Fly Fishing in New Zealand - Then and Now
Cedar Lodge, New Zealand By: Brian O’Keefe | April 2, 2021
Early Adventures in New Zealand with Brian O'Keefe
The year was 1973. I had just graduated from Lincoln High School in Portland, Oregon, and with saved money from mowing lawns and bussing tables, I clutched a paper ticket to Auckland, New Zealand. All through my younger days I fished the blue-ribbon streams of Montana with my bamboo rod – dry fly only – and my fly fishing purist of a grandfather.
Summertime wet wading, and catching 3 to 5 pound rainbows and browns, and not seeing another angler (for days!). We could see some fish rise, and some fish were moving deep, left and right, to take natural nymphs in the drift. We would always try a dry first, but if it wasn’t happening, then we would add 40 inches of tippet and drop in a Pheasant Tail Nymph. Boom!
For a decade, I heard the stories about my grandparents’ long, long, trip to New Zealand in 1951. In those days, Pan Am Airlines was going from San Francisco to Honolulu, then to Midway Island (guess where it got its name?), to Wake Island, Guam and then to Manila. I do not know how they got to New Zealand from there, but I do know that in 1958, the San Francisco to Tokyo flight took 32 hours!
Fishing as a team is the New Zealand formula for success. The angler moves slowly into position, as the guide spots the fish and gives directions. A wrong move or a horrible cast can spook the fish into deep water. All you have left are cussing, no fish, and excuses.
My adventurous grandparents spent six months in New Zealand, on both islands and fished those wonderful rivers that literally had no pressure. My grandfather told me when I was around 14 years old that his dry fly was probably the only artificial fly that the trout in those rivers saw during their lifetime. I was given maps from their trip and copies of my grandmother’s journal. With those items and a fiberglass Fenwick fly rod, a Phlueger Medalist reel, a Scientific Anglers Air Cel line and a backpack, I flew from Portland, Oregon to Honolulu to Auckland, NZ.
Even in 1973, I only saw other anglers at the famous New Zealand, Lake Taupo. I had the rivers and spring creeks all to myself. After several months on New Zealand’s North Island, I started exploring the sparsely populated South Island. I eventually fished my way down to Wanaka. It was a small town, surrounded by lakes and rivers and it had a Youth Hostel with rooms for a couple dollars a day. On my third day at the hostel, the police came and took away the warden (a strong word for the person who checked travelers in and explained the rules). The police saw me, all settled in, and asked how long I was planning on staying. I told them maybe two weeks. A minute later I was the new warden, and I got a big room and lived for free.
Checking in small groups of twenty-something Australians and hitchhiking around New Zealand was kind of fun. I would fish every day and work with the new arrivals every evening. I had a handmade sign that said to make yourselves at home (it was a dormitory with a couple bathrooms and a kitchen) and I would be back at 5:00pm.
In New Zealand, brown trout will seek holding/feeding spots in small tributaries. This brown was in a small tributary stream with just a few deep holes. The entire stream was under a forest canopy. There are no otters, osprey or eagles in New Zealand, so the trout are safe, even in skinny water. But, not safe from a well placed Elk Hair Caddis.
Wanaka, New Zealand had endless fly fishing opportunities. Back then, Queenstown was more hip and had real tourism and skiing, but Wanaka was small and quiet and I could fish nothing but dry flies for browns and rainbows to five pounds (leader and tippet material was so bad back then, I lost a few truly huge fish). I explored several watersheds and lakes. I had found paradise. The farther I hiked up the rivers, the better they got. I didn’t need a spotter or need to do the super stealthy on hands and knees approach to a spotted fish. I just cast upstream into good looking water. Big trout after big trout took my Gray Wulff.
I remember the Makarora River as one of my favorites. A small dirt road went upriver and an occasional beat up Land Rover would go by. Everyone always stopped and asked if I needed a lift. The people and trout were legendary.
Ten years later, after I left New Zealand, a fly fishing lodge started to host guests up that little dirt road. It was called Cedar Lodge. When I saw the first magazine article about Cedar Lodge and how they added helicopters to their fishing program, it made me drool. I walked and scrambled up those trails for hours, and many times there were no trails. A helicopter is brilliant. There are rivers that would take three days to walk to, and now they can be accessed in 15 minutes. I talked to the lodge manager last year and was really pleased that even after 30 years they are still finding new water and even less pressured streams. The guides and pilots create the fishing program, and by rotating destinations and resting the water they have kept the Makarora and many other incredible rivers just as wild and rewarding as they were when I was first there in 1974. My grandparents spent a week just traveling to New Zealand in 1951, today, the flight from Los Angeles is 13 hours and 30 minutes. Two books or five movies and going from winter to summer—how can you go wrong?
Very clear water clarity can be intimidating at first. Practice accurate, soft casts at 40 feet. Wade slowly and quietly. Breathe!
By: Brian O’Keefe
Angling Product Manager