Felix last week with one of the locals.
The short version of my background with Felix Borenstein goes something like this. About three decades ago, I introduced him to flyfishing at Millbrook Lakes, and we quickly became good friends. As can occasionally happen in such circumstances, paid guiding ultimately fell by the wayside, and Felix and I continued to fish together as mates – especially on the streams of north-east Victoria, and sometimes, in New Zealand’s South Island.
I don’t think Felix would mind me saying that flyfishing was life-changing for him. He soon developed a particular passion for the sighted brown trout fishing in the north of the South Island, and a few years later, he sold his successful IT recruitment and labour hire company, and bought a property on the Owen River in the Nelson Lakes district.
With no previous experience in hospitality, let alone the specialised world of fishing lodges (well, except as a customer!) Felix nevertheless created the renowned Owen River Lodge, soon gaining world-wide recognition and winning a number of prestigious awards.
Then, after 20 years, Felix sold his lodge to the international group Eleven Experience, and with his wife Kylie and black lab Indi, they moved into a piece of paradise about 2km up the Owen valley.
Kylie walking through her garden on the way to the river.
As can happen with geographically inconvenient friendships, it dawned on me recently that I hadn’t actually fished with Felix for years. (Or, for that matter, visited his new home, StrathOwen.) So, dates were worked through, flights were booked, and I spent last week with my good mate, the lovely Kylie, and of course the ever-cheerful and welcoming Indi.
It turned out the weather was kind; something not to be taken for granted – StrathOwen recorded more than half a metre of rain last October alone! The fishing was pretty much as I remembered it from my numerous previous visits to this area. No turkey shoot – these are brown trout after all – but on the other hand, virtually every fish landed was rewarding and memorable. If that sounds like guide-speak… well, you just had to be there.
For example, with only half an hour until sunset upon my arrival on the first day, I thought a travel decompress was probably a sensible idea. But Felix and Kylie (herself an accomplished flyfisher) suggested I really should duck down to the river for the evening rise. So I tied on an Elk Hair Caddis and did just that.
Water clear enough for trout-spotting even after sunset.
Within a few minutes, I saw my first rise, then another, and another. In the modest-sized pool right in front of me, there were at least 4 trout rising; and all big ones by Australian standards. (Yep, such is the water clarity, you can often see trout subsurface after sunset – another unique feature of this wonderful fishery.) Despite the vaguely disembodied feeling of casting to decent New Zealand browns on the same day I’d left home in Australia, I made several passable presentations with the Elk Hair for maybe some interest, but no takes.
I took a punt that a fly change by iPhone torch light would be worth the fishing downtime, and replaced the Elk Hair with a size 16 para Adams, which approximated the odd mayfly I’d seen fly past.
By now the light was getting very dim, and it was the sound of its clipping rises that alerted me to a trout tucked in close on my ‘dark’ eastern bank. Ears guided eyes, and I could soon make out the silver rings appearing consistently against a contrasting current seam. On the third cast with the Adams, I thought a rise was to me, and I lifted.
I was soon reminded that around here, hooking the fish is just the beginning. While I was childishly keen to land an NZ trout in my first hour of fishing, it simply wasn’t possible to bring this thing to the net quickly. Fortunately, I was able to muster enough responsible adult not to do anything too stupid, and a good 15 minutes after hookup, the trout had been netted, subjected to a clumsy selfie, released, and I was ready to fish again. Except I was aware that, in the last light, finding my way back across the paddock without a proper torch (sitting uselessly on my desk in Australia), the gloaming might be better employed making a safe exit rather than trying to catch another trout.
Evening success.
So began a mix of thrilling action, challenging fishing, and generally readjusting to the local rivers. I spend a good chunk of my life sight fishing in Australia, and yet it took me a day or two to relearn my old NZ brown trout spotting tricks: where to look, and what to look for. Oh, and some unintentional waist-deep wading in 15C water reminded me how difficult it can be to judge the depth and the strength of NZ’s glass-clear flows.
Tense moments on one of the larger local rivers. Careful wading is advised!
And the scenery! I can be a bit single-minded when fishing – especially if the typical trout is half a metre long. However here, as in many parts of NZ, you can’t help but look up from time to time to take in the gob-smacking surroundings.
Landscapes to draw the eye of even the most single-minded flyfisher.
Looking back on the last week from my study at home, I could say it was over too soon, and that would be true. But as I explained to my hosts, it’s also true that the places visited, the experiences, and overdue time spent with an old friend, made those few days feel like it was a lot more.
Footnote: Kylie and Felix have an idyllic holiday cottage on their property which is located a suitably private distance from their house. Visit StrathOwen.co.nz to learn more.
