Graeme Christie | Tuesday, 9 June 2026
My father took me into the back country in whatever was running that day. A truck or a digger or a bulldozer. We never fished. We just went, and I loved those places enormously. Anything that takes me back there now is a wonderful moment.
Fly fishing was big in Southland. We fished a small river down there, and I am with Paul on this, a size 16 or smaller often does the trick. A friend's father handed me his old ten weight and a tired line, and his son and I would fish the evening rises on level 4lb nylon. Basic gear. We were often successful anyway. Once I started earning I should have upgraded years before I did. I caught fish regardless, so at least I had a feel for the catching.
From time to time I bought some gear. I remember a sinking line in winter, fishing in the dark and the cold rain on the Tongariro, hooking a good brown. Early 2000s, maybe. Great fishing. Always alluring.
Covid clattered the world and we have not quite been the same since. It did make me weigh up my joys, and it reminded me how much of mine came from fishing. So I launched back in.
Then a day out with Ronan. He took me to a spot and we fished it together. I had a great day. But someone who does this for a living is just better. A lot better. I think of myself as an accomplished weekend warrior, and that day I watched skills crafted over a lifetime. Same with Paul. His story this week is a nod to exactly that, the dedication that turns into the insights the rest of us quietly draw from. For what is a wonderful pastime, a sport, an exploration of life.
I had a moment like it last week. The number on the line box is only ever a suggestion. I was fishing the SA Sonar Trout Express, a lovely casting line, and whatever weight I bought it is not right for my rod or the way I cast. It has a brick on a string vibe, but smooth, ideal when the trees are close behind and you need to send it across a wide river. You can still throw it on feel. Keep it smooth. Take the muscle out.
A structured program never goes astray. Trainers, guides, the learned friends. Cultivate them and make the most of the time, because you never know when they will go and then you are left talking to the fantasy version. For me it grew into a love of the casting itself, and I think you need that to get the most out of any of this.
Wind is the best casting coach in Auckland and it is free. The harbour kahawai taught me more about hauling into a breeze than any calm morning ever did. You cannot fake a loop into wind. It tells you the truth every cast. The park is kinder than the harbour. As I write, the southern end of the North Island is taking a hammering, ten metre waves, the Roaring Forties properly kicking up.
The best fish of last season I did not land. My boy did, on a rod I had rigged, and I have not stopped grinning about it. Nobody warns you that the joy moves across to the other rod. I am sure the teachers know that joy too. It comes back to them through our stories, and the odd morning shared on the water.