There were no trout harmed during the making of this blog

Final entry for this trip:
 

On the day after xmas, we bade farewell to our friends in QT and started the arduous journey back to Auckland. It's about 24 hours of travel (including the ferry) so we wanted to break it up into bite sized chunks. The first night we stopped in Twizel again, and looked to see if we could ford the river. No luck, so I had to resort to pond fishing. Got a decent Brown.

The next night was Christchurch again. On the 28th we made the ferry crossing into Wellington and stopped there for the night. If you want to see pictures of the crossing, go back to my November 18th post and just reverse the order of the photos. The next day we made it as far as Taumarunui and spent the night. Today is Dec. 30th, and our last night in NZ.

Before making this post, I thought I would sort of combine both of our conclusions about our experience. I asked Cynthia to reflect on the last three months. Being the chatterbox that she is, she said "I don't know...it was a good vacation, I'd like to come here again, but I wouldn't want to live here". Fair enough. Unfortunately for you, I am not so succinct.

As I ponder the last three months I have a lot of conflicting emotions. In one way, it seems like we have been here a long time. In another, it was over all too quickly. Sometimes it doesn't feel like we were here at all. As I look out the window here in Auckland, we might as well be in LA. One thing we agree on is that we spent way too much time on the North Island.

The North Island and the South Island are as different as night and day. When you head south across the ferry, you enter a different world. Its a world that suits us. It's more what we are used to. Crossing the island from west to east you go from glaciers and rain forest (average rainfall in Milford Sound, 23 FEET) to barren dry plains (average rainfall on the Otago gold fields, 3"), to ocean. All within a couple hundred miles. The towns are small, and the people are friendly. In the southwest corner of the island is Fiordland. There are no roads. The only way in is by air or water. They say that the majority of the land area in Fiordland has had no human impact. There are plenty of cruise ships and flightseeing, but no one lands or comes ashore.

I was seriously considering putting Cynthia on the plane and staying here another month. I figured that I could come back with a full beard and 20 less pounds. The problem is, the longer I stay, the harder it is to go home, so I can't risk that one.

Whenever we would stop and talk to people and fill them in on why we were here, they would invariably try to convince us that we were standing in the best place in NZ. 

Leaving the South Island, for me, was tough. I've poked a lot of fun at the Kiwis in this blog, but that's exactly what it was...fun. I like these people, but they probably don't get my sense of humor. In hindsight, apart from the crowds in QT, there was nothing about the South Island that I didn't like (the weather doesn't count). If I didn't have to try to figure out a way to make a decent living here, staying or going would be a tougher decision. I'm guessing that after a week at Smokey Point, I'll be planning my next visit. A cheaper one next time.

Total trip cost to date: $20,811.42 USD. Not bad. Our budget was $20,000, and this includes breaking my fly rod and having to buy an expensive yuppie Sage (only brand they carried). I had to buy it from Stu Tripney, at his "World Famous Orgasmic Fly Shop". I call him the mad Scotsman. He's worth an entire blog entry all on his own.

We met a couple who routinely do it for $7,000....NZD! Can you say Cup o' Noodles?

Our North Island route:

Our South Island route:

A note on Kiwi food

I just realized that I have not discussed Kiwi food here. Now just like every other place, in the larger or more trendy cities, you can find good food. However, remember that there are only 4 million people here. 1.4 million live in Auckland. There are less than 700,000 people on the entire South Island. So the majority of the people live in or near small villages. Some don't know what good food is supposed to taste like.

In pretty much any town, there will be a cafe' (pronounced "caff" here) or a "Take away" or both. NZ cooks all must have graduated from the British Academy for the Culinary "Arts". Their motto is "If we can't deep fry it, or boil it, we don't serve it". They sell batter-dipped french fries here. No joke. Everything tastes like fried fish. They cook everything in the same deep fat fryer. When you see something listed as including salad, they mean the shredded lettuce that they put on your hamburger (hamburger is called "mince" here), and is served with sliced beets instead of pickles.

Breakfasts are pretty much the same everywhere you eat. They will have the "Kiwi breakfast". This comprises eggs, toast, grilled tomatoes, saute'd mushrooms, bacon and "sausage". There are three options for eggs: fried, scrambled or poached. There are no sub-classifications like "over easy". Fried eggs will look like the charred craters of the moon on the back, and have snot on the top. Poached can come anywhere between snot and hard boiled. If you ask to have something redone, they look at you like you just asked them the square root of 327.

Something that they do have here that is better than home is bacon. What they call bacon, we would call ham (though they also have ham...). This is thin sliced slabs from the pork shoulder. Virtually no fat (bummer). To get the kind of bacon we are used to, you have to ask for "streaky bacon". Forget about the sausage. It's just like Canada.

On many menus they list "American hot dog". I've often thought that maybe I could set myself up here as a hot dog consultant, because they really need one bad. They don't understand that it's the hot dog that makes the hot dog, not the bun. They are under the impression that if they just put a "frankfurter" on a bun, it's an American Hot Dog. I know; I bought one...once. Sausages and "frankfurters" are some kind of pureed meat substance with repugnant (including cloves) spices, squirted into a skin, and dipped in red dye. When you bite into it, there is a ring of dye 1/8" thick. Having said all that, I haven't lost any weight.

A note about New Zealand trout

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The thing that I've learned about trout fishing in New Zealand is this. Especially on the South Island, the world class fame does not come from the number of fish and the ease with which they are caught. In fact it is just the opposite. One of the ways they rate rivers here is by fish per kilometer. Some are rated at one. But that one would be a monster. The trout get very large here and don't get that way by being stupid.
The preferred fishing technique here (which I had never heard of, much less done) is "sight fishing". The waters are so gin-clear here that you can see all the fish (and vice-vesa). The fish have to be stalked from their blind spots and ambushed. The accuracy and presentation of the casts have to be perfect. If the trout doesn't like what you've offered him, you have to change your fly, because if you send the same thing twice, he'll spook. If you try to wade behind him in still water he'll spook. If you cast your line over him he'll spook. The list goes on.

I do not have the skill necessary to present a dry fly properly in still water, so I have to fish the pools, glides and riffles. The guides and experienced NZ anglers won't bother to fish any water "blind". They walk the edges looking for fish. Once you find one, you carefully lay out your fly. If they are going to take it, they will take it on the first pass. Several times I was too lazy to follow the advice of my betters to never present the same fly twice to the same fish. On the first pass they come up for a look and if they don't like what they see, go back down. The second time they ignore it. The third time they spook. I've cast over huge fish. The cast was perfect, but when the fly drifted over, they took one look and ran for cover. Too smart for me.

The Diamond Creek Affair

While we were staged at Glenorchy waiting to go up the Greenstone, I decided to fish Diamond Creek and Reid Lake. There is a car park at the bridge. It is a 45 minute walk to Reid Lake.

At many of the lakes it's possible to walk the shoreline looking for Brown trout. The trout cruise the shallows back and forth along the lake shore and you wait to ambush them. As usual, the wind was blowing, and I only managed to jerk the fly out of one trout's mouth. Other than that...nothing. 

While walking Diamond Creek on the way back, there were large trout laying about. But these fish get fished over so many times, they just laugh at your pathetic efforts. One said "Don't waste my time, fisher-boy".

Whenever we get out of the car and there is a hike involved, or a possibility of wading, Cynthia puts the car key in her day pack. When we got back to the car, she tried opening the car door. "There's something wrong with the key" she said. I took a look at the key and told her "that's because you're using the motel room key". The second I said that, I got this sick feeling in my stomach. You see, the car key and the room key had exactly the same key fob. Can you guess which one I locked in the car for safe keeping? You think I felt stupid last time? I swore in languages I don't even speak.

We contemplated our options. Let's just say that Glenorchy is probably 1/20th the size of Bluff, and QT is 86k away. I looked for tools. The only thing I had was a pocket knife and the forceps from my fishing stuff. Neither of which would do much in terms of prying open the door. I decided that the only option was to smash a window.

I chose the smallest (and I assumed cheapest) window, and picked up a rock about the size of a softball and hurled it with a mighty roar. It bounced off the window, and made a bang like I just hit the side of the car. I looked and all it did was to nick the glass a little. I tried again with the same result. I was dumbfounded. I thought maybe this car had once belonged to the Prime Minister or the Pope, or someone else people want to shoot. I thought maybe the Universe was trying to tell me something.

Then I noticed the sunroof. If I stuck my forceps in the crack, I could pry it open about 3/8". The game was afoot! I hunted around on a farmer's fence for a piece of stiff wire he didn't need, or wouldn't notice was gone. I managed to break off a piece and bend a hook on the end of it. I tried for an hour to get it to hook the little tab in the door handle but the angle was all wrong and all it did was slip off. Now that I had a piece of wire I was inspired to try the door.

I found that if I pried real hard with my forceps on the top of the door, I could open a crack about 1/8". I tried whittling some wooden wedges and pounding them in with a rock. No good; all they did was crush. I needed a pry bar. The tire iron would work perfectly if it wasn't locked up in the car.

There was a bridge near by so I walked over there thinking that maybe there might be a chunk of steel laying around. No luck there. I noticed an old shack in the woods and I bushwhacked my way over. In the junk pile there was an old steel handled rake with about four tines left on it. I had my pry bar. I stuck the tines in the door crack, gave a pry and stuck the wire in. We didn't have to walk after all.

Diamond Creek

 Reid Lake

Christmas - The Greenstone Part Deux

I got tired of hearing the words "You hiked the Greenstone and didn't fish?". It looked like we were going to have decent weather for a change so we decided that the bush was as good a place to spend xmas as any. 

We were getting ready when Cynthia found a note from our hosts wanting to know if we would like to be helicoptered into the upper Greenstone (they were at work)! But nooo.... Somebody I'm married to wanted to walk.

What Chuck sees...

What Cynthia sees...

 The splendor of the Greenstone...

We spent xmas eve night in our tent at the Greenstone hut. We use the facilities, and the social opportunities, but still can't bring ourselves to join the European Union in the hut bunks at night. Something about listening to snoring with my head three feet away from a total stranger just doesn't do it for me.

Cynthia brought her xmas lights (thanks Rob/Michele) and I had to look at them flashing inside the tent for two nights. We hiked out on xmas day and never saw a soul. Note the xmas lights on C's backpack.

The wife is a little pack mule. She carried as much as I did and never once asked to rest before I collapsed.

Inside the hut:

Xmas eve day was probably the first perfect fishing day in the 3 months that we have been here, when we were actually able to fish. It took me a couple hours to figure out which fly they wanted. They turned their noses up at the one I was advised to use. Once I got it right, I hooked six and landed the two small ones. That's about the typical ratio on the Greenstone. 

The water is so clear that you have to use a 3lb tippet in still water, and you can get away with a 5lb one in the riffles and glides. Unfortunately, I only had two of the right fly, and they took both of them away from me. They wouldn't even look at anything else.

The Eglinton River

After leaving Bluff we headed sort of west, and intended to make it to a town called Lake Manapouri, but couldn't pass up another NZ capital.

 NZ rush hour (Lamb Jam)

We wanted to stay at the Possum Lodge. Unfortunately, Red was on vacation, so we moved on to Te Anau for the night.

The next morning we headed out for the Eglinton River. Except for the ever-present wind, the day was beautiful. There had been a lot of rain the last couple days and I was afraid that the river would be either too high or too cloudy to fish. It turned out that neither was the case.

At the end of the day we decided to camp for the night. We picked a great spot where we had the place to ourselves. It poured all night.

Another warm NZ spring day:

Bluff

We have been determined from the get-go to traverse NZ from north to south. The southern-most point to which you can drive in NZ is a town called Bluff. We left Queenstown with the purpose of fishing the Eglinton River, but took a little detour to the south tip of the South Island. Not much there but friendly people.

Note Antarctica in the background

The New Zealand patented Exeloo, automatic toilet

One of the great things about this place is that all the cities and towns are littered with public toilets. A fine example is the Exeloo in Bluff. I had the opportunity to test run this little beauty. Now, I've had a tendency to be a little tongue-in-cheek at times, but this is the straight dope here.

When you enter and shut the door, a man's voice says "Please lock the door". When you push the lock button (electro-magnet) the nice man says "Door locked. You have a maximum of ten minutes of use time". Then elevator music starts. The song I had was "Do you know the way to San Jose". There is also mood lighting on the ceiling. The toilet paper dispenser is automatic as well. You push the button and it dispenses about six inches of paper. It allows you to push the button four times.

Emergency in Bluff
Something happened in Bluff that I have been fearing throughout this entire trip. I locked the keys in the rental car.

 In Bluff, there is a gas station, a fish and chips shop, a public toilet (see above) and a pub. Once I stopped wondering how I have managed to live so long, being so stupid, I inquired of the proprietress of the fish and chips shop with regards to the availability of a locksmith in the good town of Bluff (again, stupid). 

She didn't have a clue what to suggest, but thought I should ask over at the pub. I wandered over to the pub while Cynthia waited for our F&C. There was a bar tender and the requisite drinker. When posed with this question, they discussed things a bit and decided they had better call John. John would be right down.

John showed up in about 5 minutes with his B&E tool kit. The kit consisted of a gasket scraper, a 1/4" thick nylon shim, a length of stiff wire with a hook bent on the end of it, and a pump-up bladder sort of thing. As it turns out, watching this would turn out to be very handy in the near future. 

The trick is to pry the upper corner of the door out far enough to slide the little flat bladder thing in. And then pump it up, which opens a crack big enough to get the wire through, and Bob's your uncle, the door's open. $20 NZD (about $11 USD).