunks being able to be felt from the outside of the fish. Trout can eat multiple rodents and fish with up to several dozen mice inside have been recorded.

Sometimes with rats, I’ve seen a rat’s tail hanging out of a captured fish’s mouth. I remember one captured trout regurgitating dead mice in the net. Big trout act like a magnet to overseas anglers and word of big fish present will prompt many anglers to book longer and more adventurous trips.

One overseas fishing agent is already playing the mouse card, with worldwide recession and lower than normal bookings requiring different strategies to attract high-value, big-spending tourist anglers. Personally, I’m waiting until I get on to the water and have a look around this coming fishing season before I talk too much about mice and rats.  If the hype fails to match reality and the big fish just aren’t there, a river can be a lonely place as you attempt to be a modern-day Rumpelstiltskin trying to spin straw into gold.

Secretly, however, I’m hoping a big rodent year will happen and that the big trout will appear like magic. It might be tough on the native birds but the trout fisherman in me says ‘‘bring on the mice’’. Let’s just hope the Department of Conservation isn’t crying wolf – or in this case, rodent – because, when you’re a hardcore trout bum, you can never have too many mice. Hickory, dickory, dock.
 

Landowners open to access
 

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Landowners open to access, Nelson Mail, 18 July 2009

River view: Zane Mirfin at Little Grey Bridge near Ikamatua.

Access to fishing and hunting resources has always been a hot topic.

Fortunately, in New Zealand we are surrounded by ocean, rivers and mountains which are mostly accessible to all. With about one-third of the land mass managed by government agencies, public access for fishing and hunting is good by international standards.

Practical access to public lands, however, is still not without problems. For example, the 111 government-owned Landcorp properties scattered throughout New Zealand are arguably some of the most difficult for the public to access.

Some of the best outdoor access in New Zealand is available through private land once permission has been given by private owners. I’ve always believed that private property rights are sancrosanct and owners must always have the absolute right to say who is able to be on their land. Many landowners are incredibly generous and I regularly marvel at the generosity and assistance of private landowners in allowing access across their properties to rivers, beaches and other public places.

Last week, we were away on a late season duck-hunting trip in Canterbury where I was humbled by the many fantastic landowners who welcomed us on to their properties, helped us access the river and gave freely of their local knowledge and goodwill.

One farming lady, with her charming and vivacious personality, capped off a great day as she chatted on the riverbank, sharing in our hunting success.

One landowner arranged access through his neighbour’s property, while another farmer worked with our topographical maps to work out the best way to access a duckcamp we had located. We appreciated the time, energy and opportunities these people put into the success of our hunting trip.

While we each shot plenty of ducks, the highlight for me was the great people we met.

I’ve always been impressed, that in most cases, a polite and reasonable request for access will usually be granted. With opportunity, though, comes responsibility to the landowner because access is always a privilege, not a right. Always obey the house rules and instructions and try hard to be a model guest as others may follow in your footsteps.

Never take access for granted and never go back so many times that you wear out your welcome.

Access changes over time as properties sell, managers move on and owners need to develop access strategies that are relevant to their properties. Recreational people should always take a refusal for access with good grace. Landowners may not be able to allow access but may suggest you try again after lambing, or direct you to a legal road where access to a river is possible. The local knowledge of landowners can be valuable and we are lucky New Zealand landowners are so friendly and reasonable to the recreational public.

In my family line, access has always been an important topic. Being a sixth generation Nelsonian, my mother’s family’s connection here began with Thomas and Anne Hill stepping off the sailing ship Thomas Harrison in Port Nelson in October 1842.

Hunting and fishing were tough pursuits in the old Britain, being the realm of the wealthy and privileged, but with the advent of local acclimatisation societies, fish and game species were introduced throughout the country so all new residents would soon be able to hunt and fish for the price of a common licence fee – a radical concept in its time.

On the same boat out was my great-great grandfather on my father’s side of the family. Captain John Walker must have been quite a character, being on first name terms with many of New Zealand’s early explorers and surveyors. His cutter, the Supply, regularly dropped off such passengers around the northern South Island.

Captain Walker’s achievements included being the first European to successfully navigate the treacherous Buller River bar in a sailing ship when he landed surveyors John and James Rochfort ashore in 1859.

The personal effects of Captain Walker are now on permanent display at the Nelson Provincial Museum – something I enjoy every time I visit the museum with my family.

While Walker didn’t require access permission for most of his landings, his family wasn’t above stopping others having access when it didn’t suit. Brother George Walker won the tender to build a road through the Warwick Saddle between the Matakitaki and Maruia rivers. When the job was completed in 1864, the Nelson Provincial Government was so impoverished it could not pay but gave Maruia land and an extensive grazing lease in lieu of money. The Walkers ran the
upper Maruia River (between modern-day Murchison and Springs Junction) like a feudal kingdom in the years up to the World War 1 and bought up strategic blocks to stop others farming there – a process known as ‘‘gridironing’’. They even had a chain of properties down the Buller and Grey rivers to move their cattle to market. The Walker luck ran out,
however, when about 1920, the government of the day requisitioned all the Maruia land, forcing the Walker’s to sell so land could be allocated to returning soldiers.

William Craven Mirfin Sr gained access and ownership of his prime land in a most innovative way, too. Extensive diary notes show that he was a good friend of explorer Thomas Brunner (1821-1874). On Brunner’s advice and previous exploration knowledge, Mirfin put in a claim for the first Mirfin farm cradled between the Rough, Little Grey and Big Grey rivers, near modern day Ikamatua. When Mirfin was named as roading engineer to build a road down the north side of the Grey, his land claim was rapidly processed. Then as now, who you know mattered. William Craven Mirfin Jr later married Captain Walker’s daughter, Sarah, and took over responsibility for the farm.

This same land was later farmed by my grandfather, Ash Mirfin, and his brothers Bryce and George. Roughly hewn out of the West Coast bush by axe, saw and fire, the Rough River block teemed with fallow deer in the days long before 1080 poison.

My father, his brother and their cousins were always wanting their fathers to limit hunting access to family only but the older Mirfins said no, always allowing access to anyone who asked. In hindsight, it turned out to be an excellent access policy, with no-one able to remember any problems resulting from open access. In fact, decades later, fishing and hunting access is still pretty good around Ikamatua for those willing and able to make a polite and reasonable request.

If you read the papers and listen to the TV news too much you could mistakenly believe that access to the outdoors has become a real problem. Of recent years, though, I’ve become heartened about the quality of access throughout New Zealand and believe we really should be thankful that private landowners are such reasonable and decent people. It’s the bureaucrats who control public lands we really need to watch out for.

Salmon epitomises a lifestyle

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Salmon Epitomises a lifestyle, Nelson Mail, 25 April 2009

More than a meal: Neil Goldie with the salmon Zane caught on the Waimakariri.

Salmon are a magnificent fish in every regard. Large, powerful and sleek, they ascend many South Island rivers in late summer and autumn to spawn and die in their natal high-country rivers.

Living most of their life at sea, they are ocean-going nomads that feast on the bounty of the tides, growing large and strong for their return to fresh water to complete the circle of life.

Fishing the Wairau River over the past few months has got me excited about salmon again. While it is not legal to fish for salmon above Marlborough’s Wash Bridge, I have observed very good numbers of salmon while pursuing trout. Not usually considered a good salmon river, the Wairau appears to be getting better year after year.

Apparently, a Fish and Game count observed 800 salmon last season and it will be interesting to know what the annual helicopter survey comes up with this year.

I can’t remember ever seeing multiple pools with large, strong fish in residence in the upper river. Seeing a black mass of salmon is exciting and watching up to 30 salmon chasing around the pool sure doesn’t help the trout fishing but makes for a great visual highcountry treat. Let’s hope the salmon make the most of it before proposed hydro-electric development and canals ruin the river. Maybe the pending Environment Court case will help the salmon of the Wairau.

Salmon are largely a phenomenon of the eastern South Island, although good runs have now become established in Westland on rivers such as the Taramakau and Hokitika.

Further south, the South Westland lakes of Mapourika and Paringa have produced good salmon this season for boat anglers trolling lures. Lester Higgins, of Brightwater, has put in the hours there this season and taken six salmon of 3 kilograms to 4.5kg.

Pacific salmon (Oncorhynchus tshawytscha) are an introduced gamefish from the West Coast of
North America. Commonly known in New Zealand as quinnat salmon, they should more correctly be known as chinook salmon. While the New Zealand populations have never been able to emulate those in their home waters, until recently we have had the only successful transplanted runs in the southern hemisphere. South American populations of
chinook have now become established, mostly from escapees from commercial sea cage operations.

In my trips to British Columbia in Canada in the mid-1990s, the runs of salmon were incredible. Multiple salmon species jammed the river and watching them spawn was simply awesome. It also made for great fishing, as target species such
as rainbows, steelhead and dolly varden char lined up behind the spawning salmon to gorge on eggs.

In Colorado, I had great years of fishing for landlocked kokanee salmon ascending the Gunnison river, and it was possible to catch fish until your arm fell off.

Here in New Zealand, we used to take annual trips to the highcountry waters of North Canterbury in April to experience a ‘‘mini - Alaska’’ on the spring creeks of the Rakaia and Rangitata, catching chubby rainbow trout up to 4.5kg that were feeding heavily on eggs behind the spawning salmon. Sadly, Fish and Game has closed these streams to fishing, citing the spread of the invasive alga didymo.

Commercial pen raising of salmon has become big business.  Freshwater raising happens around the country and an interesting phenomenon occurs when surplus feed drifts beyond the salmon cages to fatten outsize rainbow and brown
trout, which have at times grown to 20kg.

Closer to home, I’ve taken nieces fishing at a salmon farm in Canterbury where the fish are paid for by the kilo. Not a pristine wilderness experience but for a first fishing experience for youngsters, it sure was a lot of fun.

Salmon in New Zealand face many threats, including tough ocean conditions, ending up as commercial by-catch at sea and running the gauntlet of recreational anglers in fresh water. Perhaps the biggest threat is the damage to their habitat due to lack of water through hydroelectric developments and irrigation schemes. Many salmon smolt heading downriver to the sea are diverted into irrigation canals and end their short lives flapping on pastureland. Possibly some of the new up-and-coming fisheries with protected headwaters, such as the Westland populations and those of the Wairau, may become increasingly important to the sustainability of wild self-sustaining populations of salmon in the future.

Most salmon are caught with metal hardware, the most popular lures being the ticer and zed spoon (or zeddie), mostly with a silver finish, although more exotic colour offerings have found favour in recent years. Salmon are not eating when they enter fresh water and the lures aim to irritate fish to strike through territorial aggression. Lures need to be fished close to the bottom in prime resting holes and first light has always been a favoured time to catch salmon.

They can also be persuaded to take a large fly, which is usually presented with the assistance of a large banana sinker to reach the bingo zone. Once hooked, salmon fight strongly, but it is the effort involved that makes them so special.  They are known as the ‘‘fish with no mouths’’ or the ‘‘fish of 10,000 casts’’, and some Kiwis take decades to catch their first one.

My last salmon was no monster but when I hooked up in a side channel of the Waimakariri, my mate and guide, Neil Goldie, was even more excited than I was. That salmon was a special fish that represented way more than just a tasty meal. To me, it epitomised everything great about our freshwater fisheries and the anglers who fish them. Long may salmon continue to swim in our waterways for us to enjoy and appreciate.

Look, listen, be willing to try something new and stay fresh

 

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Look, listen, be willing to try something new and stay fresh, Nelson Mail, 11 April 2009

Another horizon:  Scott Mirfin enjoying a new outdoors experience in North Canterbury’s Wilberforce Valley.

Fishing and hunting are like sex – you’re only limited by your imagination... FISHING CLIENT

Fishing and hunting is supposed to be fun and exciting. But lately when out snapper fishing in my boat, the magic just wasn’t there for me. It wasn’t because we weren’t catching fish – it was because I hadn’t used my imagination.

Out twice this week, I took my brother-in-law from Melbourne and his eldest daughter, and then an old mate from varsity days.

My guests had a great time and thought the snapper fishing was epic, and it was good fun, but what I did wrong for myself was go back to the same old places where I had been successful in the past.

Catching fish had become routine and turned into a fish-harvesting exercise rather than a fun recreational sport.

I’ve always loved the excitement of visiting new locations and challenging myself in different conditions in the outdoors.

Exploring new places and learning new things is more than half the fun of hunting and fishing and will always make you a better outdoorsman.

Becoming a creature of habit and pounding the same locations doesn’t have much going for it, and running back to favourite spots time and time again is fraught, because ‘‘never-fail’’ locations will always let you down.

If you understand the habits and behaviour of the fish and game you seek, and know a range of locations under different weather, environmental and seasonal conditions, you will always be better placed long-term to be consistently successful.

Trying new places can take time, energy, and initially you may not do as well, but ultimately it will make you much more successful. Like an elderly American client once told me, ‘‘fishing and hunting are like sex – you’re only limited by your
imagination’’.

From the earliest times humans have been explorers. When hunting grounds became overcrowded or when lands became uninhabitable through natural disasters or warfare, they needed to find new locations to support them.

Our forebears endured abysmal conditions in the hope of a new and better life in New Zealand. We are lucky that they succeeded in their endeavours and that now all we have to do is concentrate on enjoying the egalitarian sporting paradise they created.

When it comes to trying new places for hunting and fishing, embrace change and learn to enjoy it.

Many outdoors individuals get stuck in a rut and keep going back to the same places and doing the same things. Often they complain that the hunting and fishing are no longer any good, but I think boredom and familiarity can destroy the experience. A little innovation and exploration can add wonders to your attitude, enjoyment and results.

One of my good mates describes the definition of insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

For about six or seven years, a group of mates and I would go on an annual fishing and exploration trip together each October. We fished areas such as Golden Bay, South Canterbury, Central Otago, South Westland, among others, and while we’ve had a recess for a couple of years while careers and family take precedence, I’m really looking forward to the next trip together which is written down as Southland.

My brother Scott and I have always enjoyed testing out some great new spots together over the years, whether it be a new kingfish spot, a new channel to set a flounder net, or a new bluff system to climb after a shaggy bull thar.

One day I particularly enjoyed was exploring the Wilberforce Valley in North Canterbury for brown and rainbow trout. It was a truly magical high-country day and something to cherish for years to come.

My last two decades or so as a fishing guide have been great for learning new areas and I’ve been fortunate to have been all over the South Island by foot, vehicle, jetboat, helicopter and raft, searching for the holy grail. I still haven’t found it – but I’m not giving up just yet.

Trying new places needn’t be a hazardous exercise and often minor variations in your approach can work wonders.

For example with trout fishing, I often try to fish a river from the least popular side, or approach a trout pool from an unorthodox angle or try fishing that same location at some unusual time of day.

Experimentation coupled with exploration can make you a more diverse, experienced, and successful outdoorsman. But most of all it’s fun and exciting, keeping you fresh and young.

As a professional fishing guide I try to dedicate time every day to trying something different – trying a new location, a new fly, a new technique, a different approach.

When it comes to learning new locations always listen to what other people have to say as well. ‘‘Big ears, small mouth’’ is what a West Coast friend likes to say.

You can learn a lot and create some wonderful outdoor opportunities for yourself by listening carefully, asking questions, and learning from the experiences of other people.

But at the end of the day, you’ll still have to get off your backside and do the hard work yourself, because there is no substitute for experiencing it first-hand.

As the world’s No 1 boy scout, the very late Lord Baden-Powell, wisely said, ‘‘time spent in reconnaissance is never wasted’’.

Fishing in the Marlborough Sounds

©Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column-Playground in the Heart and Mind, Nelson Mail, January 17, 2009

 

The Marlborough Sounds would have to be one of the wonders of the world. A recent family holiday there made me realise that there is always something special about family holidays with the opportunity to renew and strengthen family ties together.

After being on the road a lot lately working hard guiding customers, it was a welcome escape into the bosom of the Mirfin family for some serious fun and relaxation.

Covering a huge geographic area, the Sounds are a complex mosaic of drowned river valleys, headlands, bays, rugged coastlines, islands, tidal passages and blue water magic.
They have a rich history of Maori and European exploration and settlement, and names
such as Queen Charlotte, Port Underwood, Tory Channel, Endeavour Inlet, Portage, Kenepuru, Havelock, Penzance, Forsyth Island, Elaine Bay, Bulwer, Okiwi Bay, Croisilles Harbour, French Pass and D’Urville Island leap off any Marlborough Sounds map.

Among the explorers, Maori, and whaling, farming and fishing families associated with the sounds, the name of maritime explorer Dumont D’Urville stands alone.  In 1826, D’Urville set sail on the Astrolabe on a three-year voyage of exploration and scientific inquiry. His investigation of Tasman Bay and the discovery of French Pass and D’Urville
Island were significant contributions to the discovery of New Zealand’s coastline.

Today there are literally hundreds of places for modern explorers to visit in the
Sounds and the area is a vital outdoor playground in the hearts and minds of
thousands of people from the northern South Island and beyond.

Roading in the Sounds is as good as it has ever been and even the most remote
places can now be reached within a twotothree-hour drive from Nelson or
Blenheim – a far cry from the early bridle tracks, which were one horse wide. Boat access is virtually unlimited, with the main entry points being Picton,
Havelock, Tennyson Inlet and Okiwi Bay. Whatever way you access the
Marlborough Sounds, it doesn’t take long to figure out that the area is very special
to a whole lot of people.

The Mirfin family has been fortunate to have had regular family holidays down the Sounds with family friends for more than 35 years and these memories are treasured
and enshrined in family folklore and photo albums.

This trip was not such a frenzy as in times past when my brother and I, as single men, often fished like mad men. No more dawn starts, always back before dark, and more time spent with wives, parents and children made for a relaxing holiday.

We had a great time with the kids, six youngsters having a wonderful time with their cousins and their grandparents. The kids swam, fished, fossicked and built sandcastles on the beach, saw closeup live dolphin action, explored rock pools, built huts, trapped possums with Granddad and went on treasure hunts and searched for pirates.

My older boys, at six and eight years old, have developed into demon fishermen, often out-fishing their father, uncle and grandfather this trip. It was fun teaching them the fine art of setting nets and setlines, as well as them learning the various merits of synthetic
soft baits, metal jigs, and traditional cutbaits to fish on their rods. Watching the boys fishing from the boat and wharf, helping bait their hooks and taking the fish off their lines was fun, but watching them develop selfreliance, independence, perserverance
and confidence was priceless.

The Marlborough Sounds are a fish rich environment and although those people holidaying and fishing in the inner Sounds this summer will have been mourning the loss of blue cod from their diet with last year’s imposition of the notake zone for the fish, we were fortunate to be able to enjoy many fine blue cod dinners with fish from the outer Sounds.

We also got to harvest and eat many more fish species, including snapper, gurnard, rig, monkfish, kahawai, flounder, moki and butterfish, as well as catching a few less palatable species like spotties, mullet and stingray. The individual fish species’ different
behaviours and habitat preferences made for valuable learning experiences for the
kids.

I learned lessons too, like the need to have sharper knives to process fish with or to be more organised with my fishing equipment so there was a quicker turnaround when a jig was lost on the sea bottom or a hook was bitten off by a barracouta. The lessons learnt this trip give something to aspire to on our next adventure and something to plan and
think about during those times when we can’t go fishing.

The Marlborough Sounds have been a marvellous training ground for me personally over many decades and it is special to me that my children can experience and enjoy this world-class area and resource also.

Sure, the fishing and hunting may not be what they were in times past, but our latest adventure together as a family showed that great sporting resources still exist and are readily accessible to most people with a little effort and exploration, whatever their age, sex or ability.
 

Special Anglers

©Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, It's not just about the Fish, Nelson Mail, 20 December 2008

A good day out: Zane Mirfin with his latest celebrity client, Eric King-Turner, 103. Mail photo: MARTIN DE RUYTER

 As a guide, you have to really enjoy people because if you’re only in it for the money you just won’t last long. It can be tough hard work but fishing or hunting is far more than just catching or killing.

After all the media coverage of 103-yearold fly fisherman Eric King-Turner lately, everywhere I go someone wants
to know more about Eric and his day out fishing on which I guided him.

Eric is an amazing man and not just because he happens to be old. He is as sharp as a tack with a wonderful sense of humour.

Catching a lovely Motueka brown trout totally unaided was a good result for a guy who turns 104 years old in April, but
what I enjoyed most about the day was chatting with Eric about his fishing experiences and some of the fishing icons he
had known from the UK, such as nymph fishing legends Oliver Kite and Frank Sawyer, and the streams they had shared with Eric. This link to the past for a fly fishing history buff was priceless.

Eric’s enthusiasm and zest for life is something to be admired and savoured forever – it’s totally possible Nelson Mail photographer Martin de Ruyter and I enjoyed our day out even more than Eric did.

Over the past two decades or so, I’ve been privileged to guide many fine anglers but some of the most satisfying trips have been where age, health, or physical adversity stand in the way of the angler. Overcoming barriers or obstacles for older customers that younger, more physically able anglers do not face, is always the most satisfying.

As a guide, you have to really enjoy people, because if you’re only in it for the money, you just won’t last long.

It can be tough, hard work but fishing or hunting is far more than just catching or killing. It is about nature, experiences and people, with the outdoor journey being far more important than the destination.

Anyone can enjoy the outdoors, whatever their personal circumstances.

Here, then, are a few special people I have been privileged to know, enjoy and fish with:

❏ Jim was an amazing guy with an amazingly positive attitude who had survived polio as a child.

One arm was withered away and unusable and the other had very limited use, mainly just in  the fingers.

Jim could only cast about four to five metres due to his condition which made stalking wild trout a tough proposition.

We persevered, catching some great trout. Jim showed me that life can deal you a tough hand of cards but how successful you ultimately are in the game of life is totally up to you and your attitude.

❏ Stuart was a big man, standing 198cm, who had multiple sclerosis and was losing the ability to walk.

We had a fine week fishing the rivers of the northern South Island – Stuart was absolutely exhausted but so was I after
helping to hold him upright, getting him across rivers, and just getting the job done.

Stuart’s courage and determination in the face of a terrible predicament was inspiring beyond mere words.

❏ Michael was an Australian and it was my great privilege to guide him on his last fishing trip. Michael had terminal cancer and had trouble walking or balancing in the stream. Thanks to gracious landowners, there were places where I could drive the truck close to the water’s edge after I had located feeding trout..

We had good fishing, with Michael taking some of the best trout he had ever caught. Michael had worked hard and planned for a long retirement with plenty of fishing before the spectre of cancer arrived unexpectedly and way too early.

‘‘Do it now, Zane,’’ Michael implored me on a number of occasions. ‘‘Live your life like there is no tomorrow.’’

After Michael’s death, his wife wrote to me thanking me for making Michael’s last fishing trip so special.
She sent me a kangaroo leather coin wallet that Michael had wanted me to have.

It sits beside my computer in the office and I think of Michael and his advice often.

❏ Ron had always impressed me when we had fished before.

A guy with a 100 per cent personality, you couldn’t help but like him.

His grandson, CJ, had just graduated from high school and Ron was treating him to a New Zealand fishing experience.

Fishing was going well when early in the week Ron took me aside and told me of his health problems.

His condition had worsened significantly since the beginning of the fishing trip and he feared the worst.

He was adamant his grandson should not know the extent of his health issues and that his grandson’s fishing should not suffer.

During the following days Ron took it very easy, not venturing far from the truck, while CJ fished.

Late on the last day, I spotted a really big fish, CJ and I conspired to get Ron into his waders and across the river into a casting position. The big fish was holding on the upstream side of a midstream boulder, happily taking surface flies. When the trout took Ron’s dry fly, all hell broke loose as it screamed out line, tail-walking down the pool.

It was a battle of two veterans, but Ron won. As he held the fish for a photo, we both saw tears in each other’s eyes.
CJ was oblivious – to him it was just a big trout.

I never saw Ron again and have always wondered how he got on, but maybe there are some things in life that you are better off not knowing.

 Judith was a frail little lady well into her 80s whose husband had died without ever taking up fly fishing in New Zealand as he had always talked about with her.

Judith decided to take on the challenge and what she lacked in skill, she made up for with great enthusiasm.

We had great days on the stream together, even helicoptering into the West Coast’s remote Rough River. Perhaps
our last fish together was the best, a beautiful 2.7kg (6lb) trout from Murchison’s Owen River.

As Judith cradled the golden flanked and leopard spotted brown trout in the water, I noticed tears streaming down
her face. ‘‘Judith, what’s wrong?’’ I asked. ‘‘Nothing’s wrong, Zane,’’ she replied. ‘‘This is the happiest moment of my life’’.

Kingfish in Tasman Bay, Nelson

 

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Hail To the Silver Torpedo Kingfish, Nelson Mail, 6 December 2008

SULTAN OF KING: Scott Mirfin has caught plenty of fine kingfish, most of which he quickly returns to the sea.

When it comes to exciting saltwater fishing, it doesn’t get any better than fishing for kingfish. If snapper are New Zealand’s most popular fish, then the kingfish would have to be the most exciting to catch.

Yellowtail kingfish (Seriola lalandi), kingfish, or just plain ‘‘kingies’’, are widely distributed throughout the warm,
temperate waters of the Southern Hemisphere and in New Zealand range from the Kermadec Islands to as far south as Banks Peninsula in summer.

With long, streamlined bodies, these wild fish can reach 1.7 metres in length and amass body weights of up to 60 kilograms, although most specimens taken in the northern South Island fall far short of such gargantuan specimens of the deep.

Kingfish are beautiful straight from the water, with greenish blue on the dorsal surface shading into a silvery white on the
underside, and a distinctive brown stripe running the length of the fish from the snout to the tail.

The most admired and prized colour feature is the bright radioactive-yellow fins, especially the tail. Once you’ve cradled a fresh wild kingfish in your arms, admired the beauty of the fish, and gently released it alive and unharmed back into
the briny for another day, your life will never be the same again.

One of my greatest kingfish memories is of the fish we never caught. In one torrid kingie session, both brother Scott and I were hooked up on strong fish, when our friend Chris Cooper yelled out that a shark had eaten a big kahawai on his jig.  We ogled the huge fish wallowing on the surface, gnawing on Chris’s 3.5kg kahawai, but it wasn’t a shark – it was a
huge kingfish with a giant yellow tail.

That fish was the stuff dreams are made of and it’s great to know that kingfish of that size and quality exist in the northern South Island. We might never catch a kingie of those proportions but it is enough to know that kingfish like that are out there swimming now.

Kingfish are the ultimate fishy predator, with speed, brawn and aggression to match. Feasting mainly on pelagic fish such as trevally, piper, garfish, kahawai and mackerel, they will eat anything that swims, including bottom fish like blue cod.

What makes fishing for kingfish so exciting is their size and strength. No other fish around our coastline, so readily
accessible to recreational fisherman, can fight like a kingie. The power-to-weight ratio of an angry kingie when attached to rod and line has to be experienced to be believed.

People who say fishing is a relaxing sport have never had the cold-blooded equivalent of a freight train attached to
their line.

They are virtually unstoppable early in the fight, with rod bucking and reel screaming, and they can make a big man hurt – sore back, bruises, line burns, aching arm muscles and just plain general exhaustion.

The biggest kingie we’ve been fortunate to land so far, reduced me to sitting on a beer crate later in the fight, using the side of the boat as a lever to keep pressure on while my exhausted arms slowly cranked the tired fish nearer to the boat. The fish first showed as a huge silver torpedo underwater and was soon aboard before release. The big kingie stretched from the boat deck to my chin, but I still think my grin was wider.

Kingies love wild blue water around rocky headlands, strong tidal channels and passages, and indeed anywhere where
current and accumulations of baitfish occur. Many kingies are caught in relatively shallow water, with depths over 80 metres pretty difficult to fish effectively. Braid or nylon both work well and you’ll want line weights over 15kg and up to 40kg to have a real chance if you hook Mr Big.

Kingies are dirty fighters and just love diving into foul ground and shaving the line to freedom. A capable boatman can do
wonders by leading the boat into deep water early in the fight to give the angler a chance of keeping a determined fish from reaching the bottom. Reels can take a real pounding, and quality equipment is always good. We especially like to use high-speed retrieve reels for speed-jigging home-made electroplated lead jigs, but kingfish can also be caught by fast trolling, fishing live baits, whole dead fish at depth, casting surface poppers, and of recent times by fishing large scented soft baits.

Of most importance in successfully catching kingfish is going to the right places, at the right times, understanding the right weather and sea conditions, best tides, moon phases, time of day and the season.

I know enough about fishing to know that my brother Scott is the undisputed ‘‘Sultan of King’’ and I just do whatever I’m told when on a kingfish mission with Scotty. After 23 years of fishing-guiding for trout, I know when to bow to superior
talent. An electrician in his day job, Scotty the kingfish warrior has put untold fine kingfish on the end of our lines.

Kingies are school fish and when you catch one it’s almost a certainty that you will catch others. Many times we have had triple hookups, with three guys grunting on each rod as demonic kingfish do their best to tangle our lines.

Smaller kingies, often known as ‘‘rats’’, put up a great fight too and it is possible to catch many fish on the right days, mixed in with sundry species such as snapper, warehou, trevally, kahawai and barracouta.

It is sport fishing at its best and the reduction of the recreational blue cod limit should encourage even more cod-sloggers to try their hand at catching a kingfish.

Ironically, the bigger jig you use, the bigger ‘‘accidental’’ cod you catch when your jig occasionally stays too long near the
bottom.

We tend to fish big jigs all day long and still get our quota of big cod and whatever else is on offer.

Kingfish are a tasty oily fish to eat and are great smoked but we normally release our fish alive – such is the esteem in which we hold kingfish.

Some of my greatest fishing experiences have been off the wild waters of D’Urville Island in the company of friends and
family. Seasickness, sunburn, dehydration, exhaustion, cuts, bruises, fuel-fum  inhalation and hangovers at sea are all
worth the price of admission when it comes to the opportunity to fish for kingfish.

These magnificent silver torpedoes of the ocean will continue to haunt your dreams and draw you back time and again in search of the angler’s El Dorado.


 

Australia - Melbourne Fishing Show

 

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Hunting the 'lucky' Country, Nelson Mail, 22 November 2008

Melbourne 4x4 & Fishing Show: Aimee with AFN 's Bill Classon. October 2008	FISHING FOR BUSINESS: Zane Mirfin with Australian iFISH TV 's Paul Worsterling at the fishing expo.
Big Fish: Rex Hunt visits our stand & talks fishing with Zane.	Great Show: Aimee on our stand with show organiser Paul Morgan.

In these modern times of credit crunches, retrenchment and global recession, the New Zealand tourism industry has been dealt tough cards.  Guided fishing businesses are not immune and are scrambling with big corrections in the marketplace.

In the race to be the last guides standing, Aimee and I recently flew to Australia to attend the National 4x4 Show, Fishing Show and Outdoors Expo – Australia’s biggest indoor sportsmen’s event and an extravaganza of all Australian things outdoors, and particularly all things fishing.

Melbourne is the powerhouse of Australian trout fishing and getting there is easy – and, thanks to Air New Zealand, positive as well. The fishing expo has been running for 13 years and is entrenched as one of the highlights of the annual fishing calendar. It is heavily marketed in magazines, television, radio, online, press and so on, and most years attracts more than 40,000 pilgrims.

Our Strike Adventure stand was situated right by the fishing stage, where luminaries of Australian fishing kept showgoers spellbound with tales of how to catch the big one. Perhaps the most famous Australian angler was Rex Hunt, an ex- AFL legend and host of numerous TV fishing shows.

Hunt packed the seating and it was great talking fishing with him later. Other wellknown angling identities at our stand
included Paul Worsterling, presenter of IFISH TV fame on Channel 10 and Bill Classon of the Australian Fishing Network – a huge publisher of fishing magazines and books.

Dozens of other keen fishers were doing the rounds and keen to gaze at large images of fishing success and talk about NZ fishing opportunities.

The 42-inch plasma TV running the fishing DVD filmed and edited by Nelson fishing guru Tony Entwistle went down a
treat and stopped traffic as the Australians gasped at the stunningly clear water and big trout. Being the only New Zealand exhibitors gave Strike Adventure Fishing some novelty value too.

After four days under fluorescent lighting and air conditioning, with some days approaching 12 hours, Aimee and I
were knackered. Talking fishing all day is an exhausting exercise. I even managed to make a few purchases of my own when doing the rounds to introduce myself and our business to other exhibitors during quieter periods.

My favourite memory of the show was the last day when exhibitors slashed prices to clear stock. At one stand the public went crazy buying cheap two-for-one rods and reels in a rugby-scrum purchasing frenzy. Overall, though, long-time exhibitors noted that the fishing expo was in decline, sales were nosediving, and the final tally of people through the door in four days struggled to make 30,000. It was very obvious that financial woes had arrived in the lucky country.

One thing that impressed me about meeting large numbers of Aussie anglers was mesmerising them with the amount of fishable water we have so close at hand. Australia is 45 times larger than New Zealand in land mass but New Zealand
receives the same amount of rainfall annually as the whole Australian continent (500 cubic kilometres, or enough water to fill Lake Taupo eight times over). Australia has a terrible water problem and years of drought (with no end in sight) has exacted a heavy toll on freshwater angling.

Another issue that was big in local Melbourne news was the state of the Yarra River that flows through the centre of
town, past the Exhibition Centre. The lower Yarra is one of the most polluted in the world with stratospheric levels of
mercury and arsenic – even worse than Vietnam’s Saigon River.

Part of the problem is Victoria being in the 13th year of drought and the Yarra has 100 billion litres less water per annum
flowing down it than 10 years ago.  Apparently, good fishing catches can still be had, with one angler posing with an 8kg
mulloway caught in the centre of town, but because the newspaper photo was black and white it was difficult to see if the fish had a radioactive glow.

After the expo we headed south to the rural area of Gippsland for a spot of night shooting, Aussie-style. Daryl and his father Max, are successful dairy farmers and have some great properties to explore at night by four-wheel-drive. The wildlife by night is just incredible, with kangaroos, wallabies, wombats and European red foxes everywhere. Foxes were introduced into Australia near Melbourne in 1845 and were once red gold when fox pelts fetched high prices, before anti-fur sentiment collapsed the markets. Hunting foxes that night was an epic adventure, either running them down in 40-hectare paddocks and shooting with shotguns, or luring them up with distressed rabbit calls from a silent vehicle then shooting with Daryl’s .22-250 heavy barrelled varmint rifle with a 12-24X scope at ranges often exceeding 300 metres in the powerful spotlight. It was a fabulous night out and we finally got to bed about 3am, with ringing eardrums and covered in orange dust.

Our Melbourne adventure was a lot of fun and New Zealanders should expect to see more Australians visiting here to fish and hunt as airfares become cheaper and travel becomes easier. However, if you thought New Zealand’s ‘‘nanny state’’ was oppressive, you should check out Australia, which is a deceptively bureaucratic country. Australians are losing the right to own firearms, duck-hunting rights have been seriously impaired, fishing is highly regulated and complicated, trout have been poisoned in certain waterways to make way for native fish, and it is illegal to own a set
net for fishing coastal waters.

In New Zealand we need to avoid the Australian experience at any cost – and resist losing our outdoor freedoms that we often take for granted.
 

Flounder Fishing in Waimea Estuary, Nelson

 

© Zane Mirfin, wildside Column, In Pursuit of the Humble Flattie, Nelson Mail, 8 November 2008

Night Moves:  Zane Mirfin with another mid-winter Flounder dinner.

Call me a heathen but I love catching flounder. Sure, I get to go on some fantastic fishing and hunting trips each year to more exciting locations and for more exotic species, but when it comes to fish, flounder are one of my all-time favourites.

New Zealand has eight commercial flatfish species with the most common recreational catches including sand flounder, yellowbelly flounder and lemon sole, all of which grow up to a maximum length of about 45cm. Most flatfish species reach legal catchable size within two years living on a diet of small crustaceans such as sand hoppers, crabs, marine worms and small molluscs. Flatfish are a very important commercial and recreational resource because of their wide distribution in shallow coastal waters, where they are readily accessible to fishermen.

Flounder also taste great and are wonderful table fare cooked whole in a pan, rolled first in flour and then fried in a little butter or oil, with a twist of lemon and pepper. Picking away at a whole flounder is a great meal, with the succulent white flesh, crispy skin, and roe all being edible.

The second point I enjoy about flounder fishing is that it is generally close to home, so you can nip out for a few hours of fun without having to burn excessive rubber or diesel. More than 90 per cent of New Zealanders live within 40km of the coastline, so flounder-catching opportunities are never far away in coastal bays, lagoons and estuaries around the country.

Third, I enjoy the attraction of the tidal estuaries where there is always something happening and always something to enjoy, be it the birdlife, the tides, or the wide-open spaces. Out in the middle of the mudflats can give great perspective looking back at the excesses of humanity on the built up shores.

Maybe there is even a historical aspect to my love of floundering, with rich memories of floundering trips to Rabbit Island and Ruby Bay with my parents and my grandparents over many decades, something I have been enjoying with great success with my own children. My little girl, Rosie, even calls herself ‘‘Daddy’s Flounder Girl’’.

The flounder resource has held up well over the years, with good bags of fish still a reasonable expectation under favourable conditions, depending on location and time of year.

As with many fish species, there is more than one way to catch a flounder:

Spearing them at night is a lot of fun and as boys, my brother and I used to flounder at night with our father, using carbide lamps and later, submerged, battery-operated lights. Stalking shallow beach water and estuarine areas by night offers a totally different dimension to fishing. The fish life can be prolific, with mullet, eels and other creatures of the night more common than the skittish flounder, which can be difficult to see, camouflaged against the sand or mud.

Spear fishing is never as successful as net fishing but sure is a lot of fun. One of my childhood memories is lying in bed after a successful late-night sortie, listening to the beheaded and gutted flounder still flapping in the fridge.

Net fishing is always the most successful way to catch flounder. Drag netting off beaches is great social fishing where teams of participants take turns at hauling the net along shallow coastal beaches. Drawing the short straw and being allocated the ‘‘deep end’’ on a cool autumn morning is a brass monkey adventure.

Nets called beach seines can also be used, being taken offshore by dinghy, and then hauled back ashore by two teams using ‘‘warp’’ ropes. This was the preferred method of my grandfather and we had some great catches on those magic summers long ago.

In recent years, my flounder fishing method of choice has been set netting, where the net is set from my dinghy
using grapnel hooks, chain, ropes and floats at each end of the net. My preferred net configuration is a nine mesh high net that can be used anywhere including the Marlborough Sounds which have special netting regulations.

Flounder move with the tide in their search for food and swim close to the bottom so there is no advantage in using a higher net which only catches current and excess weed. Big mesh is also an advantage and I prefer 15-17.5cm mesh so as to only catch decent-sized flounder which are wedged at the widest point on their flat body. I normally just fish the first half of the incoming tide in channels and estuaries before currents become too strong.

In extreme cases, nets can turn inside out or become clogged with weed. One day out in the Waimea Estuary we caught more sanitary pads from the Bell Island sewage plant than flounder.

In open coastal water, it is possible to catch flounder at any stage of the tide. As with any fishing method, experience and knowledge is useful in obtaining good bags of flounder – anyone who says that catching fish in a net takes no skill doesn’t know what they are talking about.

Flounder can be caught throughout the year, although they are at their most plentiful in spring, summer and autumn. They are a bountiful local resource and are a popular recreational fish throughout the country.

Some days, too, there can be lots of competition out on the water. On a recent floundering trip, my father Stuart and friend Graham Reburn squared off in their boat against my brother Scott and me in our rubber boat. The old guys were like something out of the TV programme Last of the Summer Wine with their antics and banter.

As a boy, I can remember my father bemoaning unemployed guys shooting all the deer while he had to work during the week. The thought did occur to me that these days, we workers have to compete against all the retired guys catching all the flounder.

 

Family Fishing

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, The Family that Fishes Together, Nelson Mail, 11 October 2008

HOOKED ON FISHING: The Mirfins about to set off on another family adventure. Parents Zane and Aimee
are ankle-deep with Jake, 8, Ike, 6, Rosie, 4 and Charlotte, 3.

‘‘In our family there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing,’’ said Norman McLean in his epic book A River Runs Through It.

In the Mirfin family, fishing probably is our religion. It’s been a major part of my life for as long as I can remember, and I get great joy watching my kids developing an unhealthy  obsession in the fine art of fishing, too.

Being the spring school holidays, we like to get away and have fun together, and for the kids, that means doing some fishing together.

Getting away these days is always a mad panic of packing up, cleaning the house, finishing jobs in the office and just plain getting organised. This year, we’ve had to take two vehicles and a boat to fit two adults, four kids
and all the necessary gear in.

It’s a big job going on holiday because we like to be ready for any contingency or opportunity. This year, we’ve got the gear to handle floundering, whitebaiting, trout fishing, clothes for the theatre and feral pigeon and rabbit shooting.

As always, we never get as much done as planned, tiredness catches up with us, the weather doesn’t cooperate, the tides are wrong or, as in this holiday’s epic, we all fall victim to the plague.

Vomiting bugs all round and an ear infection for our younger daughter made for a fun holiday week.

Despite the drama, we managed a great few early days at Lake Rotoiti at the family bach before heading off to stay with Aimee’s family.

We got some trolling in despite rough, cold weather, with modest success on the local trout population. Trolling is where lines are towed behind the boat at varying depths in the hope of crossing the path of a trout.

We have most success in the alpine lakes of Rotoiti and Rotoroa with leadlines (lines with a lead core) that get the lure deep, a long 10-20m leader of 10lb maxima nylon, and the favoured Tassie Devil lure.

The boys particularly enjoyed the boating, and it was great to see them developing confidence in driving the boat and handling it at the ramp and on the trailer – I noted with satisfaction that it won’t be too many years before the boys are taking me out fishing.

Many of the waters we fish as a family are open year-round. While everyone is tripping over themselves on up-country waters, it is rare for us to see another angler.

Fishing from a boat is great way to go anyway – you keep your feet dry, keep the kids corralled and safe, and get to go where others have trouble getting to. There are virtually hundreds of places you can go in the northern South Island, and we’ve had a lot of fun as a family trying out differing locations.

It is true that it is getting harder for families to experience the great outdoors as the pressure on them continues to rachet up. Fishing opportunities close to major urban centres are becoming harder to find, people are busier and work harder, and many of the outdoor skills of generations ago have been lost.

To be successful on the fishing front, you need to be more savvy and, most of all, be prepared to put the time in to learn and adapt.  My parents Stuart and Sherry were always great believers that family fishing and hunting had to be fun.

Dad was always dreaming up ‘‘soft adventures’’ to take my brother and I on. He would never push us, and made the adventures progressively more demanding and exciting as we gained confidence and proficiency.

Dad told me recently that he believes parents should always try to be heroes to their children and lead by example. If I can be half the man my father was as a parent, I would be very proud.

Finally, the stars aligned on our family holiday and we were ready to go.

Three great evenings out fishing for big trout, with more yet to go. Evening one, No 2 son was insistent we go despite the strong cold southerly winds.

It worked a treat, and big, beautifully coloured brown trout came easily to the net. In the half-light as I trailered the aluminium boat, I was already being asked by an excited little boy about where we would go fishing the next day.

Evening two was a cracker. Warm evening sun and no one else around.

I was taking my father-in-law’s excellent GP and his two lovely daughters out on the girls’ first ever fishing trip.

Steve, Lucy and Katie weren’t quite sure what to expect, and couldn’t believe it when the rod tip bucked strongly and Lucy, 11, was into her first big brown trout.

The fish came stubbornly to the net and we all cheered as I hoisted 8lb of trout over the side of the boat. Katie, 9, managed another trout nearly as big soon after, and when the girls had caught another one each, we decided to head for home. Steve texted the same night to my mobile – ‘‘Bragging pix already in the UK. Awesome evening the girls will never forget’’.

Evening three was maybe even better. My brother Scott, his wife Kirstie and our nephews Lochy and Ryan were in town for the day to spend quality family time together. After a great day doing other things, we headed out for a family fishing effort with two small boats.  Shambolic is the word, as Aimee and Kirstie rugged up the kids with warm clothes and
lifejackets while Scott and I launched the boats and readied the equipment.

What fun we had for a couple of hours until the small children wore out and the tears began. By then, Lochy, 4, and Ryan, 2, had caught their first trout, among other fish landed, hooked and lost by our kids.

Ryan’s nearly 3kg trout was almost too much for him but with help from the other kids, it was safely netted. When rain threatened and we could feel the cold of the advancing southerly front, it was time to go.  But the special memories and photographic images obtained will probably last a lifetime.

Family fishing is fun and highly addictive. Hey, it’s time to go – I’ve got a six-year-old tugging on my arm telling me that his rod is loaded in the truck and it is time to catch another big trout. 
 

Tasman Bay, Nelson Snapper

 

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Snapper - an abundant local resource, Nelson Mail, 13 September 2008

FROM SEA TO TABLE: Scott Mirfin fillets a snapper. The past season was one of the best in decades.

Tasman Bay is a glistening jewel that enthralled early explorers like Tasman and D’Urville and continues to dazzle modern Nelsonians today.

Life has certainly changed in almost 200 years of European settlement but the one constant that remains is the snapper of Tasman Bay.

Snapper were abundant when my ancestors Ann and Thomas Hill arrived on a sailing ship, the Thomas Harrison,
in 1841, and the snapper are abundant still for my children, who are seventh-generation Nelson snapper fishermen.
 

It is no secret that the past summer was one of the best snapper seasons for top of the south recreational anglers in
decades. We are fortunate to have such a marvellous resource so close and so available to all.
 

Snapper (Chrysophrys auratus) are a wonderful saltwater fish, and it is probably fair comment to label them the country’s best-known and most popular marine fish.
 

Common around most of New Zealand except for south of Hokitika on the West Coast and south of Kaikoura on the
east, snapper is an important recreational and commercial species.
 

The term ‘‘snapper’’ is a bit of a misnomer – they are actually a type of sea bream, hence the local term ‘‘brim’’ for smaller, pan-sized specimens (called ‘‘pannies’ in the North Island). Smaller snapper are generally school fish, while older and larger specimens can be more solitary.
 

They are most commonly caught in inshore waters during late spring to autumn, when waters are warmer – most fish retreat to deep water during winter.
 

Snapper fresh from the sea are a lovely pinky silver with blue spots, while older specimens (up to 60 years old) can be dark red, depending on where they have been living.
 

All New Zealand fish resources, including snapper, are managed by MFish and subject to rules, regulations and bag limits, which vary throughout the country.
 

The great thing about snapper is that they can be caught by a variety of methods, mostly near the bottom, where they eat all sorts of small fish, shellfish, crabs and worms.
 

Snapper are also a mid-water fish and range throughout the water column, depending on the season and food opportunities. They are an aggressive fish and are great fighters on a rod and line, and can be caught with bait, jigs, flasher rigs, synthetic soft baits, trolled lures and even artificial flies.
 

Catching these fish with light tackle from the beach or boat can be a real buzz.
 

Setlines with 25 baited hooks, set-nets that gill and finwrap snapper, and even beach seining with long ropes are more passive ways of catching a feed.
 

Snapper are a great table fish but at about $30 a kilogram at the fish shop, almost unaffordable to most families.
 

Fish should be killed with a spike at capture and put on ice immediately. Salt-water ice is best, and don’t wash the fillets in fresh water – salt water is always best.
 

Watch your hands as snapper are spiny beasts and thrashing fish can carve your hands up with bites and spikes that could become infected.
 

You can cook and serve snapper in a variety of ways, including frying, baking, grilling, fish pies, smoked – you name it.
 

Filleting is a good way to get most of the flesh off but only uses about half the fish. I now also cut off the fleshy flaps
behind the gill case, which includes the side fins, and smoke these pieces with the skin on in my portable smoker – they are delicious to pick away at with friends, accompanied by a fine ale.
 

Last summer I bought an outside boil-up pot, burner and bracket that runs on gas. Once snapper carcasses are gutted and gilled, they can be boiled up with onions, herbs and spices to make outstanding fish stock for chowders, bouillabaisse etc.
 

The final use of the snapper carcasses is to bury them under some of your olive or citrus trees and just watch your trees grow.
 

Snapper are a wonderful sporting fish. Long may they swim in our coastal waters for us to harvest and enjoy.

   
 

Felt soled Boots & Fly Fishing in New Zealand

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Felt-sole move putting the Boot into Anglers, Nelson Mail, 30 August 2008

AT RISK: River crossings will be more dangerous if felt-soled fishing boots are banned and replaced with rubber soles.

October 1, 2008 may be a black day for New Zealand recreational fishermen.

On October 1, set netting will be banned around much of the New Zealand coastline, fishing for blue cod in the inner Marlborough Sounds will cease, and in the latest bombshell for freshwater anglers, the right to wear felt-soled wading boots may be removed after a decision by the Minister of Conservation on the advice of Fish and Game New Zealand.

For the uninitiated, felt soles are glued to the sole of most trout fishing boots to allow safe wading in rivers. The felt soles wear out over time and are readily replaced but they give safe passage for anglers on slick cobbles and rocks.

Make no mistake – felt soles are an essential piece of equipment for successful trout fishing, and as Nelson fishing guru Tony Entwistle pointed out recently, ‘‘felt soles were instrumental in creating a whole range of fishing opportunities for anglers’’.

I agree and believe rubber soled boots are going to make trout fishing less effective, less enjoyable, and definitely a whole lot less safe.

The reason for the felt sole ban is supposedly to stop the spread of the invasive alga Didymosphenia geminata (didymo), a native of the northern hemisphere that is now established in the South Island. It is considered that didymo can survive longer on felt soles than other less porous surfaces, which may increase the risk of transmission to another waterway.

Fears of the alga spreading to the North Island and further contamination of South Island rivers are the reasons cited for the ban. Anglers are feeling victimised by the decision and by Fish and Game, the organisation that they believe should represent their interests.

Many believe Fish and Game has closed the door when the horse has already bolted. Those of us who have been cleaning our gear conscientiously since 2005 when didymo turned up in the Nelson-Marlborough region don’t believe
that banning felt soles is going to achieve anything. If anything, rubber soles may mean anglers take less care cleaning
their equipment.

The new regulations only affect anglers, and have nothing to do with other spreaders of didymo such as
swimmers, kayakers, dogs, stock, Department of Conservation vehicles, hikers and native birds such as black shags, which have no such restrictions placed upon them.
 
Interestingly, many brands of wading boots have up to five layers of fabric in their construction, so removing the felt soles is unlikely to make much difference at all in the transmission of didymo but will certainly increase the risk of injury and drowning for anglers through a lack of in-stream traction.

Rob Wilson, of Evolve Outdoors Group in Wellington, is a major importer of waders and wading boots and believes
that anglers have no choice but to embrace the change to rubber soles.

Wilson points out that there will be a lot of new boots for importers and retailers to sell. By his estimate, there may be only 3000 pairs of alternative soles available in New Zealand at present and up to 120,000 NZ anglers requiring new boots by October 1. Many anglers are hopping mad that they will need to buy new boots (commonly $200-plus per pair) with no compensation in sight. Lodges and guides often have dozens of pairs of feltsoled boots to outfit customers. My
guiding business has in excess of 20 pairs in various states of repair, from old to brand new, available for use. Grinding felt soles off existing boots and replacing them with inferior rubber soles is going to be a big job.

However, the threat of a Fish and Game conviction and a maximum $5000 fine will motivate most anglers to comply
with the new regulations.

Fish and Game staff have been caught in the crossfire by angry anglers.

Nelson-based Fish and Game manager Neil Deans believes that most anglers want to do the right thing to minimise the chance of spreading didymo. He concedes that the decision is contentious but says it is based on public consultation and that proper process was followed at all times. He rightly notes that ‘‘the whole tale of didymo is one of missed opportunities’’.

I also spoke to the national director of Fish and Game, Bryce Johnson, who reasoned that the decision was a ‘‘probability argument’’ and that banning felt soles was ‘‘an opportunity to minimise a potential vector’’.

He said the ‘‘strategic border’’ between north and south islands had to be protected and that ‘‘anglers need to think
beyond self-interest and to think about the threat didymo poses to the resources that they currently enjoy’’.

Was the decision to ban felt soles the right move? Not according to every angler I’ve talked to. The fallout will be costly to Fish and Game in terms of future support from anglers and in future licence sales from both local and overseas anglers.

One bright angler observed that Fish and Game is ‘‘fiddling while Rome burns’’.

Myself – I’m not looking forward to getting back in the stream with a recovering broken ankle, dodgy rubber boots and rocks like oiled bowling balls. Believe me, I know all about slipping on wet, icy rocks with rubber boots.
  
 

Guest speaker takes in sights on the fly

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Guest Speaker takes in sights on the fly, Nelson Mail, 16 August 2008

Destinations: A broken ankle keep Zane from pursuing Golden Trout in the high Sierras, but Aimee, on driving duty, made sure he got to the many compensatory experiences the US had to offer. Photo: Lance Severson

Aimee and I returned recently from a great trip to Southern California, mostly holiday and part business to promote our tourism fishing business, Strike Adventure.   One of the great parts of the visit was being the guests of seven Californian fly fishing clubs.

Being chosen as the New Zealand speakers to address the clubs was a big honour and privilege and we got to meet many great fishing people along the way between Santa Barbara and San Diego.

Our trip had become uncertain when I broke my ankle three weeks before departure but with medical blessings we set forth, reliant on wheelchair, moonboot and crutches.

In hospital, I’d read Mark Inglis’ book Legs on Everest and I figured if a guy with no legs could climb the world’s tallest mountain, then a puny fishing guy from Nelson with a broken ankle could take on Los Angeles with crutches.

Mid-summer in Southern California is hot and sticky, and fires everywhere had made the air thick with smoke.

What struck me most since I had last spent time on the ground there 17 years ago was the traffic, the noise and the mile upon mile of concrete urban jungle.

Air pollution had improved since my last visit but the traffic was fearsome, and Aimee was a great driver who adapted well to right-hand travel and the voice of the GPS unit and as many as eight lanes of traffic flowing one way.

There were no rivers in the gullies, only freeways and rivers of cars – even then, people told us that traffic flows were one-third lower than normal due to high petrol prices.

The LA river was the only fishable fresh water near Los Angeles, home to fat carp up to 15lb (6.8kg).The great guys at a local fly shop called the Fisherman’s Spot gave me a T-shirt to take home – ‘‘Fish the LA river’’, the shirt says, ‘‘a sewer runs through it’’.

One night, we were invited to the Santa Monica house of one of our regular fishing clients, Skip, a Hollywood deal broker, and his movie star wife. Skip and a friend had caught and released 60 sharks up to 130lb (60kg) on fly the same day.

A great dinner ensued at a top restaurant, surrounded by beautiful people. The service and food was great, and I could see why when our young George Clooney look-alike waiter told me that Skip owned the restaurant.

The US economy is based on excessive consumption, particularly of energy. There is an insatiable demand for vehicle fuel, natural gas and electricity to maintain the American lifestyle in a harsh environment.

Things were tightening up fast, with TV and newspaper media talking down the economy at every chance. Unfortunately, this will have a big impact on New Zealand tourism.

One great fishing store we visited was BassPro. Apparently, when this store first opened, it blocked freeways as city fishermen flocked to it. The gear in the store had to be seen to be believed – fishing on the ground floor and hunting on the next floor. I rode around the store on an electric shopping cart, marvelling at the mounted animals, aquariums, boats and equipment.

There was even a trout stream flowing through the store, complete with large trout and shooting galleries upstairs. After five hours, Aimee dragged me out of BassPro, but I was disappointed because I hadn’t got to see everything.

The fishing clubs were great, with some clubs having 300 members, although with it being mid-summer, many anglers were away on fishing holidays in Montana and other exotic locations. Still, we had good attendances, with lots of anglers coming to see the New Zealander talk. It never ceased to amaze me about the great reputation New Zealand has in the eyes of Americans.

Fishing clubs have the same problems attracting younger anglers to the sport as in New Zealand and most anglers were in their ’60s, ’70s and ’80s. The Pasadena Casting Club was one of my favourite clubs, with an outdoor clubroom and casting pond, a very friendly crew and one of the bigger meetings.

I had hoped to hike into the high Sierras with friends in pursuit of golden trout, one of the few US trout species I hadn’t caught, but my leg put paid to that. Luckily, I got to see golden trout in a Sea World aquarium and, being in America, I was able to buy a book at a fly shop so I could read all about golden trout before my next visit.
 

Wharf Fishing Nelson

 

© Zane Mirfin, Wildside Column, Wharf a good Place to Start, Nelson Mail, 19 July 2008

Mapua Wharf: This new extension to the old Mapua Wharf floats up and down with the tide and make access easy.

Wharves, kids, and fishing for sprats are a natural combination around the  ports, harbours and estuaries of New Zealand. Here in Nelson, we are fortunate to have a multitude of venues suitable for family fishing. Nelson Wharf, Sunderland Pier, Richardson St Fishing Platform, Mapua Wharf and Port Motueka are just a few examples that spring to mind, but with a bit of research, imagination and experimentation, many more places are available throughout the Marlborough Sounds and Golden Bay.

They make for great places to learn the skills and enjoyment of fishing in a safe and easy-access environment.

Small baitfish are attracted to the stable environment of wharves. Most of the fish caught will be small and rarely of a size to bother cooking – the humble spottie and the yellow-eyed mullet, but also mackerel and kahawai – but sometimes a good-sized specimen of snapper, kahawai, gurnard or dory will start tugging on someone’s line, so you just never know.
Light tackle is the way to go and eln cheapo kids’ rod and reel sets are readily available at any local sports store. These rods take a real hiding with young kids stepping on them and shutting them in car doors so it’s probably wise to not have too much money tied up in them. The cheapest version can be as simple as a spool of nylon, although a rod and reel is more effective and fun for young kids.

One thing that has always staggered me is just how unsuccessful many wharf anglers are when it can be so easy to catch a bucketful of fish. A few pointers for new chums would be to go on a nice high-pressure day with light winds. Try to fish either side of the high tide, when water volume will be at a good level and strong ocean currents will be lessened.

All the fish species above respond well to ground bait or berley. You can buy all sorts of fancy berley pots to disperse attractants but they are easily made out of chicken wire or drilling holes in old peanut butter jars or milk bottles. Add some cord long enough to reach the bottom and a few rocks or chunk of lead for a weight and you are set to go.

The berley you put in your pot can be as simple as pieces of bread, cereal scraps from breakfast, or dinner scraps.  Add a few tablespoons of tuna oil, frozen commercial burley preparations, chicken pellets and/or fish scraps and you will have a winning combination. If your berley pot is positioned in the upper of the water column, you will tend to catch sprats and mackerel, while if you fish your berley on the bottom, you will often catch more spotties and other fish types, so it pays to vary your technique depending on what you are trying to achieve.

Get your berley pot in the water early to let the magic begin and then lower your lines over the side downstream of the berley flow and at about the same depth.

One thing I’ve noticed over the years is that most people use hooks that are too big. Use a light line and small hooks. A tiny sliver of frozen squid is our bait of choice.

Arm yourself with a pair of surgical forceps to remove hooks from fish. Many fish can be released alive once your kids have satisfied their initial desire to take fish home to show grandparents and friends. If you can avoid handling the
fish, clamp the hook with the forceps and flip the fish back into the water unharmed.

Pinching the barb down on small hooks also aids fish release and helps when someone hooks themselves or their
clothing.

I try to limit my kids’ fish kill so that there are always plenty of fish left for other days and other people. There are no fisheries regulations governing many wharf-fish species but if you are taking fish away, then the onus is on the supervising angler to understand and abide by the regulations.

A bucket is a good place to store and display caught fish and we try to never waste fish, offering them to neighbours
to feed their cats, burying them in the garden as a marvellous fertiliser, or keeping them for bait on later adventures.

Another great technique from wharves is jigging using the ready-made sabikitype strings of three to six hooks dressed with flashy materials. Unwind the rig, tie to your rod and line, clip a small sinker on the bottom and you are ready to go. Lower the rig into the water and lift up and down to mimic small fish or shrimps. The fish will hook themselves. When you feel a fish on, let it struggle a little, as its motion will attract other fish to attack. It can be common to catch a
fish on each hook.

Nelson Mail photographer Martin de Ruyter used to make his own jigs for fishing the wharf with his boy Troy by wrapping white cotton around small hooks to imitate small flakes of bread in the berley trail. It is a deadly technique.