Catching trout in mountain streams

Alpine trout are plain hardy. Spring in mountain country can bring snowmelt, flash-floods, rumbling boulders and debris in some years and low water and drought in others. Sometimes their only refuge is to retreat downstream to bigger water, but mostly they ride out the tough times any way they can.

Trout numbers in such skinny water are never huge, but the size of small stream inhabitants can surprise, with some specimens being very big! While many of the trout may be post-spawners, there are also resident fish which hang out all year in these tough conditions. The spawners are often black or still recovering from grazes and sores.

An example of a mountain waterway is the Otematata River which flows out of the North Otago tussock ranges and into Lake Aviemore. A mate of mine had permission to pig hunt there once so I hitched a ride to fish as he travelled kilometres back into the high country.

At times the fishing up where I was can be dynamic, with pools and glides full of aggressive fish, but at other times there are only a few residents left behind. Sadly for me, I struck the latter situation and only landed a few small trout and a couple of lean old jacks. It was classic mountain country and my mate snared a half dozen or so porkers.

Back in October another friend, Mark, invited me on a trout sojourn into the wild country near his place. It would be boots and shorts wading, boulder-hopping and nymph and dry fly fishing. Rather than cramp each other’s style with two fly rods, we shared his wand and took turns targeting fish we spotted. This is his private, secret spot, so let’s call the location ‘Wild Creek’.

Wild Creek poured out of the nearby mountain and roared its way downstream over giant boulders and gravel fans. There were no real pools, just gouged out drop-offs and small areas of slower pocket water. Bankside vegetation was scarce.

In the winter preceding my visit there had been a violent storm and the damage was clear to see. A thick layer of stones and gravel had obliterated many of the spots where Mark usually found fish and he was back to square one when looking for survivors which had somehow avoided the devastation from upstream. Amazingly, we found some fish, though not in large numbers.

Trout in skinny, rocky environments are into camouflage, hit and run feeding, and alertness. Most of the water was less than half a metre deep and when we spotted a fish we had to be careful he or she didn’t spot us. A hint of danger and mountain trout either go doggo where they stop feeding and depend upon subtle colouration to avoid detection, or they swim to the head of the run and hide under foamy water or a rock.

Mark is an expert at recognising trout in this environment and regularly pointed out smudges that were trout hugging the bottom. He had first go and on his first cast snared a small trout on a nymph. We were off to a good start, but after this beginning, scary trout brought us back to earth quickly. Often trout spooked at a glint from the rod, a fly landing too close, or they somehow just knew we were there and stopped feeding.

Finally, we came upon a trout that was in a full-on feeding frenzy. He zoomed around his small glide hoovering up every fly that drifted past him. It was still my turn, so Mark changed the nymph to a Black Gnat dry and handed me the rod.

I would like to say I executed a perfect cast and the trout nailed the fly but I would be lying. The first two casts were too short and the third well out to the left. Luckily this trout was hungry and he roared a metre across to snaffle my offering.

I wasn’t sure he had taken the fly so I was also slow in striking. Most fly fishing anglers say “God save the Queen” and then strike. In this case, Mark reckoned I must have recited a full prayer before finally setting the hook. Luckily he was still there and it was ‘fight on’.

In tiny mountain streams, hooked trout usually roar down with the current from pool to pool, but this one stayed in the pool and hence was landed quite quickly. The net scales put his weight at 2kg. The largest trout Mark has ever caught here weighed 3.6kg.

Killing a fish that lives in such a challenging place just seems wrong, so after a couple of photos, he was released.

The next few kilometres were uneventful but near our turnaround point Mark spotted a good trout. This guy, like mine earlier, was on the feed and a good cast saw him nail the dry. The fish took off downstream so Mark had to follow it, stumbling over slippery boulders. Three glides downstream I caught up with the battle and landed a fat hen for him. It was about the same size as my jack.

After releasing that fish we headed downstream, marvelling at how physically tough trout must be to live in waters that are constantly testing their endurance.

One last memorable moment occurred on the way back to the truck: the sight of a mob of tahr scarpering across a scrubby face above us. Another tough game species that just looks right in the mountains.