The Gus 'Grey Nomad' Birthday and Fishing Tour

[Ken Gargett]

A very great mate of mine, we'll call him Gus as changing names is only for the innocent, recently turned 50 (and as far as I am concerned, far too little gratitude has been shown for my kind gesture of signing him up to the National Senior's Association).

In an act of unparalleled generosity, which is more than typical of him, he celebrated by hosting 22 friends for 3-4 days at the fabulous Lake Rotoroa Lodge in the Nelson Lakes region of the south island of New Zealand. He and I have fished it numerous times before and loved it (stories and photos have been posted on the forum). This is the region for the best brown trout fishing on the planet (perhaps not the biggest but the sight casting here is unbelievable when it is on).

We all headed over last Thursday and it was fantastic to catch up with some really close friends I had not seen for ages and also others with whom I'd crossed paths over the years. Gus spent the first part of his life in Adelaide and then moved to Queensland around 1980, give or take.

I was fishing, as were most, next day (plenty for spouses and those who didn't want to fish to do), I promised my guide, Greg, with whom I have often fished, it'd be a quiet one. I think it wound up around midnight. As I woke up next to my bottle of 23-year-old Zacapa – planned to last the entire trip – with only a half inch remaining, who knows. Others helped and I remember some very good cigars on the porch, one of the great views on the planet, though a little less impressive at night (as you can see).

Day 1 – We were fishing in pairs as so many were keen to have a go. I was with a great old mate, with whom I spent many good times at pubs and parties over the years. Since then, he has done all right for himself. He left his luxury yacht in the Med to fly out for this and 6 weeks at his luxury Gold Coast penthouse before flying back to his luxury London house. He had never fished before – confirmed by fronting in gardening boots, corduroy jeans and a lumberjack shirt. Pairing with someone first up is tough. I know what it is like if the guide basically dumps you and spends all his time with the other bloke (not pointing any fingers, Ayala).

We headed for the Sabine but as it was clear that there would be other people there (numerous empty trailers), plan B. Across to the Matakitaki, which I've fished a few times before for reasonable success – the downside of this river is that you need to walk out via the aptly named Cardiac Hill. As there'd been solid rain a few days earlier, many rivers had flooded and needed another day or two to come down and clear up. The M'ki was too chalky so it was Plan C, across to the Muroai. It too was cloudy but a bit better so we gave blind casting a go (reasonably happy as got three – two fives and a three lb'er). My mate was relegated to spinning duties. He flogged the water for three hours for zip. I kept sending Greg back to assist. Finally, he took the rod, said he was doing it all fine and tossed out, only to hook up. My mate looked like he'd swallowed the fly. Then we lost Greg (he is a 'no prisoners, no mollycoddling' sort of guide so you need to keep up – I think my buddy could have done with a little more of said coddling) when he went off to find a good spot to teach him to fly-cast. We got stuck in a grass swamp and then a cow paddock. No sign of Greg.

Then came the highlight of the day when my mate copped all 240 volts in the wedding tackle as he straddled a fence, not realising said fence was electric. This was about five minutes after he had fallen nipple deep in a dangerous hole in the swamp. At this stage, I think his enthusiasm for angling was beginning to wane. But he hung in stoically and went out again the next day.

We were all a little whacked from the night before and a big day so I promised my guide I'd have a a very early night to be ready for the next day. Whoops. This was the big birthday evening. What a hoot. The food at the Lodge is spectacular. The chef is superb so we ate well throughout. Gus's sister, Bec, gave a sensational speech about him, going through his life and focusing on his obsessions (he has a lot), noting the main two as himself and money. Then Gus spoke. No one in the history of mankind has been able to get away with the sort of outrageous behavior he can. You'd have to know him to have an inkling as to why but get away with it he does. Fair to say that absolutely nothing he said at the speech could be repeated here. At a family gathering a week or two earlier to celebrate his birthday with his extended family and relatives, he gave a speech during which he asked his dignified, elderly mother-in-law, one of the doyennes of Brisbane society, if she was wild and woolly or fresh and free where it mattered, though in slightly more raucous terms. Only he could get away with it. Finally, his wife had put together a slide show of photos taken from throughout his life (although there were far too many of parties in the '80s for my liking – I could even remember some of the shots – scary). There were tears and tears of laughter – sentimental lot. Then outside for a fabulous cigar from a mate – the RA RR – and back to the bar for more wine, beer, champagne, port, gin, tequila, another full bottle of Zacapa XO and much more. It all disappeared. Someone had given Gus an Ipod and put music on it so we cranked it up (obviously not me, given my tech abilities but someone knew how). The girls insisted on playing something called Coalplay and having us dance. The blokes gave them a fair go, so after a full 60 seconds (45 seconds too long in my view) took control of the pod and never let them near it again (to be fair, I did some dancing later – rather unfairly I was given much praise for my enthusiasm and bugger all for my ability). It really was a top party!

We played everything from Three Dog Night, Nina Simone, Bobby Darin to Bruce and Bob but four songs were played at least 12 times each – we sang our lungs out each and every time – 'Words' by the BeeGees, 'Sweet Caroline', 'American Pie' and 'Suspicious Minds'. Gus's wife, a very close friend of mine, was hugely upset with me as apparently it is my fault she married someone with no self control. Just because around 3am, he promised her he'd stop drinking, is it my fault that it took all of 30 seconds to convince him to stand on a chair and skull a mug of Drambuie?

Then there was the wager. Inevitably things got out of control. Around 3.30am it was me and a mate against Gus and a mate to catch the most trout the next day. At one stage, there was half a mill on it. I pointed out that I had fat chance of honoring that with my sick little piggybank but bizarrely, some of the troops there had greater confidence in me than I did (or perhaps they just thought there was no chance of Gus being able to fish the next day) and there was a rush to cover it. Eventually, I talked them down to – if we won, they had to come to Cuba with us, while if they won, we had to go to Cuba with them. Things finally tailed off a long way past 4am. All agreed it was one of the all time great nights.

Day 2 – All agreed the next morning was not quite so fine. Stumbled out with a hangover to wipe out a killer whale, a huge bruise at the base of my throat – can you get that from 'enthusiastic' singing for four hours? - and a nearly dislocated knuckle – no idea how. Rob and I joined Greg for the Crow, a river I've never fished before. We were choppering in and when the pilot started zipping about looking for a few rocks mid-river to land on, I went very close to colouring the inside of the chopper. No one would have enjoyed that. It was a perfect day and this is an insanely beautiful river. Easy to see why a good chunk of 'Lord of the Rings' was shot around here. Perfect conditions. Blue skies, no wind, crystal water, the level dropping a smidge post flood. Nothing could be better. And the fish! During the day we saw at least 80 good trout, most five lbs plus, some pushing 8. Amazing and unbeatable. Except, of course, if we could have got one single fish to show the slightest interest in a fly. We tried everything. A few took a look and buggered off. Most sat at the bottom as though they were nailed to the river bed. Not one single half hearted strike all day. Zip. Skunked. Very disappointing. We ended up lobbing rocks at them. Toss in a pro-bowl hangover, a case of excruciating chafing (yes, more than you needed to know), too many dreaded sand flies getting through the defences meaning several days of tearing at my skin like a rabid dog and the dodgy knee flaring up and you'd think it couldn't get much worse?

You'd be wrong.

My beautiful, beautiful Sage 5-weight TCX. My ridiculously expensive, much loved TCX Sage. That wonderful four-piece rod turned into a 5-piece when a fat idiot fell in one of the tricky currents and landed on it, shearing the base section like a knife through hot butter. I would be that fat idiot. Numb. Gutted. A very quiet night followed, at least for me.

a mate casting in the crow and one of my first day trout. nothing to write home about.

[Colt45]

Great stuff KG! And 240 volts to the wedding tackle - brilliant!

[FlyFishingDude]

Great times Ken. Sorry about the Sage. I feel the pain all the way over here and hopefully it can be repaired. That fish has the "Enough of the photo ops" look......

[Ken Gargett]

Great times Ken. Sorry about the Sage. I feel the pain all the way over here and hopefully it can be repaired. That fish has the "Enough of the photo ops" look......

have to get in touch with them today but i believe the lifetime warranty should cover it, with a small cost. i really hope so.

[thechenman]

I think the broken rod on day 2 is a small price to pay for the night you had on day 1.

[FlyFishingDude]

I think the broken rod on day 2 is a small price to pay for the night you had on day 1.

I surely hope so, those rods cost a very shiny penny......