Nicholson Trench

The rain drove parallel to State Highway One as the waves crashed across the tarseal, the car’s headlights cutting a swath through the salt-laden spray.

I was heading from Raumati South to Seaview Marina, where I was set to join long-time contributor, Wellington fishing guide Pete Lamb, for a day plumbing the depths of the Nicholson Trench. It was the first week of July and the moon was high in sky – not that you could see it!

Over the years the magazine has published plenty of stories and numerous photographs of big bass and groper pulled from the depths of ‘The Trench’. Now it was to be my turn to give it a shot.

Arriving at 6.30am, with horizontal rain replacing the salt spray across the marina carpark, I fully expected the excursion to be called off. I was about to learn the true meaning of ‘staunch,’ described in the Oxford Dictionary as meaning ‘trustworthy, loyal, firm, watertight, airtight’. In this weather I hoped the latter two definitions would apply equally well to my wet-weather gear!

Greeted initially by Pete’s partner in Wellington Fishing Charters, John Pharger, I was welcomed aboard Daniel, a 62-foot (19m) former Adelaide trawler, built like the proverbial brick outhouse. This was a real blokes’ boat – no frills but plenty of thrills. In charter boat terms, this too was staunch.

The bearded, lanky frame of Pete Lamb extricated itself from behind the wheel of a station wagon, the driver’s position of which initially appeared far too close for someone so long.

“Gidday, Grant. Long time, no see. It’s great to have you here,” was Pete’s opening gambit as we transferred the day’s tucker from the back of the wagon to the boat in the driving rain.

Fuelled up and the with the remainder of the day’s crew on board, we headed out through the gloom, not a word said about the weather in the safety briefing.
I broached the subject: “Didn’t think we would be going Pete – it’s blowing its mammaries off on the Kapiti side…”

“Yeah, but we will be in the lee with this northerly blowing, and it’s not forecast for much more than 20 knots this morning,” was Pete’s matter-of-fact retort, as if 20-knots-plus was the norm – and it probably was.

Daniel is not a fast craft. An America’s Cup chase boat she is not. Ten knots downhill is probably her best speed, but I was to find out later she had other sea kindly attributes, proving that speed is not everything.

At nearly 100 tonnes, she is a solid girl and does ‘staunch’ well. The comfortable speed gave Pete and I time to catch up as he prepared a round of bacon and eggs in the galley for the crew, consisting of mates and staff involved in his Southern Bait and Tackle Shop operations.

I had done ‘staunch’ with Pete before. It was a similar winter’s day when Pete, his lovely wife Kim, and I fished for moki on the south coast, the vicious southerly not only cutting through the layers, but whipping up a hailstorm of small shingle stones as an added bonus.

It was a day when heads above the trenches earned an eyeful of grit and a face massage that felt like it had been performed with the coarsest sandpaper. I guess I just needed to harden up!

Fishing at ‘The Trench’ had been good for recent charter trips, with nice hauls of bluenose the norm. I could almost smell the fillets sizzling in the pan – not to be confused with the bacon aromas emanating from the galley. Bluenose is one of my favourite eating fish, and by the time we reached the grounds, in my mind I had almost filled the huge ice-bin single-handedly.

The plan was to fish various drop-offs, ‘hills’ and gradients, ranging from 180 to 270 metres deep on the ‘outer’ Trench. Our ‘warm-up’ drop was in 200 metres, as skipper John got his head around the drift before starting in earnest. I was not too surprised when the first effort drew a blank, but after two or three shots there was still nothing to show for our efforts.

This was where ‘staunch’ kicked in, as we all hunkered down over various braid rigs, concentrating on staying in touch with the bottom. The three rules of ‘groper’ (or ‘puka for northern readers) fishing are: ‘relocation, relocation, relocation,’ in any order. During the drift keeping the baits continuously in the strike zone for as long as possible by letting out line is important.

Others chose to bring their baits anything from five to 25 ‘winds’ up off the bottom, a tactic that often results in bluenose, which are not always tucked in tight against terra firma.

I probably did a dozen drops over several locations before experiencing my first ‘hit’. The long wind topside produced a double of ‘scarpies’, or sea perch, a fish I was to gain a greater appreciation for on another Capital caper a few days later.The wind stayed at around 20 knots, along with the odd stronger gust, normally accompanied by a rain squall. My hosts stayed nailed to the rail, drop after drop, with just a handful more scarpies and a small bass hitting the deck. Even a change of tide and different locations failed to produce much at all. We stuck it out for some seven or more hours, propped up by lashings of hot coffee, until Pete and John called stumps. I was beginning to learn the meaning of staunch.

While disappointed, the crew remained philosophical, and Pete began talking up a closer-in trip in two days’ time to fish for ‘turkeys’ and ‘blueys’, local slang for tarakihi and blue cod. In these boys’ dictionaries, ‘optimistic’ goes hand in hand with ‘staunch’.
It had been a fun day, but the pizza parlour was going to do well from the crew that night.

Hope springs eternal
A day later saw the winding arm recovered, and us heading to Karori Light to fish the foul. Once again a blustery nor’wester pushed us out the harbour entrance, where we had to give way to a couple of the larger and less agile Cook Strait ferries.

Pete was at the helm and soon had us drifting over some light foul, 10 ounces (280g) of lead taking the ledger rigs towards the bottom in around 35 metres. In direct contrast to our previous endeavours, the action was instant. This JAFA snapper fisherman set a hot pace, boating the best blue cod of around 1.75kg and suffering plenty of good-natured ribbing from the ‘naturalised’ Wellingtonians as a result. Much to their delight, my fish was beaten later on, but good breeding and skill again came to the fore, and I reclaimed my crown with a fish weighing around 2.25kg – although, to be honest, Pete Radowski’s blue cod dropper rig probably played the vital role, rather than any special ability on my part!

Number two daughter, Miah, was along for the ride, and she chose to arm herself with the camera rather than any fishing tackle. She had as much fun with the lens as I did with the rod.

Pete had redeemed himself. Wellington waters had produced more than enough fillets for the dozen or so families the anglers on board represented. It was a day when most prudent small-craft skippers would have kept their boats and crews firmly on land. Dressed up against the sometimes-driving rain and constant biting wind, it was great to be out there on such a comfortable vessel with a bunch of happy and determined anglers.

Yes, it was the middle of winter; yes, we could have been tucked up by the fire watching fishing DVDs, but yes, it was great to do ‘staunch’ first-hand.