"BIG FISH AND LONG FACES", published by Trout & Salmon

May 2004



“Do you have many English fellas come out here, Boris?” I asked my guide, as the Hughes 500 lifted lightly into the crisp morning air. “Mainly Americans, really” Boris hollered over the intercom, doing his best to compete with the noise of the whirring blades. Alan, the helicopter pilot, crackled in through the headphones: “We did have a ‘pom’ out here for the last ten days or so…you just missed him…a guy called Jeremy Hermann” My heart sank, and continued to sink, as Alan told me how this same ‘pom’ had spent a king’s ransom on helicopters and had flown into just about every big-fish stream at the north end of New Zealand’s South Island.

Anyone who knows Jeremy will know what disastrous news this was…I’ve fished with him on the Yokanga in Northern Russia and witnessed at first hand how this whirlwind of a former world champion fly-fisherman can pretty much empty a river single-handed. ‘Cymag’ wouldn’t have had a much worse effect on the fishing.
Many guides in New Zealand had already told me how they were of the opinion that the big trophy browns of the south island only get caught once a season - if that. The idea of this demonic, piscatorial combine harvester going up all the rivers I’d long been dreaming of, just days before I arrived, filled me with a miserable, almost nauseous sense of anti-climax.

Catching the despondency ‘writ large’ on my face, Alan gave me a nudge and grinned: “Don’t worry, mate – he didn’t come in here!” “How do you know?” I asked, my mood lifting slightly. “Well, for one thing, I was the one flying him around” beamed Alan, “and for another, no-one EVER comes up here, except for Boris, that is – no-one else knows there’s fish in here!”

“Be warned” interjected Boris as we started to descend into the sheer-sided valley below us “even without Mr Hermann coming in here and catching them all, its going to be tough – tell him what you call this river, Alan” The pilot’s craggy features broke into a wry smile: “This is the river of big fish…and long faces”

By the end of the day, I could see exactly what he had been talking about.
As Boris and I set up camp for the night, I reflected on one of the most frustrating fishing days I’d ever had: a series of long walks through the stunning freestone valley, punctuated by shots at the most enormous brown trout I’d ever seen. I’d fished badly; a week before, making accurate casts to the ‘average’ 4-7lb fish of the D’Urville River had seemed a breeze, resulting in a procession of leisurely takes and eighteen fish in the net over two days. These huge fish, by contrast, had paralysed my casting arm and had moved disdainfully aside on the rare occasion I’d managed to put the fly in the right spot, first cast. We’d had only one small fish of around four pounds – a baby for this river – and as we drained the last of the Aussie Shiraz and the rain started to fall out of the deepening gloom, I wasn’t hopeful about the prospects for our second and final day. “Don’t worry” consoled Boris “They were tough today – maybe the rain will liven them up”

I woke early the next morning to the sound of that same rain drumming steadily on our small tent – creeping outside, I noticed that the river had already risen a little and had a livelier look to it. As Boris did his best to fry the bacon and eggs in the rain, I tied on a new leader and resolved to fish with a little more discipline and a steelier nerve.

We broke camp and re-traced our way to the last fish we’d attempted to dupe the evening before. Immediately our expectations for the day leapt: whereas, like so many of its companions, this fish had lain ‘doggo’ the day before, pouring scorn on the numerous offerings we’d tossed up to him, today he was swinging lazily in the current and sipping the odd nymph that tumbled through the foam-flecked, rain-flushed pool.

A word about Boris – Boris Cech is a German who has been living in New Zealand for around twenty-five years. He is one of the south island’s top guides, with a string of huge trout to his credit, including a stupendous 16lb brown caught a few years back. Unlike many guides in New Zealand, Boris believes in accurate representative flies rather than scruffy suggestive patterns. He has an almost boyish enthusiasm as he roots around under the river-rocks for a stenoperla stonefly nymph, so that he can show you just exactly what a close copy his own design is – and believe me, his flies are remarkably accurate and ingenious in their use of materials. Boris is the sort of guide that you want to catch fish for…and so far I felt I’d let him down. Perhaps our luck was about to change.

Boris selected one of his stonefly nymphs and I managed to put it up in the right spot. We held our breath as the fly drifted down through the water column – the fish swung to meet it and…swung back again, jaws clamped shut. The sense of anti-climax was almost palpable; Boris had me cast the fly back up the bank to him and he tied on another pattern – his free-swimming mayfly. I cast the fly up to the fish and again, predictably, our quarry swerved to ignore the offering.
“Maybe we should move on” I suggested, after we’d shown the fish another half a dozen flies, and then, after my fly had drifted past the fish for perhaps the twentieth time, we watched the big, dark, stubborn shadow lift into the current, follow the fly downstream and accelerate to engulf it.

Five minutes later, we were admiring the sleek, glossy form of this lovely fish as it lay exhausted in the folds of the landing net. At a little over 8 pounds, it was not the double figure fish we were hoping for, but it was at least a step in the right direction. Boris held up the fish for the camera and I did my best to focus as the rain intensified. We watched the fish swim off strongly, and I did what I could to dry off the camera before we set off up the river with renewed confidence.

“We don’t have long” said Boris, eyeing the river, which was now starting to rise alarmingly– “Alan will probably fly in around lunchtime to get us out before we get stranded” We wandered up the river through the now torrential rain, and as it coloured up and started to rush wildly through the tight gorge ahead, I ruefully dismissed all hope of any more shots at the trophy fish beneath its surface. We concentrated on finding a spot where the helicopter could pick us up. Forced away from the river by the rising waters, we beat up through the dense bush, and coming down off a steep bluff, we stumbled across a young hind sheltering in the thick scrub. The deer leapt up and blundered off into the rain, as startled as we were. We stopped to eat lunch under a beech tree and waited for our lift, but after shivering for an hour we decided to walk on, if only to keep warm. Boris knew of an island further up the river that we might be able to get to, where the helicopter would be better able to put down. I was deep in thought, mulling over missed opportunities and bungled casts, the icy rain running in rivulets down the back of my neck, when suddenly Boris stopped dead in his tracks. He held a finger to his lips and pointed theatrically ahead through the storm. I followed his outstretched arm and saw…nothing. The river was now in full spate and I wondered what on earth my guide could hope to see in the opaque, grey-green torrent. “No, no, look !!! Right by the bank, under the tree!” hissed Boris and my eyes followed his instructions. Right there, inches from the bank in a foot or so of relatively quiet water were two enormous dark shapes, lying side by side. “Fish?” I whispered incredulously and before Boris could answer, the smaller shape wandered sideways and lifted to grab a passing nymph.
“The bigger one is well over twelve pounds,” muttered Boris and he motioned for me to work my way back downstream and into the small slack fifteen yards below the fish.

The cast was a short but difficult one – a branch snaked out from the bank and guarded the lie, requiring an ultra-low, flat presentation, but I got away with a couple of wayward casts before managing to put the fly up where it needed to be. Soon I had the shot mastered, but after serving up three different flies, all I’d managed to do was spook the slightly smaller fish. “Don’t worry,” joked Boris from his vantage point up the bank “She’d only be about eleven pounds – we want the big one!” I tossed up the fly a little right of the remaining fish and suddenly Boris was yelling, the indicator was drifting off left and I was attached to a steam train of a fish that ploughed off into the deep but relatively slow-flowing pool to his right. I professed my affections for Boris, who told me not to celebrate until we had the fish in the net. Somehow, I felt sure that this huge creature wouldn’t want to go anywhere near the raging mainstream and as it plodded around the slack water, I felt confident we might have a chance. I’ve caught big salmon in very high water that haven’t wanted to go near the main current and I persuaded myself that this giant brownie would behave in much the same way. How wrong I was: having explored his options, the big jack scoffed at my theory and charged out into the maelstrom where he was instantly swept off down the raging flood like so much driftwood. Chasing was impossible – drowning would have been a very real probability - and I watched helplessly as the backing spilled out, the rod arched over violently and the fish I’d long dreamt of, the trout I’d come 12,000 miles for, wrenched hard, seventy yards downstream, and was free. Shattered, I threw the rod into the bushes behind me and looked up at Boris through the stinging rain. “Big fish” I said, trying to sound matter of fact, philosophical even. “Yes, big fish” he replied simply: “Big fish and long faces.”


Contact:

Boris & Lee Cech
Kehu Guiding / Kehu Lodge
Lake Rotoiti RD2
Nelson Lakes National Park
NEW ZEALAND
tel / fax : 0064 35211 840
e-mail:kehu.guiding@clear.net.nz
website: www.flyfishboris.com


Accommodation:

Boris and his lovely wife Lee can put you up in their beautiful home, close to stunning Lake Rotoiti in the Nelson lakes area of South Island New Zealand and I’d look no further. Watch out for Eugene, their five-year-old son, who’ll insist on a game of “footie” in the garden and will want to show you his “pet” frogs in the garden pond. There’s plenty of alternative accommodation in St Arnaud if Boris’ place is full.

Tackle:

Rods:
The wind can be very strong at times, particularly in the North Canterbury area, where Boris finds some of his biggest fish. To counteract this, a stiff, ultra-fast action rod like the Sage TCR 9ft 5wt can be a god-send: unlike other fast rods, the TCR seems to bend way down into the lower middle section when a fish is hooked, offering a safety buffer to the necessarily light tippets employed to fool these wily old fish

Lines:
Carry at least a couple of drab-coloured lines and consider over-lining the rod by a weight when the wind gets up i.e. putting a 6wt line on a 5wt rod. Over-lining also helps on some of the very short but exacting casts that are often required, where there is very little fly line out of the rod-tip. Before you come out, practise short, accurate casts as well as long ones – these are the ones you’ll be using most.

Flies:
For trophy fish, leave your flies in their box until you’ve exhausted the guide’s selection. Boris’s flies are accurate representations of the local fly-life – take a look at his website to see how successful they can be.

Clothing/sundries:

A light, state-of-the art Gore-Tex jacket, like the Simms or Patagonia models, will pack up flat and will stop you from shivering in the violent downpours and howling nor’westers that can frequent New Zealand even in mid-summer – bear in mind that the very best fishing often involves camping out and keeping warm and dry is a top priority. A good solid peak on the hood will also keep rain off of your polaroids and keep you spotting fish in surprisingly adverse conditions.

A head-torch is a great tool for camping out and allows you, amongst other things, to cut through the gloom when you’re trying to find the matches, relieve the call of nature, or tie on flies in the dark.

Bushman repellent, which contains 80% DEET will prevent the ferocious sandflies driving you into a rabid frenzy, but its not good for you – Wash it off thoroughly last thing at night and then RUN for the tent!!!

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