We smash North Island, again: 2 days, 40 trout

Mike fishing a bank run on the Whanganui River

Words: MIKE GEE   Photos: MIKE GEE and GEORGINA SWAN   Video: GEORGINA SWAN

"We outfished the 2008 French World Fly Fishing Championships team, 11-0"

It's becoming a pleasant habit. Fly into Auckland on North Island, New Zealand, at Easter, drive to Turangi, stay at Sportsman's Lodge, hit the mighty Tongariro River and the superb Whanganui River, add in the beautiful Tauranga-Taupo (TT) River, catch a lot of fish, drop a whole lot more, and have some of the best trout fishing you'll ever experience.

• Check out the full gallery of 40 photos

This time it was a flying visit over Easter; two-and-a-bit-days, five hours on the Tongariro, three hours on the Tauranga-Taupo and a day on the Whanganui with our mate and guide, Ken Drummond. The weather stayed perfect - 21C days, a little cloud, the odd drizzle over night. And the fish? Over the years we've always asked 'where do the small trout go in New Zealand rivers?' The answer in 2015 is all over the place.

The rivers were literally teeming with little tykes starting at around 10-12cm. They were everywhere: small, crazy hyped-up rainbows. In one hour on the TT, we cast small size 16 dry flies into every possible river scenario: riffles, pools, currents, flat patches, under banks, and no matter where we cast one of these little trout would have a go at the fly. If we had dropped to size 20 or smaller, we could have caught 60 in an hour.

A typical 'tyke' taken from the Tongariro River; they were everywhere in the region

A day later, standing on the banks of the Whanganui, we watched them skipping downstream, hopping out of the water at anything they could imagine might be edible. Even the Tongariro, that most esteemed and difficult of rivers, was full of the little beasts, and amongst them on all the rivers were what Australian fly fishers would call "pannies"- 30-40cm pan-sized trout. It doesn't get much more fun. And, of course, lurking here and there were much bigger fish.

Our first hour hour on the Tongariro was a late afternoon burst just up from the Judges Pool after driving down from Auckland in Easter Friday traffic (tip: leave early to avoid the worst of it). First cast I had a 20cm rainbow on a hare and copper gold beadhead nymph, the top fly in my two nymph set-up - with a pheasant-tail nymph as the dropper. To be honest, the little bugger scoffed the fly on the swing, thus reducing the skill level involved in catching it to not much at all. However, I'll always take it!

It should be said that this weekend there was plenty of 'picket fencing' on the Tongariro in the more popular spots, yet strangely if you walked and bush bashed for 300-400m you had a lengthy section of water to yourself. When we left on Monday morning around 8am there were six fly fishers in the water just down from the highway bridge which crosses the river in about 200 metres. Not our idea of fun.

Nearing dusk on the Tongariro River

Anyway, that first day it got cold as the sun disappeared behind the volcanoes and Georgina remembered as her toes began to freeze that she had holes in the neoprene feet on her waders which hadn't been fixed (tip 2: remember to check your gear well before you leave; you've heard that one before haven't you!).

Easter Saturday dawned as near perfect as days get. It was market day in Turangi which means cake, fairy floss, more cake, stuff, and more cake stalls. We ventured into Sporting Life to see if they could help with Georgina's wader problem. While they didn't have the right size in women's waders they did spend 25 minutes finding a pair of men's waders that would fit her well and then took her damaged waders away to repair. When we came back two days later the holes had been fixed and there was no charge!

Founded by Graham and Cathy Whyman 30 years ago - the nicest couple you could meet - and run with the assistance of an all-star team including arch blogger and fly fishing fanatic, Jared Goedhart, Sporting Life not only looks after all the needs of the fly fisher hoping to nail a Tongariro monster but is a real part of the legend of fly fishing in the region. And what these people don't know about fly-fishing probably hasn't been discovered. So a big hats off and thank you to everybody at Sporting Life.

Georgina pulled six rainbows in as many casts
from this corner pool on the Tongariro

Back to the river in her borrowed waders, Georgina wasted no time in hooking up. In one pool just up upstream from the famous Blue Pool she pulled out six rainbows to 35cm in as many casts. I, meanwhile, hooked a couple as well and had that ultimate frustration of watching a nice 3.5-4lb fish follow my nymphs along for a good 15 metres, its head never more than a few centimetres away from the hare and copper gold beadhead. Ten for the morning - Georgina already had a couple of small ones before she hit the pool of plenty - was a good outcome for two hours fishing.

With the river beginning to fill up around us - there were at least three flyfishers in the Blue Pool  - we decided to take lunch and then head for somewhere a little less crowded.

A nice feisty rainbow from the Tauranga-Taupo river

Mid-afternoon found us on a sweeping bend - with pools at the both ends - of the Tauranga-Taupo (TT). Perhaps 15 minutes from Turangi, it is a world apart from the boisterous Tongariro, yet it is no less a major trout stream. The TT is a classic fly fishing river - never big and broad and hard to handle, it is a sleek small to medium beauty that according to our guide of the next day, Ken Drummond, fills with spawners a little later in the year. But for now it was filled with little fish - as mentioned above. Little fish that would hit any dry fly you presented to them. Talk about fun. And to cap it off Georgina hooked a lovely 35-40cm fish that did the classic dry approach and nailed it with gusto. Fabulous.

Wading upstream at this time of the year is easy - none of those large, slippery boulders that dominate the Tongariro and Whanganui, just a nice sandy bottom with plenty of crossing points. But like all impossibly attractive fly streams, the TT has a sting in its tail: timber.  Many of the best pools and runs have some associated wood - and that, of course, is where the bigger fish tend to sit, and we saw at least three or four nice specimens that refused to budge. The question was if they did, could we keep them out of the timber once hooked. Hopefully, we'll answer that in future trips.

It doesn't get much better than this: Fishing the TT
 as the sun sets

All in all we caught three more rainbows each and dropped another 5 between us. That meant 16 for the day with 6 dropped.

Easter Sunday promised some rain but dawned a little cloudy before giving way to the sun as the day progressed. We had a date with our mate Ken Drummond, who has been guiding in this region for years. It was our third time out with Ken following three previously memorable days that featured 'the submarine' and a fishing orgy on the Whanganui that saw us catch 41 and drop 12 trout over two days.

This time round Ken decided we should revisit the scene of that exciting - although very wet - first trip and see what damage we could do on a fine day. The Whanganui is one of my favourite three New Zealand rivers. Classic back country fishing through pools, runs and rapids it's broad sweep carries more than a hint of difficulty and danger but the promise of plenty of fish. And, once again, it didn't disappoint.

On this section which runs through private property, the Whanganui is about a perfect trout river as you can find. As we stood on the rock laden banks, small trout hurled themselves out of the water close to the far bank where the water ran still and fast, their targets so small they could hardly be seen.

This Whanganui rainbow weighed in at 4.25lb

Ken headed us off downstream so we could access the back end of a 60-metre section that featured a lot of ripples running off some small rapids with nice lines of flat water between the chopped up faster water. It was in this flatter water, he had us cast. Two hours later George had four rainbows to 4.25lb and had dropped another two, while I had three rainbows including a nice 5lb pound fish and had also dropped three more fish around the 3-5lb mark, the first of which had Ken scratching his head.

When I hooked into it - on a purple caddis that matched what Ken showed was attached to many of the rocks - it didn't go left, it didn't go right, it didn't go upstream, it just took off at breakneck speed straight at me. Now as I hooked it no more than four metres in front of me, this meant by the time it passed over my boot I had a wall of line and leader in my face. a section of leader snagged the reel handle and 'snap' the fish was gone. Ken, who was watching from a few metres away reckons he's never seen a fish do anything like that before. It did mean I got a close and personal look at it in the crystal clear water as it went by though.

Five pounds of Whanganui rainbow

The five-pounder was a beauty. A typical Whanganui rainbow on steroids. As we've mentioned previously in this blog, Whanganui rainbows are brutes. They bend your arms, your rod, your muscles, your mind, like no other trout. They are as unpredictable as they are unbowed. Even the smaller fish come with super strength. This one took about 10 minutes to subdue. It's weight was in its girth: one fat fish. Likewise, Georgina's 4.25lb fish gave her a good work out, heading upstream, downstream, across stream, back downstream, upstream and around behind her, before finally succumbing.

The afternoon session was spent fishing longer runs in deeper water. Georgina pulled out a couple of nice fish in the 2.5-3.5lb range while I landed a couple of those feisty smaller fish and dropped a nice 3.5-4lb fish that hopped out of the water five times before finally managing to throw the hooks.

Georgina and Ken shared the credit for this fish

As a finale, while walking Georgina out of the water, Ken was idly casting around with her Sage - he makes it look ridiculously easy - and hooked into a good three-pound fish which he left Georgina to land. So they shared it.

But a word of warning: never underestimate the dangers associated with big New Zealand rivers like the Tongariro and Whanganui: Ken went over despite using a wading stick and got a soaking from head to foot while I ended the day by sliding down a high bank, hitting a flat rock which was wet and very slippery, meaning there was no grip for my boots which went out from underneath me and I slammed back down into the surface. A week later the bruising on my arms is beginning to fade, the internal soft tissue damage in my back is beginning to heal and the fractured rib is a little less painful. It could have a been a lot worse. According to my doctor 3cm to the right and the bole on the rock that slammed into back would have slammed into my spine; 5cm south it would have hit a kidney. I was lucky. I walked out of there.

Selfie with Whanganui trout

So tread very carefully when you fish these rivers. The Whanganui is very slippery - in and out of the water - and there are deep holes where you least expect them so a walking stick is very necessary. On several occasions I could have easily taken one or two steps left or right and dropped from water that was just above my waist to water that would have been well above my head (and I'm 186cm).

All up the day delivered 12 rainbows with another six dropped. For the trip, we came away with 29 fish landed and 12 dropped in just over two days - about 14 hours - of fishing.

To Ken Drummond - you're a legend!, the folk at Sporting Life, Sportman's Lodge, and the people of Turangi and its surrounds, our thanks. You make these trips so special. And, of course, we will be back.

Oh, and one final thing, we would like to state for the record that we outfished the 2008 French World Fly Fishing Championships team which were revisiting the Whanganui the day we took it on and fished upstream from us. End result: Australia/New Zealand 11, France 0!!!!!



The beauty of a release from Georgina Swan on Vimeo.

Mike fished with an Orvis Helios Tip Flex 7-weight rod and Orvis Battkenkill Large Arbor IV reel. George fished with a Sage One 6-weight rod and Grey's G-Tec 350 reel.

Whanganui wonders, Pt 2, Easter 2013

Georgina Swan plays a Whanganui rainbow as Ken Drummond 
moves in to net

Words: MIKE GEE   Photos: MIKE GEE and GEORGINA SWAN   Video: GEORGINA SWAN

It was Easter 2013 and a long localised drought - it hadn't rained heavily for a month - meant the local trout sitting in Lake Taupo waiting for a signal from the Gods to begin their annual spawning run were going nowhere fast and getting fatter by the day, and the Taupo region rivers and streams were down in height but no less enticing.

The Tongariro was getting slimed by an obnoxious green weed which coated the boulders under foot and made wading some sections of the river a somewhat slippery affair. The Whanganui, however, was less affected, but still a little treacherous in parts.

• GALLERY: Whanganui River 2011 and 2013
• Whanganui Wonders, part 1

Some 70km from Turangi, the Whanganui River is as broad as the sward through which it forages relentlessly; a flyfisher's dream of endless runs, ripples, pools and drop-offs. If a river could be custom-built for trout then the Whanganui would be it.

Unlike the heavy-hitter further upstream carving its way through forests and farmland alike, here it finds home amid pastures and small towns alike. When it comes to one of the latter then access is usually is easy. 

We spent two days on a stretch of river no more than 800 metres long with our friend and guide, Ken Drummond, who we introduced in part one of this tale. Between us, Georgina and I caught 41 fish - including some rainbows up to 5lbs and plenty of little nippers at the  other end of the scale - and dropped or lost another 12 big ones.

But we get ahead of ourselves. Let's go back a couple of days. When in Turangi we stay at the Sportsman's Lodge. It's on the edge of town, literally next to the river and has everything the do-it-yourself fisher person needs. And it's well-priced.

Fighting a Tongariro rainbow

We got to Turangi a day and a fraction before our two days with Ken. We like a warm-up day to explore and get the casting bugs out (or in my case develop some new ones). And any chance to fish the mighty Tongariro is worth taking. We decided to target the Admiral's Pool because we'd heard rumblings of fish in the area from some fellow Australian flyfishers who had just spent seven days on the river after fleeing their normal river of choice, the Eucumbene, in the Snowy Mountains region, which until very recently had been fishing particularly poorly - following an extraordinary 2011/12 season, one of the best in history. But flyfishing folk grow used to such frustrations, unpredictabilities, and inexplicable mysteries. They simply look elsewhere.

This duo had splendid stories to tell, of fish hooked and landed, and as many lost, including a couple of monsters that strung them up around rocks and snags after ensuring they removed plenty of line, as well. 

Ready for the girls ... a coloured-up rainbow trout

The day dawned fine, even warm, and we hit the river around 9am. The morning's sole victim fell to Georgina who was fishing a double bead head nymph (hare's ears) selection in the riffles just below the pool. It proved a feisty individual, indulging in several death rolls, three or four sprints and some tug-of-war before finally revealing itself as a male rainbow, all painted up and ready to chat up some girls. As you can see from the picture this chap was as red as they get.

A couple of missed chances broke up the run of things but in general it was reasonably quiet. Lunch beckoned so we retired to town by 2.15pm and indulged in a particular vice that lies in wait at Turangi bakery - its fried chicken. Chicken, bakery, odd - yes! But sensational. After that we topped up on flies at Sporting Life, tried to get as much information as we could out of Jared Goedhart, and decided to aim for the evening rise which on the Tongariro really is an evening rise.

On our previous visit in December 2012 we had called it quits about 7.15pm, fishless and uncertain what all the fuss was about. Jared explained it only takes place from dusk to dark - 30 minutes maximum. As usual he was right; as dusk dropped its gentle cloak the fish began to pop. Lots of little tykes, hopping and flipping and flopping, occasionally getting the themselves hooked. Georgina and I both had one, before we pulled stumps due to bad light. However, we did stop for a final unfurl of the line just under the highway bridge where the lights come into play. I had one solid hit and missed and then the 9pm chill forced a final retreat.

Next day dawned a little uninspired and drizzly and Ken was on the doorstep at 8am bristling with his usual energy and bonhomie. A quick stop at Creel Tackle Shop for licences and we were winding our way out of Turangi. Ken chattered away, setting the scene for potentially a day of big rainbows, small fry and a few browns tossed in for good measure.

An hour later we were on a stretch of Whanganui running through private property. By lunchtime I had caught 12 fish, none bigger than 30cm, none smaller than 20cm including my first double-header!

That's Mike in the distance - 20m closer
where he got his double header

Catching a double-header on fly is a bit like winning the lottery - somewhere in the realms of fantasy. Yet there I was in the middle of the Whanganui with a pair of young rainbows on the line. The top one had a hit one of Kenny's home tied size 12 green imitator nymphs at the beginning of the swing after a drift down a channel that had already produced another two fish. Its sibling had jumped on the trailing size 14 black beadhead nymph about 20 seconds later. The end result felt weird. Like I had a large fish capable of moving in two different directions at once. When they both surfaced I fumbled with the Panasonic Lumix FT4 I use - seriously the best small digital tough camera for in and out of water work - and failed to get photographic evidence. Luckily, Ken had witnessed the whole event from his vantage point with Georgina about 40m up stream. 

A nice 4lb rainbow

In the meantime, Georgina usually the most prolific of flyfishers when it comes to plucking trout from a river was strangely quiet ... the odd smaller rainbow but that was it for the first hour. Then she crash tackled a four-pounder which had both her and Ken celebrating. That was the opening salvo. About 25 minutes later, Ken screamed 'big fish on, Michael'. I looked up and saw George's rod bent nearly double and knew she was into a Whanganui rainbow on steroids. I immediately began trudging slowly upstream, keen to be there for the landing. Her landing rate is up around 85 per cent so the chances were good. They were a good 100 metres upstream and I was in some fairly deep water so it was time-consuming work on slippery rocks. 

Lovely fish, Georgina

Meanwhile, the fight was on. The rainbow began by sprinting to the far bank, then much to Georgina's consternation turned around and came straight back at her. George, in her own words then suffered a brain fart and decided to wind, rather than strip, the line in as the trout bore down on her. She rapidly found out speed of winding did not equal speed of trout. With loose line everywhere, she was convinced it had probably spat the hook and was already happily off downstream. To her amazement when she finally got all the line in the muscular salmonid was still there ... idling. 

In the tried and true Ken Drummond way she then applied pressure. This, from the rainbow's perspective, was not a good idea. I was about 30 metres away from her when the water about 15 metres and to my right erupted. A torpedo shot skyward, levelled out about six feet in the air, where it seemingly hung for a good few seconds, before plummeting back in with a resounding splash. I have never seen a trout in real life that fat. Eight pounds minimum, probably 10, it resembled a shiny glistening barrel. It was some fish. 

The arm wrestle continued for a few more minutes but finally it rid itself of that infernal hook and disappeared up the Whanganui. I'd already stopped walking up to them. I knew when it lifted off that nothing was going to halt that rainbow. Ken suggested Georgina fish to the top of the pool, she dissented, so he called lunch break immediately.

Back on dry land, Georgina was still recovering from the battle and the sheer brute strength the rainbow displayed. "I just couldn't stop it," she said. Ken in his normal laconic way, said, "Well that was a big one, hey."

To this day there is picture frozen in my mind of that thumping trout suspended in mid-air parallel to the water. And all of us gawping at it.

So there we were at lunch. Mike 12, Georgina 4. An unlikely score line. 

Georgina plays the first of the afternoon

The afternoon beckoned sunny and playful and Ken stepped us down stream to a run close to the left bank that featured a big pool about three-quarters of the way along. He gave Georgina the honour of that pool first. I gave her some needle and told her if she didn't get a fish in five minutes it was my pool. She got one in a tick over three. It took her longer to get to shore as it tried its best to outmuscle her. A good five-pounder.

Add a five-pounder to the list

Ken fell in love with her when she hooked another five minutes later. "Did you see her strike?," he said. "When she strikes she STRIKES. I love that."  Add a fish just under four pounds to the list. It bounced around a lot and jumped four times.

The object of his admiration proceeded to further demonstrate her striking ability by nailing a third fish within four casts of its predecessor being set free. This one decided that while pure muscle was all well and good, speed was a lethal weapon. So it turned, ignored Georgina's firm rod right and back position and hurtled off downstream taking line with it. She simply couldn't stop it. So Ken took off, net in hand, after it. George followed, maintaining pressure and winding as much as she could. I followed the pair. 

We started 150m away ...

We skated, stumbled and trotted after Ken who was a good 50 metres ahead. About 150 metres from where we started, he darted in to the water and netted the escapee. I was betting on a six-pounder at least, given the amount of line it had peeled, the blistering sprint and 10-minute fight. Ken strode up to us and held up the net ... a two-pounder, if that.

Talk about anti-climax. Truly a Whanganui rainbow on steroids.

But it was just a little guy

We looked at the almost pure silver bullet. It looked back. It looked tired. But back in the water it swam off with no prompting. The three of us trudged back to the pool where the gear sat. Georgina promptly declared her arms were too tired and sore to deal with any more fish. That was a first.

I had a few more casts but we were spent. I had caught 14 fish, Georgina 7 - although the last four she caught combined would have easily outweighed all of mine put together and then some.

The next day began full of drizzle drifting aimlessly down the green streets of Turangi, sloppy low clouds hung on the hill tops and the sky was immaculate in its even grey sheen. By the time we reached the Whanganui we had passed through four different mini-climate areas and were welcomed by milky sunshine. We had only worked half the water the previous day and Ken had some splendid runs and pools left. By lunch Georgina had 11 of the cut-throats under her belt and I had added six. Neither of us had anything larger but the river had changed with some heavy rain overnight lifting the level and flow rate. Still, we weren't complaining.

Over lunch we decided to return to the run and pool that had been so generous the previous day. I hooked but lost four good fish in the first 30 minutes, driving Ken to slight insanity, before landing a two-and-half pounder. The strength each displayed was unnerving.

Mike plays out a two-and-a half pounder in the Whanganui

One sat no more than 10 metres from shore and wrestled me, dared me to try and move it, and when I fell for its ploy, and increased the pressure, it moved a few inches left and cut the too taught line on a snag. Then Georgina missed another three solid specimens before catching two of the bright and bold youngsters that had so enlivened the two days. With rain brewing, and tired sore bodies we bade our farewells to this splendid river and its vivacious fish. I had caught 21 fish and Georgina 20. Extraordinary.There is nothing more to be said, other than to salute our guide, Ken Drummond. We will, of course, be back.   

Whanganui wonders, Pt 1, December 2011

Georgina Swan with her first Whanganui rainbow - around 5.5lb

Words: MIKE GEE   Photos: MIKE GEE and GEORGINA SWAN   Video: GEORGINA SWAN

The Whanganui River runs like a mighty vein in the lower arm of North Island, New Zealand.  Rising on the northern slopes of Mount Tongariro, it unfolds across the central plateau of North Island before eventually emptying out into the ocean at the town after which it is named. That makes it New Zealand's longest navigable river.

And mighty it is. Like the best of New Zealand's rivers, moody, aloof, challenging, and for most of its middle and upper reaches loaded with trout. A river that demands respect - as do its inhabitants.

• GALLERY: Whanganui River 2011 and 2013

In the afore-mentioned reaches within 80km radius of Turangi and the region's other great river, the Tongariro, it runs over a bottom that ranges from slippery boulder laden to gravelly and most types of substrate in between. Long channels, deep pools, run smooth and easily fordable in a dry early autumn, but churn and charge in a wet summer. But when in flood, the Whanganui becomes a monster best approached with caution - if it can be fished at all.

What makes the Whanganui a river to be devoured are its rainbow trout. These are no ordinary rainbows. As our guide and friend, the legendary Ken Drummond, is fond of saying, these are rainbows on steroids. Rainbows that wrench your arms from their sockets, that refuse to cooperate in any way vaguely fair. They have no notion of playing  by the book. They have no notion of surrender. None. Even the smaller ones, a kilo or under, bow to no fly fisher. There are browns, as well, and tough beasts they can be, but the rainbows, oh the rainbows ...

This two-part story begins with a wet day in December 2011 when Ken was called in by Tongariro Lodge to guide a couple of New Zealand fly fishing virgins. It was, in fact, our first day fly fishing in the country. And, as it turned out, one of the most memorable.

Ken Drummond isn't a big man, but he's huge in character. After 30 minutes you feel like you've known Ken half your life. He'll imitate a buck deer's mating roar while driving round a hair-pin corner, leaps and bounds through chapters as he gets deeper into a story that can range from the foundations of the Turangi region, to a detailed breakdown of the rivers he loves, and the mating rituals of the afore-mentioned deer.

Get out on a river with Ken and you'll find a man who has spent his non-guiding time on the same river climbing trees and any available high-ground to spot fish and their preferred lies, the correct approach to have every hole and channel. And all the time he'll natter, until a fish of reasonable size strikes, at which point galvanised in to action, he'll do just about anything to ensure it's landed.

But let's go back to that first day. It was pissing down but Ken had rung a farmer mate and found that a stretch of the Whanganui running through his property was still clear and at reasonable levels.

As we wound down a rutted farm track, Georgina and I weren't expecting what was just around the corner. As it burst into view this Whanganui was broad, smashed with boulders, runs, channels, pools everywhere, from its tree-lined banks to the back of mid-river riffles and far side deeps cutting against the fringes. It had an instant wow factor.
 

Mike and Ken head out to a run

It was then, as he parked his 4-wheel back from the bank and cast his eyes across the long sweep of river before us, that he uttered what has become our mantra when fishing with Ken: go slow to go hard. That is Ken's way.

Over the next six hours we worked our way down 600 metres of a river that at its broadest  was at least 60 metres - and for much of the time the rain fell, a whispering mist, occasionally interrupted by a giant's roar. Strangely though, it was quite pleasant. And when it came time to eat lunch the sun made its one brave salute to the day.

Mike with a 4.5lb brown trout

By then both Georgina and I had a fish each - mine a fine 4.5lb brown plucked from a hole no more than three metres from my feet and five offshore. 

Georgina had a rainbow from a channel that required a reasonable, but not too demanding, cast. While the brown mooched around, splashed its tail, indulged in the odd roll and seemed to consider that its proximity to shore made escape nigh on impossible, the rainbow had other ideas. It exhibited what we have come to recognise as a trait of Whanganui rainbows. 

Once hooked they often decide that becoming an immovable object is an excellent ploy. So there they sit. Out in the current, going nowhere. You can feel the occasional swish of the tail as they maintain position; unconcerned.

Ken's reaction to that is simple: bend the rod far right and down. And apply pressure. This does work. Eventually they give in and take off, coiled springs suddenly unleashed. Line peels, the drag is tightened and battle is joined. On this occasion Georgina triumphed - a 5.5-pounder her prize. 

Both trout fell to Ken's homemade beadhead nymphs. He also finds time to tie all his own flies when he isn't on a river or up a tree.

Georgina and her rainbow

Talking about trees, the afternoon began with Ken and Georgina wading under a large willow in search of a trout known to nestle in the shade of its bows. In fact, they'd seen it from high on the bank above. As the water flattened and cleared periodically and vision became possible, Ken pointed out a very big rainbow, only recognisable by the flash in those crystalline moments of the red on its flanks. So in they went but the rainbow wasn't in the mood, so Ken decided I should mine a channel on the far side of the river. Well, the water reached my chest at one stage as we ploughed across, Ken nimbly dragging me behind.

Eventually, we surfaced on a rise surrounded by pools and a channel; my casting wasn't at its best and Ken recognised that what better fishermen might have drawn from those pools was simply not on the radar, so he left me with the channel and returned to take Georgina upstream to another run. 

Ken and Mike at the run that would eventually give up the 'submarine'

"Yell, if you need me," he said, and headed inshore. The channel was a good 30-40 metres long, three or four metres wide, with plenty of areas to investigate. So there I stood moving a few metres left every couple of minutes to drift the double beadhead set-up over new territory, pushing it as close to the far bank as possible, along the drop off near my feet, eventually closing on the still water behind a rock at the left edge of the top of the channel.

For 10 or 15 minutes not much happened. My casting, aided by a friendly breeze, grew almost professional. It was probably on about the 30th cast that the white indicator suddenly disappeared. I remembered, although looking back I'm not sure how, to wait a couple of seconds before striking. When I did, my rod bent double. It felt like I'd hooked a log. A very large log. I actually cursed my luck. Then the log moved, not downstream like a log would in a current, but towards me. I took several steps backwards and the log followed. It was about this point that I realised this was a very large fish - and hailed Ken and Georgina: "I'm on!"

According to Georgina, Ken looked over, saw the rod bent double and said, "He's hooked the bottom." My wife immediately came to my rescue, pointing out that I had caught quite a few fish in my years and knew the difference between being bottom hooked and a piscatorial adversary. It was just at that moment that the fish began to follow me. Ken realised the truth of the matter. Georgina kept telling him to leave her and go and help me. But Ken, gallant as ever, insisted on getting her out of the river and then literally sprinted down the bank towards me. Georgina followed, whipping out her Panasonic Lumix DS3 camera (we  both now use Lumix cameras while fishing;  their underwater abilities and durability make them ideal for the job)  in the process). By then I'd managed to back a good 10-15 metres closer to shore but had reached a particularly deep pool. The log had happily followed, sometimes moving a metre or two upstream with a flick of the tail. It was within five or six metres of me when Ken and Georgina drew level, shouting "let it run, let it run".

In New Zealand guides like to let fish run. To this point the log hadn't wanted to. And I was happy it didn't. It was then that the water between the log and I flattened and cleared for a moment; it saw me, I saw a flash of large silver flank. The log then decided it would like to run. And turned into a submarine. So I let the drag slip, just a little - and let it run.  By the time Ken reached me, no me than 30 seconds later, I was down to the last 15 metres of backing! "We've got to stop it, Michael," yelled Ken, and grabbing my waist, literally hauled me to the shore as I held the rod high above my head attempting to restrain what now felt like a runaway train.

Once we got close to the bank, Ken grabbed the rod and off downstream after the former log now turned submarine, he went.

Have beached myself, Georgina, grinning, looked at Ken now gently blurring into the mellow rain and, said, "You'd better get out there. It's your fish." So off I went, eventually making it out to where Ken had reached his limit where the water dropped off into a deep channel. He's not the tallest man and the submarine had intelligently guided itself to a large rock and parked behind it. Reclaiming the rod and using my greater reach I managed to shift our adversary and get back some more line. It was a faint victory. The submarine then wrapped the line around the rock. I couldn't budge it. Ken had another  go, eventually put in mighty heave and ... the hook pulled free.

There was a moment's silence filled only by the whispering mist and the chatter of the Whanganui.  Then Ken uttered one succinct expletive and started reeling in line. "That was  at least 10-12 pounds, maybe even 15 or 16," he said. "It was massive. Huge. Wow!" He shook his head, "Wow."

Mike and Ken discuss the one that got away 

Ken to this day has no idea what was on the line. He still considers the possibility that the rumours of large chinook salmon in the Whanganui are true - unsuccessful attempts have been made to introduce the species to North Island, but, unlike South Island, they didn't thrive, however, fisher tales have persisted of a few hardy individuals in the upper reaches. Perhaps, this was one of them. It's bottom hugging tactics certainly fitted the bill. And perhaps it was a giant brown, all massive hook jaw and steely glint in the eye, and enough cunning and strength to defeat the best efforts of one of Turangi's finest and a first-day-flyfishing-in-New-Zealand-novice.

The rest of the day passed without incident or more fish. The rain persisted and eventually drowned out the late afternoon. No matter, it had been a day to savour; a splendid introduction to New Zealand fly fishing. And this story has a sweet epitaph. Next day we were in the excellent Sporting Life store in Turangi talking with the dedicated flyfisher, Jared Goedhart (who also runs its website and is the author of the must-read daily - or thereabouts - fishing report). Asked how we had gone I began to tell the submarine-that-got-away story. Barely a sentence in, Jared interjected, "So that was you!" Apparently, the monster-from-the-Whanganui had entered Turangi fishing folklore just a few hours after its escape when Ken had related the tale to Jared and friends.

It is an idle fancy to believe that I'll meet that fish again but every time we tackle the Whanganui it is with the knowledge that there are some very, very big fish in this extraordinary river. And you just never know ...

PART TWO: Mike's double-header and Georgina's missile lifts off