The Nevis Valley

The World Wide Web puts a wealth of information right at your fingertips. That is, as long as that wealth is regarding wealth. It really gets frustrating when you try to find information of a factual or historical nature that doesn't involve giving someone your money. Such is the case with the Nevis River Valley. Google it and you get page after page of Queenstown this and Queenstown that...bungy this and jet boat that. Come drive 4X4s, motorcycle, helicopters...even sniff the flowers. For a fee. Nothing about the historical significance of the mining that took place there, or the harsh lives that the people who lived there had led. Aw, who am I kidding? I came for the fish.

I've read a bit about the Nevis river regarding the excellent fly fishing venue that it is. Plus it is in one of the many sections of New Zealand where there just aren't any roads. You look at a map of this country and there are huge patches where roads go all around them, but not through them. So, we ended up taking two days to get to a place that's about an hour from Queenstown...in the opposite direction of The Plan. After picking up a 50 pound bag of Tums (ref: Thai lunch) and asking for general directions out of town we headed "that-a-way". After about 12 k we found the Nevis road. It was a gravel road (metalled) and started uphill immediately. And uphill, and uphill, and uphill. The views were remarkable. We kept driving on this narrow winding road that no way could two cars pass each other on. We were hoping for the best. After a while we started to wonder if we were on the right road. So we stopped and I pulled out my South Island Bible (South Island Trout Fishing Guide by John Kent) to wit: "This is a gravel road that climbs high over barren mountains before descending into the Nevis valley". Right. Then that means we still have to make it to the top, so that we can go to the bottom, so that we can go to the top.




After descending into the Nevis Valley via roads as nail-biting as those going up, we crossed at, of all places, Nevis Crossing. Below this point there is a huge gorge that drops into the Kawarau river.

Currently there is a big fight between a power company that wants to dam the Nevis river, and the department of fish and wildlife and other river-friendly user groups. After having been there, you can sign us up on the dam opposition team. I am a bit confused though. Right at the crossing there is a big sign (that is repeated at intervals up the river) that states that a mining company has staked claim to the dredging rights from 250 meters downstream of the crossing to 25 kilometers upstream. Dredging isn't exactly river-friendly either.

Right at Nevis Crossing there is a big sheep station which comprises the lot for the entire valley as far as human habitation is concerned. There are a few ramshackle historic buildings and a couple of what I take to be baches, but no other dwellings.



Eight kilometers upstream (south) of the Crossing was "The Township". In 1874, to make things more convenient, they decided to build the schoolhouse in the middle, so that none of the children had to walk more than 4 kilometers to school. Could you imagine trying to make kids these days walk that far to school? Sure, they'll walk 4k to the mall, but to school? You'd have Child Protective Services at your door. Not much left of the township.

This was a hotel

This is what remains of the bakery for the hotel

You know it must get cold in the winter when a building this small needs two fireplaces

Gold was discovered here in the 1850s. At its height in 1866 there were over 600 residents here. By the late 1860s the Chinese population outnumbered the Europeans. It is believed that there could have been as many as 500 Chinese working the lower Nevis area. The Chinese had their own store and opium dens. The numbers of Chinese slowly dwindled and it is likely that the last of the Chinese left the Nevis in the 1890. Actually, we did some exploring and thought we had maybe found some old Chinaman bones.

But after thorough investigation it turned out to be Ol' Bessy who went missing in the winter of '06

In the midst of all this CSI work we did manage to spend some time on the river. The river drains the swampy headlands above so it takes a long time to clear and come down after a major rain. There had been just such a rain not long before, but we had it on good authority from some folks back in Cromwell that the river at least shouldn't be "blown out", and should be pretty clear. Well, it was clear but it looked to be still pretty high when we could see green grass about two feet under water. Needless to say, I didn't get any fish that day.


I had asked at the iSite in Cromwell and found that this was DoC land so we decided to camp out that night. I found a nice looking spot not too far off the road and established Nevis Base 1.



I couldn't believe it when the spousal unit told me that she had never slept out under the stars without the comfort of sheet tin (motorhome, trailer, etc.) between her and the night. Well, we had to fix that! The beauty is that you don't even have to worry about hanging your food here...no bears!

The bedroom

Nothing pairs better with a fine Pinot than ham and cheese sandwiches


Evening sets in. All that purdy sand color is from the hydraulics used to sluice down the hillside back in the day.

I've come to the conclusion that there must be sentry sheep. Way up on the hillside a lone sheep seemed to be quite intent on the goings-on down our way.

via telephoto

He watched us intently non-stop for over an hour. Then he was joined by another who watched us for a long time. Then a third. Then a fourth. It was creepy. I felt like there was going to be an indian charge any minute.

This place is spectacular. Solitary and remote. Sort of lonely. Just the way we like it. Imagine my disgust when a crappervan (one of the orange ones from space) cruised up the road and came to a stop right opposite the turn-off to our compound. I was incredulous! I gave him my best "just keep on movin' buddy" stare and he slowly moved off. A short while later he was back! I thought I was going to have to break out my best German; Achtung! Verboten! But again, after a brief stop he moved on. It wasn't until the next morning when we were leaving that I discovered that there was small stream running across the road which he had to stop for both directions.

Unlike General Custer, for us the morning dawned bright. No hostile sheep charge.

The next morning we decided to see what was up the road, and headed for the upper gorge. We were given pause:

Now ordinarily this wouldn't slow me down but we were in a borrowed vehicle. We decided that we would turn back at the first questionable obstacle. The upper valley was even more beautiful than the lower.

The upper gorge - looking downstream

My gun-bearer


On the prowl...

We came across this great little comfort station:



More upper Nevis:

Goofy little birds called Oyster Catchers (don't ask me)

Our usual routine is to drive to a stretch of river, hike over to it, fish upstream for a couple miles, hike back out to the road and hoof it back to the vehicle. At one point when we were on the river and walking along, we noticed a truck (the only other vehicle we'd seen that day) slow to a crawl on the road and look us over.

When we had hit the end of our fishing patience for the day (I had fished to a single nymphing fish for almost an hour before giving up) we made our way back out to the road for the unpleasant trudge back. We were moving along when from the other direction, in a plume of dust, comes the rig we had seen earlier.

The driver slows down and stops. There's two of them in the truck; two fly rods. "Well, you just beat us to the pool" says the driver, grin on his face. "Did you see him?" "Yeah, I saw him" I said. "Did you catch him?" he asked. "Couldn't even get close. Down too deep." I replied. "We caught him once last year. Big son of a bitch. Weighed 11 1/2 pounds last year". There's this funny little kiwi head nod they do. He gave me one of those, waved and put the truck in gear and sped off down the road. Hard to compete with the locals who know every fish in every pool.

A dredging pond

And now for the harrowing drive out. It was now closer to continue on to Garston at the far end of the valley than it was to turn around and head the 60 odd kilometers back to Cromwell. We were greatly concerned about the raging fords we would have to cross.

I didn't take pictures of the rest of the 25 because they were dried up. I make jokes, but this is definitely not a place you'd want to be during or shortly after a heavy rain. You could be stuck between fords for a week.

Nearly to the top on the Garston end


At the top looking into the Mataura valley above Garston

Start of the road on the Garston end

Since we had made it all the way from the Brannochburn Pub to the Garston Pub we needed to celebrate with a beer. But first stop was the restrooms.

DVDs - $25

Ok, so we made it over. Now we needed to find a place to hole up for the night. We decided to head down to Lumsden. But Lumsden was closed. I know you don't get this joke. Lumsden is a town. We went to the Lumsden Motel. Not a car in the place and the office was deserted. We had seen a sign for a motorcamp down the road so we made for that. Not a car to be seen. Also deserted.

While at the Lumsden Motel I had seen a sign that said to pick up the phone and call if you needed anything. We needed anything. I called the number and got the proprietor on the other end. He explained that he had been called away on urgent business (I could hear a ball game in the background). He told me to go behind the counter in the reception area, grab a key to a room and he'd catch up the next day. So we did, and so he did.