Falling in love with the West Coast of the South Island is easy. The remote beaches are wild and beautiful, the vast forests appear almost untouched and glaciers and magnificent rivers take your breath away.

We reached the coast in Westport, after an interesting drive with great views up the Wairau and down the Buller valley. Cape Foulwind, named by Captain Cook due to difficult conditions when sailing and situated just south of Westport, is an important breeding colony of NZ fur seals. The cape lives up to its name in a different way when the rather unpleasant smell of rotten fish greets the
approaching visitor. At the time of our visit the seals were having their pups and the entire colony seemed to be busy and nervous. Seagulls were looking for a feed of seal pup and cheeky wekas tried to get their share when we had our cliff top lunch.

Next stop Punakaiki. The pancake rocks at Punakaiki are a feature not to be missed when driving along the coast. Despite being a very busy place, the pancake rocks are well worth a visit. Layers of hard limestone and softer sandstone have been eroded over thousands of years, forming an impressive maze of what looks like fossilized stacks of pancakes. In some places, erosion has created vertical shafts and at high tide water gets pressed up through these narrow blow holes and shoots up high into the air, sounding like a blowing whale.

After travelling another 40 km further south, we made Greymouth our base for the next two weeks. Fishing was on the schedule again and we spent memorable days on some of our favorite rivers.

Leaving early one morning, a beautiful sunrise is greeting us while we are driving up the Grey valley. Mist is hovering just off the ground and turning the landscape into a land of fairies.  We leave the car on the stop bank along the river and have to fight off the sand flies while putting on our fishing gear. The water is running low and clear and after about ¾ of an hour we spot the first fish of the day in the shallows of a long pool. The big brown is slowly patrolling its territory and disappears into the depths every few minutes. We wait till the fish is out of sight and I sneak up to where it used to reappear. After several minutes kneeling in the shallow water and keeping a low profile, the fish comes back and takes station again. The first cast works out well and the dry fly lands slightly above the fish.  A close look is the only response though before the trout starts cruising along again. Another pattern is tied on and the same procedure repeats itself 3 times.

After more than half an hour my knees are getting numb in the cold water and I am getting desperate. One more try! I tie on a size 12 Royal PMX and place the fly in front of the fish once again.  And this time my fly gets nailed immediately. After a strong battle up and down the pool, Béatrice is able to net a beautiful 7lbs Brown trout. What a start! We get several more fish that day and when we return to the car late in the afternoon, we come across two wild deer drinking water out of the river.

After having had such a great time, we decide to return to the same river a week later. We are lucky and pick a great day with brilliant blue skies again. We start fishing further up then on our previous visit and spot a good fish after may be half an hour of walking. It’s pretty windy by now and we have to wait several minutes until we can make a decent cast. The fly lands spot on, the fish is approaching its prey, but refusing our offering. The next cast brings the same result. What about a fly change? We decide to try it one more time. No reaction!? But hold on. The big Brown is turning, follows the drifting fly very slowly and inhales what’s supposed to be a tasty morsel in slow motion. As slowly and relaxed as it took the fly, the fish turns again and wants to swim back to its spot. Suddenly feeling the weight of the tightening line, the fish becomes very much alive and with an outburst of speed heads for the opposite bank which is full of driftwood and tree roots. I desperately try to stop the rampaging fish, but it is only when I start applying serious side pressure that the fish slows down. But it is not over now! The Brown suddenly turns around and starts swimming downstream.

Not down the rapids please! My knees are trembling and I apply as much pressure as I dare. To no avail! There is no holding back now and with the rod held high I try to follow the fish. Crossing the river in a hurry, I am more than close to falling in several times. The trout has reached the pool below the rapids by now and, because I am that much higher up, the leader is pulled over the rocks. And within seconds the inevitable happens: the line goes slack! For a couple of seconds a terrible feeling of total emptiness takes over and I have to sit down on the nearest rock. After pulling myself together I reel in the fly line. My remaining leader looks utterly shredded and I am able to pull the butt section apart without much effort.

We land 6 fish that day, all of them Brown trout between 4 and 7lbs. On the way back to the car we get another surge of adrenalin. A herd of water buffalos is feeding right along the river; we got to know the aggressive bull on our last visit and are very scared indeed. The water is too deep to cross to the other side and we sneak along the bank in the water, keeping a low profile all the time. The farmer gives us a smile as we recount our ordeal and tells us that the bull took down three fences and killed another buffalo not long ago.