Recurve – Liquid Life – Page 2 – Fishing, Boating & Adventures in New Zealand

Snap Happy

September 29, 2017Gurnard, Snapper haydnt

September 30th 2017

For those who regularly follow our fortunes, you’ll know the usual fishing trips follow a familiar pattern; We anchor, we burley, we sit and we wait. Sometimes the snapper find us fast . . . but sometimes, they don’t. It’s more often than not we play this waiting game . . . and it’s not an enjoyable pursuit. You never quite know how long it’s going to last. But on our last expedition, there was no waiting around whatsoever. We lucked-in and dropped anchor into a school of ravenous reds and it was game-on from the get-go!

They say that fortune favours the brave, so with that in mind I had decided to punch out a little further than our previous trip when we’d been inundated with sharks. It had cost us most of our tackle . . . and all of our enthusiasm. But today was to be very different. We stumbled upon an oasis of life, 20km out in the abyssal Western plains. With enthusiasm re-vitalised and tackle boxes replenished we were primed to slay and ready to rumble. From first line down to last line up we were nailing a fish ( or two! ) on every drop – and it didn’t seem to matter what bait or lure we offered. Whilst the other guys aboard stuck to the smelly stuff, I opted to flick out a few lures. First out the bag was a new Savage Gear squish slow-jig, and boy, did that lure take a beating over the next couple of hours. Numerous fish wrapped their jaws around the hooks and every single one put a smile on my dial.

Happiest chap on the day though, was the big fella, Pano; When he hooked into a hefty string-puller that did it’s absolute best to mimic a shark, we were astounded to see a chunky snapper come bubbling up from the depths. It was the undoubtedly the fish of the day and cranked the scales down to pleasing 16lbs ( 7kgs).

Any day out on the water is a good day. . . . but this day was a great one.

Shark Bite

September 3, 2017Uncategorized haydnt

September 3rd 2017

The less written about our last trip, the better. I think it best I keep it brief and let the pictures do the talking . . . for they tell a far rosier picture than that which we experienced.

Things started off in the worst possible way for one of our crew, Sam: He suffered the indignity of falling overboard. Luckily we were only in a meter of water, whilst pushing off at launch – but a meter of frigid seawater will still chill you to the core! More surprising was that nobody watching, laughed – at 7am on a crisp winter morning, just the thought it left us thankful that we weren’t the ones pitched into the drink.

Word on the grapevine told of snapper closer in, so we made an early stop at the 18 meter mark and unwittingly dropped our baits into ‘sharks-ville’. Sharks are awesome beasts and you have to admire their ability to sniff out a fish-bait like a dog on a rabbit, but it’s their damn super-senses that bring them in from far and wide to ruin many a West Coast trip. We moved further out in a bid to out-manoeuvre the toothy critters, but they were even thicker on the ground at the 30metre mark. With time tight and a seasick crew, we set up camp and battled our way through legions of rig and school sharks to a scarce bounty of just 4 snapper – probably my worst ever catch on a Westward voyage.

. . . . . . but looking on the bright side; The sun shone, the sea was calm and 4 snapper is more than enough to feed the family. And as a wise man once said: “A day on the water is always better than a day not on the water.” Clearly he wasn’t a succinct or eloquent wise man, but I think he makes a fair point.

www.recruve.co.nz — Sam with the biggest jack mackerel I’ve ever seen!

Roughing it.

August 13, 2017Kahawai, Kingfish, Snapper haydnt

August 11th 2017

The further we headed offshore, the rougher the sea became. With a stiff Easterly breeze on our tail, the Awhitu cliffs were slowly fading into the distance. During the winter months you have to burn some gas too reach the best fishing grounds. While those sunny summer days offer rich pickings close to shore, there’s something to be said for the adventure of hitting the open seas, in search of snapper schools in the big blue . . . . or more accurately, the ‘big grey’ on this occasion. With barely a hint of swell, the waves were nothing more than uncomfortable, but in a 6metre boat, it doesn’t take much of a chop, to slow you down to a lurching crawl. Nevertheless, we had the anticipation of a few hours fishing ahead and it’s hard to better the excitement off the unknown and the hopes of landing the big one.

Our goal was the 60 metre mark, but en-route our path was skewed toward a promising work-up. You don’t see too many of these out West – so you don’t pass them up when they come along. A rolling maul of gannets dropped from the air and skewered the water, then emerged to repeat the cycle. Meanwhile the sounder screen showed a bonanza of life below – things were looking good! We cut the throttle ahead of the birds and deployed the drogue, aiming our drift through the thick of the action. The Savage Gear, Squish jigs were rapidly rigged and hurled into the churning seas. Seconds later it was all on – and by that I mean, we were all on. 3 rods bent in unison with barely 10 metres of line off the reels. A dense school of kahawai were hard on the feed and the jigs were proving irresistible. We had 15 minutes of fun with them, but never got down to the seabed to find out if there were any snapper cruising below.

And so it was back to ploughing a path Westward and out into the depths. So slow was our progress that when we hit the 55 metre mark, I made an executive decision to sling the pick over the side and set up base-camp for a while. There’s often debate about whether or not to use berley out West. The nay-sayers claim it only attracts the sharks, and they are certainly right on occasion. But as well as shark, it also attracts snapper and gurnard, so the gamble is just which ones will come along first. We span the wheel of fortune and sent our berley pot zip-lining down the anchor rope. Had we made the right choice?

1hr later, I was starting to think not. With just a single snapper breaking our duck, the conversation turned to a change of position. On any other day, we would likely have cut and run a little further out, but with the prospect of a bumpy ride, no one was keen for the punishment. So we stuck to our guns and hoped for a change in fortunes . . . . . which eventually swung in our favour. The snapper began to come on the feed and though they never reach plague proportions we hit a steady stream of plum winter reds. We called it a day with 20 fish in the bin. Not bad going for a windy day on the water.

The snapper still seem pretty spread out and we haven’t hit any ‘honey-pots’ so far this winter; Those huge schools of fish that are tightly packed and oh so hungry. I expect once the water temperature rises a degree or two, this will trigger the pre-spawn swarms to aggregate. As ever, there’s always something to look forward to and I’m already excited about the prospects of spring.

Wonder what’s down below ?. . . . .

Underseas, overseas.

August 3, 2017Diving haydnt

August 3rd 2017

Guernsey – Its a bloody long way from NZ. Literally the other side of the world. Yet there are a fair few species of marine life that have made the long trek down-under. Scallops, john dory, gurnard and crayfish all have familiar cousins living at the other side of the globe. But while Guernsey seas do share some similarities, there are other ways they differ. Most notably, the tidal range, which is MASSIVE. A full 10 metres of daily up and down surging. Brutal currents gouge through an undersea world where all life is dictated by the incessant run of water.

Guernsey also boasts an archive of wartime shipwrecks. Many of these are deep and seldom seen, but there are a few in shallower seas. My first opportunity to get wet, was a dive on the Ammo Wreck. Lying 35metres deep, she is conveniently situated just a few hundred metres from the harbour entrance. As with all Guernsey diving, you have but a brief window to operate in. With several knots of water flow, there is but a brief period of slack whilst the tide switches directions. Thus, it’s a meticulously planned operation to be in the right place, at the right time – and ready to plunge in for the 30 minute window while the oceans pause for breath.

Sadly much of the islands marine ecosystem has been relentlessly mined by the commercial fishers and while there were a few schools of pout and the odd conger eel about the wreck, most other species were notable in their absence. But as is often the case when some species decline, others thrive to fill the void, so it was heartening to see many lobsters dotted throughout the wreckage. I had my trusty cray noose with me, but extracting a pincered critter for the pot was nigh on impossible.

A second dive for scallops took us drifting through a warren of sandy galleys and billowing kelp. Ironically, in a place where there are no catch restrictions and you can take as many scallops as you want . . . . you can no-longer take as many as you want, because there aren’t many left! Between 3 divers we managed just 36 scollys over a 40 minute dive. Time to put some catch limits in place I’d suggest.

The following week I embarked on quite a different dive trip off the island’s South coast. Target species were flatfish and finding and catching them is quite the art form. Most ‘flatties’ are masters of camouflage and learning where they lurk and how to spot them can take years to master. It’s been a few years since I last tried, but I was hopeful the old magic was still there. It helped that our salty sea-dog of a skipper Alan, and my diving buddy Brendan have an abundance of diving knowledge between them. If anyone could put me onto then flatties, it would be them. . . . and sure enough they didn’t disappoint. 25 metres down and hugging the edge of the reef, amongst sweeping schools of bait, I found my first victim; a dinner plate sized plaice. An utter reliance on camouflage is usually their un-doing; a swift stab from my hand-spear and the first fish was on the line. 10 minutes later and an even tastier quarry lay buried beneath a disturbance in the sand. This time a plump turbot. Famed for their delectable flesh and occasionally dustbin lid proportions, this one was but a tiddler, but a welcome catch nonetheless.

Turbot and brill also reside in New Zealand waters – or at least their antipodean cousins do. To my knowledge they are not actively targeted by divers or fisherman and it begs the question why, as they are staples of the commercial fishermans catch? My next project starts here: tracking them down and figuring out how to catch them. Watch this space . . . .

Creaky old rust bucket . . . and his tractor.

Land of the Giants.

July 11, 2017Gurnard, Snapper haydnt

11th July 2017

Who’s that beaky fella grinning at the camera? – It’s Chris with his PB snapper.

. . . . . oh you thought I meant the bird? – Well that is a giant storm petrel. He came begging for dinner and offered some fun distractions to an afternoons fishing. I’ve never come across such an ‘unwild’ wild animal. From the time he crashed from the skies with an ungainly splash and sidled over to the boat, he showed rare bravado. Pecking the bait scraps from the duckboard and even taking squid from our hands. Clearly a trick he’s performed before and no doubt one that guarantees him a feed from every boat he visits. Quite the entrepreneurial bird.

But I digress. After all, you’re no doubt reading this to find out how big the snapper was, where it was caught and perhaps a bit of the back story, just for entertainments sake . . . . so here goes:

Chris had been having a bad day on the water. He was 6:0 down on the snapper count and was clearly suffering the effects of a long lay-off period. He hadn’t been out on the water since Easter and the rust had set in. While I was winching plump, red snaps up over the gunnels, Chris was catching undersize gurnard, getting sharked and sorting out tangle after tangle. He was losing bait and losing tackle, but worst of all, losing fish. When he did finally hook up to a real string puller, it gave him a good tussle for a minute or 2 before somehow throwing the hook.

Quite what it was that broke his run of bad luck, I’m not sure. Could it have been our koha to the paddled footed visitor? Just maybe the gods were watching? For soon enough I was slipping the net under the fish of the day – a chunky 6KG snapper that fought like a champion and put a grin on our faces from ear to ear. It was a personal best for Chris and the timing could not have been better. Rarely does fishing play fair, but just for once, the bad luck was perfectly balanced by the good.

Jaws.

July 4, 2017Shark, Snapper haydnt

July 2nd 2017

Last minute job cancellations are a complete pain . . . . unless the weather is perfect for fishing. In those circumstances, I’m prepared to overlook the work flow disruption, loss of income . . . . and grab the opportunity with enthusiasm. Last week was just one of those days: a last minute email from the client to say there was a postponement due to unforeseen circumstances – whatever that meant. Immediately I fired out a group text to try find a fishing buddy – but midweek crew are rare as East Coast crays, so it was to be a solo sortie. A crew of one and a thirst for adventure.

Going fishing is sweet. Going out fishing while everyone else is at work is sweeter yet. Out beyond the bar there was not a boat in sight. The sea was flat, the sun was shining. Albatrosses were wheeling low above a slight westerly swell. Quite where the fish would be was anyones guess. Over winter the snapper schools accumulate offshore in ever denser schools but finding their depth and location is often a shot in the dark. The West coast topography is virtually featureless. A gentle slope that extends miles offshore with a barely discernible drop into deeper water. There’s no structure or channels to hold the fish and often just dropping your anchor creates a temporary FAD ( Fish Aggregation Device) in the wide, empty nether. We often lower down some berley to entice them quicker, but it can also be a dinner bell for sharks – and that’s just who came calling this time. Baits went down – sharks came up. More baits went down. . . . yet more sharks came up. Occasionally they’d make it all the way to the surface but more often than not they’d sever the trace and ruin the rig. Time to execute plan B.

The best way to beat the sharks is a switch to lures and I had a heap of new Savage Gear tackle I was just itching to fling around. Their 3D shrimp is quite the work of art. Twitching it backwards across the seabed will undoubtedly trigger a strike from any snapper in the vicinity . . . . provided there are snapper in the vicinity. Which it appears there weren’t.

And so to plan C. – Head deeper still and unleash hell. Utilise every rod onboard and set up a blockade that any snapper in a 1km radius will inevitably stumble into. . . . and plan D worked. The action wasn’t hectic and the fish were noticeably gentle on the bite and lethargic on the fight. But at least they were coming aboard at a steady rate. Sure the sharks were there too and the scourge of the winter seas, the barracouta were lurking on the drop – but at least the bin was no longer empty and there would be fish on the table that night.

Every trip out is a learning experience and this one taught me more than most. When the fishing is easy, then any fool can bring home the bacon. But when the fish are picky and hard to find you gotta bring your ‘A’ game and invariably you’ll learn a lot along the way.

Half squid. Half fish. The legendary Squish jig.

Fishing & Adventure

June 14, 2017June 14, 2017Snapper haydnt

14th June 2017

Last weekend while their Uncle Scott (of Fishing and Adventure fame) was on TV hauling in a monster kingfish near White Island, Kalo and Sio were out on their own intrepid expedition. They’d teamed up with friends Ava and Scarlett and were hauling in tiddlers on the Manukau. While the fish ( and fishos) were somewhat smaller in stature, the excitement and jubilation were cranked up just as high.

We’d taken the youngsters out to fish the Counties Manukau Fishing Club’s stellar winter competition, The Grunter Hunter. The sole target species is gurnard so we’d meticulously planned our mission and tailored our efforts toward capturing a competition winning ‘carrot’. With an impressive prize list of cash and tackle our hopes were high. – and with the promise of a free BBQ and soft drinks after the weigh-in, the kids new they’d be bringing home the bacon . . . or a rather a pre-cooked sausage in bread.

The wind was nil, the tide was high and our fellow boaties were out in force. Anchored up off the central harbour tripod, the fish were ravenous below us. Unfortunately they were entirely the wrong species and entirely the wrong size, but our young crew didn’t care a jot. They were loving every minute of it.

Come 5:30pm we were heading home from the weigh-in with a car load of contented kids. They’d devoured the BBQ food, cleaned up at the lolly scramble and scored some bonus spot prizes along the way. That’s not to mention a great day on the water with their old dads. I take my hat off to the organisers who laid on a fantastic family event.

Life’s pretty good in Godzone.

Short is sweet.

June 10, 2017Snapper haydnt

10th June 2017

The weekend weather was supposed to be terrible . . .. but it wasn’t. The Manukau bar is usually lumpy . . . . but it wasn’t. Things were looking good! Heading North beyond the bar though, it got pretty choppy. Punching into a beam sea we opted to drop anchor sooner than anticipated, but that was a rookie mistake. We were in the middle of no-mans land. – Or shark-land as it could otherwise be known. There’s hundreds of sharp toothed critters living there and they don’t keep company with the red fellas we were hoping to catch. An hour wasted and there was but one option – head forth into the waves in search of the fabled spot X.

As the tide ebbs and pours out into the Tasman, a river of water is formed. The churning currant is loaded with nutrients which attract crustaceans, baitfish and snapper. Heaps of snapper! With a North West breeze it’s wind against tide and certainly not the calmest conditions to fish in. But with the fish hard on the bite and snaffling our baits on almost every drop, a rolling, pitching boat is easily forgotten. The next couple of hours were a whole lot of fun. We literally fished until every last bait was gone. The pilchards, the squid, the jack mackerel: all hoovered down by schools of ravenous snapper – often coming up 2 at a time. Interestingly, when we were forced to switch to slabs of fresh kahawai, the bites stopped. Maybe they didn’t appreciate having one of their friends diced, sliced and offered up on hooks. Who knows?

And so it was an early finish, but with our chilly bin laden and our spirits high we headed for home in a jubilant mood. Seems like the winter fishing is really kicking into gear.

Is West Best?

May 31, 2017Crayfish, Diving, Snapper haydnt

May 30th 2017

They say that ‘West is Best’, . . . but is there any truth in that whatsoever? – Maybe it’s just a superficial axiom? A simple play on words that has only gained traction because a thousand a lazy headline writers opted for the obvious rhyme. . . . . err yes, let’s make that 1001.

We decided to put it all to the test and trade in the vast rangey expanses of Auckland’s Western shores for the balmy, sheltered coasts of the Eastern Coromandel. Or so we thought. The reality was somewhat akin to that which we already new; rolling swells, driving rain and a treacherous harbour bar all seemed very familiar. So I guess you could say we felt right at home. The king tides and a previous day’s persistent rain were forcing a torrent of muddy water out through the Tairua harbour entrance. Here it met a 2m Easterly swell that set the waves peaking into a rolling break. Our high water departure coincided with the least challenging conditions, but it was anything but the languid ocean we’d expected.

Throttled up with the horizon in our sights, the sunrise ahead of us was a corker. Pink skies, magenta clouds and golden sun-rays – but true to the shepherds maxim, it wasn’t to last. 45 minutes later and 20 kms offshore at the Alderman Islands, we got slammed by a Coromandel monsoon. Hoods up, eyes narrowed, chins down, the next 30 minutes were memorable -and not just for the biblical soaking we received: For it turns out while we don’t enjoy the rain, it doesn’t seem to bother dolphins one iota. These fellas were out in force and enjoying the patter on their backs. We passed three pods, all of whom stayed to play a while and cast a beady eye up through the watery divide. Are they as in awe of us, as we are of them? Their speed and agility are mesmerising.

But we weren’t here just to enjoy watching the wildlife. We were here to slay some wildlife! . . . ( by morally acceptable and sustainable means of course). So where and how to fish were the more pressing concerns. A brief stop over a couple of deep pins showed a sounder full of fish, but at the first drop I got ‘coutta’d’ and lost 1 of my beloved Savage Gear, Squish jigs. These things certainly attract the fish . . . . even the wrong sort. It was the same story on the next reef so a change in tactics was required. We headed in among the islands, slung out the pick and set a juicy berley trail out into the briny. Spoon out the blood and guts and you’re sending out dinner bell to all passing snapper. We soon had a few in the bin and they were the beautiful brown kelpies that we don’t see in the Manukau. Thrown in the mix were a few kahawai and a snotty, knotty moray – just to keep things interesting.

With the sun out and our appetite for snapper sated, we hauled anchor and relocated to try fishing under, rather than over the water. My efforts with the speargun were unrewarding, but Ross donned a tank and noose and managed to winkle out a few crays. One of those was a packhorse and though the biggest critter in his bag, it still fell just shy of the size limits. After a couple of photos we tossed it back to go grow some more. There seems to be more packhorse crays than usual and I can only assume it’s the huge decline in the once prolific red craysfish, that has enabled their population to claw back some ground.

The Aldermans are a stunning location. A jagged chain of saw-tooth ridges, teetering stacks and cavernous archways. A world of raw natural beauty, gnarled rocky cliffs and weather sculpted bluffs that are possibly somewhat prettier even, than the Waitakere coasts I’m more familiar with. But let’s keep that between ourselves. My worry is I might not be welcome back if word gets out I’ve been dipping my rod in the neighbours pond and singing the praises of her curvaceous coasts.

Under fire.

May 11, 2017Kahawai, Snapper haydnt

May 11th 2017

Smoke was billowing from the Waitakere Ranges. Curling yellow clouds poured from the Piha cliffs and diffused into layers of haze through the headlands. It made for an arresting, and oddly beautiful sight. Back-lit by the low morning sun, sandwiched between the rolling Tasman below and checkerboard clouds above, there was a dreamy aesthetic to the scene. A pair of helicopters dumped monsoon buckets of seawater in rapid sorties to and fro. Their efforts to quell the flames were gaining ground and slowly the plume of smoke withered.

Anchored off the coast we had ringside seats and just as we kicked back and relaxed, so too did the snapper. They just weren’t interested in eating breakfast – and we were ladling out the grub. Squid, mullet, pilchard, even fresh jack mackerel were spurned. The only hungry fish this morning were the kahawai . . . and they were ravenous! You couldn’t get a bait to the seabed without a spotted silver missile inhaling it, then bolting with frenzied enthusiasm for the surface. Needless to say there were many tangled lines and profanity aplenty. More time was spent re-jigging and re-rigging than fishing proper, so we cut our losses and made for pastures greener . . . . or so we thought. But 45 minutes of trolling live-baits and lures for kingi’s were similarly unrewarding. Fishing is always a game of patience – and today the game was a long one.

So with the approaching turn of tide, we headed South to an often productive mark just West of the bar. As the tide drops to its lowest ebb the current streams seaward. This spews a wealth of nutrients and baitfish out into the ocean and the snapper are invariably mooching around looking for an easy meal. Today was no different and in a complete about turn to our mornings efforts, we were now loading up the hooks with a snapper on every drop. The long game had worked and out patience was paying off. So with bin full of fish and boat full of smiles, we pushed throttle and cut a wake back to the beach. Thank you West coast, you turned it on again. Catch you again soon.

Big Bugs

Big Red.

Snap Happy

Shark Bite

Underseas, overseas.

Jaws.

Short is sweet.

Is West Best?

Hamiltons Gap

Go Girl!

Keep on plugging

Go Deep.

Where the bloody hell are you?

Bar Hopper

Spring Fishing Fever!

The Hunters

The Hunted

About

Contact

Snap Happy

September 30th 2017

Shark Bite

September 3rd 2017

Roughing it.

August 11th 2017

Underseas, overseas.

August 3rd 2017

Land of the Giants.

Jaws.

July 2nd 2017

Fishing & Adventure

14th June 2017

Short is sweet.

10th June 2017

Is West Best?

May 30th 2017

Under fire.

May 11th 2017