When I last visited New Zealand 10 or so years ago, my working life was in the African safari world; fishing a minor interest, rod in hand an occasional sight, generally at the prompting of my angling fanatic husband. Roll on a decade and I’m now a fully-fledged member of the Aardvark McLeod team and fishing takes up more of my headspace if not necessarily my time.
So, a second visit to New Zealand was bound to contain a greater angling element than the first, but I was still determined it was not to be a fishing holiday – more a further exploration of this unbelievably lovely country.
As before, a mix of North and South Island was on the cards – this time with 48 hours in Singapore to break the journey. The stop-over was entertaining and certainly saw off the worst of the jet lag before we got to the main event.
Lake Tarawera close to Rotorua and an easy drive from Auckland was earmarked as stop one. Famous among Victorian visitors who flocked to the nearby pink and white silica terraces, the area is often referred to as the birthplace of New Zealand tourism. The terraces are long gone, victims Mount Tarawera’s massive eruption in 1886, but it’s still scenically compelling with some great walking a handful of lovely accommodation options. A perfect start and a peaceful place to relax for a couple of nights.
Hopping from one lake to another, via the otherworldly Wai-O-Tapu hot springs (awash with bubbling, steaming and garishly coloured pools), Lake Taupo and Tongariro Lodge provided the venue for our first fishing foray. Glorious blue skies and birdsong, the like of which I’ve not heard in years, heralded our day on the Upper Tongariro River where plenty of healthy rainbows were seen and landed. It’s a beautiful spot, with rafting and back country helicopter fishing both available alongside the more traditional fare. Full details of our brief visit can be found on my blog here.
Tracking further south, we arrived in Napier – an extraordinary town reminiscent of a filmset someone forgot to dismantle. Devastated by an earthquake in 1931, the town was rebuilt in its original art-deco style and walking the streets is an extraordinary evocation of a bygone era. Added to the itinerary by the aforesaid angling fanatic husband who’d heard rumours of kingfish in Hawke’s Bay, we didn’t manage to fish but enjoyed a very different face of New Zealand.
The Wellington to Picton ferry must surely be one of the world’s most picturesque crossings. The last 40 minutes is worth the fare alone as the boat threads through magnificent scenery deep into Queen Charlotte’s Sound before docking in the small harbour town. Quite captivating.
The drive from Picton to Golden Bay on the western-most tip of the South Island was long, but boy, so worth it! There’s just one road in and one road out – and that’s over the enormous Takaka Hill. Tipping over the crest after a good 20 minutes of climbing, lush green pasture and the long sweeping bay hove into sight. Wild, isolated, wonderful and just one of New Zealand’s many surprises.
The husband was in a high state of excitement, ready to target kingfish in the bay with a guide booked (his only contribution to the planning of our holiday) many months before. Although we were a little early in the season he was out at 5.30am the following morning ready to catch a monster! A few fish were spotted; none hooked. Had it been a couple of weeks later and the water a few degrees warmer I think success would have been all but guaranteed. However, it’s the most stunning spot and wading the crystal-clear waters certainly had a Seychellois edge to it.
This rural farming area is utterly charming, there’s a laid-back hippy vibe among the quirky shops, galleries and a smattering of fun restaurants. We’d be back in a heartbeat.
The Blenheim wine country was next on the list – so totally different to Golden Bay it could have been in another country entirely. Awash with vineyards, restaurants and the odd sophisticated hotel it provided a complete contrast. To be honest, I think we’d have preferred longer in Golden Bay or to have crossed over into the Abel Tasman – but it was an entertaining interlude none-the-less.
Christchurch and a couple of days at the Test Match provided a suitable finale. The most English of New Zealand cities, Christchurch still bears the scars of the 2011 earthquake but is a bustling, buzzing place with plenty to do. The cricket, in a fabulously relaxed venue (modelled, we discovered, to evoke the feel of a village cricket ground) had a truly lovely atmosphere. That England won was the icing on the cake!
Re-visiting risks disappointment, with previous memories not quite lived up to. Not the case in New Zealand. It’s glorious. I’d go back again and again.
On the fishing front, there’s so much we didn’t do – brown trout fishing in the South Island, back-country heli fishing, overnight camping trips and rafting; all on the list for a future visit. But a holiday to New Zealand really shouldn’t concentrate just on fishing. The walking is superb, the scenery is magical, the culture is interesting, the restaurants are varied. Yes, it’s a long way and you need a minimum of two weeks, preferably three, but once you get there, it’s epic – in every sense of the word.
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About the author: Charlotte Opperman