The Kind of Fishing That’ll Make Your Buddies Back Home Jealous

You ever had one of those mornings where the mist’s just lifting off the water, the sun’s creeping over the mountains, and you can already hear the trout rising? That’s a typical Tuesday around here. I’m based in Twizel, smack in the middle of the South Island, where the rivers run clearer than your conscience after a good day’s fishing.

Now, the Mackenzie District—it’s got everything. Braided rivers wide enough to make you feel small, freestone stretches that’ll test your wading skills, and these little spring creeks where the browns get so fussy they’ll turn their noses up at anything but the perfect drift. And don’t get me started on the lakes—oh man, when the rainbows are cruising the edges in summer, it’s like they’re daring you to cast at ’em.

I’ve got a soft spot for this one bend in the Ahuriri River, just below the old willow. Last spring, I took a client out there—guy from Texas who swore he’d seen it all. Well, we hooked into a brown so big it took us downstream into the next pool, and when we finally landed it, he just sat down on the bank laughing like a kid. That’s the thing about this place—it’ll humble you and thrill you in the same breath.

Of course, not every day’s a winner. There was this one time in early winter when I promised a group the "best sight-fishing of their lives," and we spent six hours watching trout ignore us like we were selling timeshares. But that’s fishing, right? Come autumn, though, when the browns are fat and sassy and the willows turn gold—man, that’s when the magic happens.

You’ll hear folks say the water’s "world-class," but that doesn’t do it justice. It’s the way the light hits the riffles at dawn, the sound of a reel screaming when a rainbow takes off downstream, the way your hands smell like river moss and victory at the end of the day. And the trout? Browns that’ll make you whisper swear words, rainbows that fight like they’ve got something to prove.

So if you ever find yourself in Twizel—maybe chasing the salmon run or just passing through—look me up. I’ll show you the spots the tourists miss, the ones where the fish don’t just bite, they put on a show. Bring your lucky hat, though. Trust me, you’ll need it.