Auckland's shallow water kingfish

Tales of kingfish hunting in shallow water along the beaches, sand flats and estuaries of Auckland’s inner-city zone had intrigued Craig Worthington for years.

I found the stories interesting, and a little perplexing, for I had nothing in my home patch of the Bay of Islands that could match it. Something about the saltwater environment in Auckland during the summer months seemed to be creating conditions that encouraged the movement of hunting kingfish into very shallow water.

Large fish were said to create noticeable bow-waves in knee-deep water as they cruised the inner city ‘skinny water’. There were apparently tail lobes scything through the surface film, dorsal fins being exposed, and even whole tails rising vertically out of the water and forcibly shaken in the air. It seemed like odd kingfish behaviour.

Then some of my saltwater fly fishing friends managed to position themselves in front of a few of these kingfish, cast flies, and successfully hook up. This was too much – especially when you consider these kings were being fished for in totally snag-free environments.

It sounded very much like the kingfish ‘ray-rider’ action from places further south, but there was something different about this Auckland phenomenon. Most of the time rays were not involved, and there was often this strange ‘tailing’ action where the kingfish would go vertical, stick their tails in the air, and then thrash wildly about. It was unusual to say the least. I wondered if I would ever get a chance to sample it.

Then a life-changing medical event dropped on me from a very great height. I found myself booked for six weeks of appointments at Auckland City Hospital. These would be day visits only, with lots of time to spare. It was summer. Obviously, I would have to go fishing.

This is where friends and family came to my aid. Stuck in Auckland with no car, I wondered how I would get to search for these fabled shallow-water hunting kingfish. I did try to walk to some locations, but soon discovered places look much closer on Google Earth than they actually are in reality. Luckily, caring family members and a series of bloody good mates volunteered to take me to spots where it had all happened for them in the past. I didn’t expect miracles – this was Auckland after all – but any fishing would help the enforced stay in the big city pass by as quickly as possible.

When I did finally get down to the big city foreshore I was quickly reminded about how different the geology is in this part of the world. Auckland’s geology has created a lot of unusual landforms, including vast flat areas of uplifted sandstone. Some of this sandstone lies horizontal to the incoming tide and creates large areas of hard saltwater flats. Even away from these sandstone flats, the sheltered nature of the inner Hauraki Gulf creates some big tidal flats that are composed of slightly muddy sand and shell that are still firm underfoot.

I checked out one noted inner-city kingfish flat with Josh, a mate of mine, at low tide. We were amazed to be able to walk over much of the flat in our shoes. We were also impressed by how relatively clean the whole marine environment was, and by the sheer size of the flat – it extended for hundreds of metres out to sea. By all reports, it was all one massive shallow-water hunting ground for summertime kingfish.

A chance to fish it properly came a few days later on a better tide. The wind was howling though, and the sea was stirred into a foaming, short-chop maelstrom. In places the water was simply brown. We elected to retreat and come back on a better day.

The next opportunity came on a weekend high tide with a local friend. The water was still a little bit low at 6.30am, so we walked to a slightly different area that had better water depth and a developing current. Here my fishing buddy Mark casually stated that the odd black-back ray goes past. My mind filled with thoughts of ray riders and I agreed it was a good place to be.

The morning progressed with not much action. I was suspicious of the apparent lack of baitfish and the general absence of swirls and ripples of any kind. Had this been a far north harbour flat, our attention would have been constantly diverted by leaping mullet, swirling eagle rays, tailing parore, and large patches of rippling sprats. Here there seemed to be nothing, bar the occasional flounder, but I kept my sceptical thoughts to myself.

Then I thought I saw the top half of a kingfish tail poke through the water, wiggle a bit, and disappear! Could I believe my eyes? I looked for it again, but saw nothing. I was all set to wander off when Mark announced that there was “a ray over there.”I ran back and positioned myself slightly up-current from where Mark stood, laying a quick cast across the front of the cruising ray. It certainly was the right species (short-tailed ray), but I could see no kingfish travelling with it.

Undeterred, I watched the ray continue on its beat. It swam into the bay, turned around, and finally came back on a trajectory that would take it close by my feet. I laid another cast out toward the ray’s path and it reacted badly, swirling around in the water and moving a little further away from the beach. At that point, three or four kingfish in the five- to six-kilo bracket materialised out of nowhere and virtually sat on top of the ray! This was completely bizarre. I had no idea what they were actually doing, but it appeared as if they were sitting on the ray’s back in a tight huddle with tails, backs and dorsal fins sticking in the air.

Somehow I managed to maintain my composure and send the next cast right in beside the kingfish huddle. The hook-up was almost guaranteed. A solid strip-strike saw me tightly connected to one of the kingfish and it proceeded to thrash wildly on the surface just off the beach. It then took off on a run. I cleared the fly line successfully and got the fish on the reel, only to have the line go totally limp as the drag pressure came on. Oh no! The fish was gone.

Confused, I reeled in a slack line and discovered a ‘curly-tail’ on the end of my leader. My knot had failed. Embarrassed and cursing, I jogged back to my fishing pack to tie on another fly. I wondered if the ray and its attendant kings would come back. Thankfully, I had barely got another fly tied on when Mark called out, “the ray’s here!” I ran back to where Mark stood, stripping line off my reel and false casting as I went. The ray was there, and so was the tight school of kings huddling together right beside it.

By some stroke of good luck, I cast perfectly again and slotted the fly right in beside the school. The hook-up seemed like a sure thing but again the fish fell off! I couldn’t believe it. The ray got a bit annoyed with me at this stage and moved well away from the beach, taking the kingfish with it. I retrieved my line to find that I had tied on a fly with a hook in bad need of sharpening. I had placed it in my fly box on a previous trip with a mental note to sharpen it sometime, but had completely forgotten about it. I effectively lost two of the first ray-riding kingfish I had ever seen thanks to my own stupid errors!

Oddly enough, I wasn’t too perturbed. It was exciting fishing action to find, particularly when you consider that we were in the heart of Auckland City.

There were a few other looks at the flats after that, but with the high tide now in the middle of the day and the wind up, there weren’t a lot of days with the conditions we needed. For this game you really need a glassed out morning tide with good visibility across the water.

Such a morning presented itself about ten days later. Family member Shane had some time off work and was keen to go. We descended down the pohutukawa-lined bush track as red and orange highlights filled the eastern sky. The sea was like a mirror, and cutting right through the middle of it was a large and very noticeable bow wave. I couldn’t quite believe it – our very first view of the water and there was a kingfish!

Expecting the kingfish to automatically swim for deeper water, I initially geared Shane up to cast his new popper as far as he could out to sea but stopped him in his tracks when the fish turned toward us and starting hunting in shallow water right along the shore. The stories were true! These fish were shallow-water hunters – a gift to saltwater fly fishers. I pulled Shane back into the spectator stand and charged into the water clutching rod and fly.

The fish could have departed at this point. I had no idea whether it would mind the sound of me wading through the water. It didn’t seemed to care. I managed to lay a few big casts in front of it, but got no response. It then suddenly turned around and swam straight towards me. It was swimming on the surface, still producing a pronounced and easily-visible bow wave. The king passed within a couple of rod lengths of my rod tip and I was able to roll the fly over and drop it right in front of its nose. This time I let it sink a bit. The fish went down, its tail flicked momentarily at the surface, and I struck. Fish on!

This king took no time at all to wake up. I had it on the reel in seconds, and moments later it was howling for the horizon. I was fishing a ten-weight outfit with a fairly solid drag setting, but the fish still tore out line with ease in its effort to get to deeper water. The run was so long and sustained that it reminded me of the massive runs that bonefish do. Then the fish slowed, rested a bit, and took off again. I swear I lost two hundred metres of backing before the king finally stopped.

It then came to the surface and started beating from side to side in big tail throbbing arcs. Despite being hundreds of metres away from me, it was still in shallow water. In the golden glow of the morning light, the big bow waves of the fighting fish plugging its way across the glassy surface made for an impressive sight. Not that I had much chance to appreciate the whole scene. I was cranking and pumping line back onto the reel as fast as I possibly could. With all that line out, it was very hard work.

Eventually I got the fly line back on the reel. The fish was almost beaten at this point. There were a few more surging runs, but they went nowhere. I could feel a few oysters around my feet, but at no time did the fish dive for the bottom and try cutting me off. The fight was one hundred percent on the surface. You have to love flats kingfish for that fact alone.

Some tricky footwork shortly after had the leader connection in hand. I pulled the fish towards me on the twenty pound tippet, quickly released the line and grabbed for the tail. My fingers wrapped around the kingfish’s tail wrist and then locked solid. The fish protested weakly but I had it!

Auckland flats kingfish landed.

Finally I had my first flats kingfish from the shore, and I had to come all the way down to Auckland to do it. I figure the secret about all of Auckland’s exceptional kingfish flats is about to finally leak out!