A LITTLE ROOM FOR MAGIC
Emilie Björkman travels to New Zealand for an epic trout fishing adventure. Will the weather gods be kind in her hunt for a trophy brownie, or will a little sorcery be required?
BEFORE TRAVELING to New Zealand, you can check weather forecasts constantly, but that doesn’t change the fact that when you get there the conditions can change in the blink of an eye. As I browsed the weather reports by the luggage belt at Christchurch Airport, I found it hard to believe that on this, my third visit to New Zealand, the rain was pouring down outside and, by the look of it, it wasn’t going to change. Being an island in the Pacific Ocean, New Zealand has that kind of weather.
Why is the weather such a big thing? Well, New Zealand is synonymous with sight-fishing — and that’s a whole lot easier if you can see the fish. To spot fish, you need a clear river and a high sun. My thoughts of sight-fishing for dreamy trout were feeling a little cloudy to say the least. But what I didn’t know then was that somewhere along the road, things were about to take a turn for the better. It involved a gentle rise to a tiny, size 18 Humpy and some good old magic. Would it be third time lucky? More on that later…
Sorting the kit out at a hotel car park just outside Christchurch.
Rain and more rain
I love sight-fishing for trout — pulling on my wet boots, heading to the river and spending a couple of hours squinting to spot that elusive shape is so immersive. It’s the hunt, the build-up and then the final release of presenting the fly to the fish. It’s a bit like saltwater fishing on the flats — it takes time to get the eyes tuned in, but when you do and see a fish emerge in front of you, it’s heaven. However, the sun is important in sight-fishing. It needs to be high and shining in your face so you don’t alert the fish by casting a shadow on the water. When you’re faced with two whole weeks of cloudy weather, that makes the whole sight-fishing script a little tricky.
Finding a hole
I found Tony Entwistle in his garage. He had two rooms at the back — one for fishing gear and memorabilia, and one for fly-tying. He was behind the vice, just finishing off a size 16 Buller Caddis.
“This is the fly that got it all started,” he said, then told me a story about the river Buller and how it was the backbone of his — and his friends — guide operations in the early days. Sadly, it is now infected with Didymo (Didymosphenia geminata), an invasive freshwater diatom that forms thick, unsightly brown and white mats on the riverbed. “It’s pretty much ruined the fishing in the Buller,” said Tony.
Drizzling rain was hitting Tony’s window. He released the caddis from the vice and handed it to me as a welcoming gift. I gladly accepted.
“How did all of this suddenly come about?” he asked, smiling and scratching his beard. Tony, the legendary New Zealand guide and fly-fisher, retired in 2020 after 42 years of guiding.
“I thought it was about time,” I replied. He smiled.
Tony had kindly agreed to take me fishing for a few days in his local area around Nelson.
With over 42-years of guiding, Tony Entwistle became hugely influential in the New Zealand fly-fishing community. His Toyota has been running for more than 600,000 kilometers, and most of those with visiting angler riding shotgun.
With over 42-years of guiding, Tony Entwistle became hugely influential in the New Zealand fly-fishing community. His Toyota has been running for more than 600,000 kilometers, and most of those with visiting angler riding shotgun.
Finding a hole
I found Tony Entwistle in his garage. He had two rooms at the back — one for fishing gear and memorabilia, and one for fly-tying. He was behind the vice, just finishing off a size 16 Buller Caddis.
“This is the fly that got it all started,” he said, then told me a story about the river Buller and how it was the backbone of his — and his friends — guide operations in the early days. Sadly, it is now infected with Didymo (Didymosphenia geminata), an invasive freshwater diatom that forms thick, unsightly brown and white mats on the riverbed. “It’s pretty much ruined the fishing in the Buller,” said Tony.
Drizzling rain was hitting Tony’s window. He released the caddis from the vice and handed it to me as a welcoming gift. I gladly accepted.
“How did all of this suddenly come about?” he asked, smiling and scratching his beard. Tony, the legendary New Zealand guide and fly-fisher, retired in 2020 after 42 years of guiding.
“I thought it was about time,” I replied. He smiled.
Tony had kindly agreed to take me fishing for a few days in his local area around Nelson.
I met him 15 years ago when I visited the country for my first time. A friend had recommended him to me. Back then, I didn’t know what a big deal Tony was in the world of fly-fishing. “If you hang around for four decades, people recognize you,” he laughed. “It doesn’t mean you are famous — just old!”
Teamwork at its best — Tony netting and Emilie fighting.
Tony’s contribution to the New Zealand fly-fishing scene can’t be overstated. He’s pioneered angling and guiding in the country and was once part of its international fly-fishing team.
I’m just stoked to spend a day with him again after all these years. It’s just a shame the weather wasn’t playing ball.
He pointed out, “There is always a hole in it somewhere, and it’s my job as a guide to find it.”
Emilie and Tony with a surprisingly big fish from a small creek.
Fishing and wellbeing
Tony got into the car. He had permission from the farmer to use the road down to the river. The sky was looking friendlier.
“It’s a small river,” he said, “but don’t be fooled; it holds surprisingly big fish — three and four-pounders.”
It was easy to feel at home here. Much is shared with the fishing I love in the mountains back in Sweden, only the brown trout here are a whole lot bigger and the landscapes more spectacular.
On the flight over, I’d binge-watched The Lord of the Rings trilogy and while driving through one of South Island’s impressive passes, I imagined Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli running over the rocky ridge with the sun behind them.
We made a left turn onto a gravel road and a few minutes later we were at the river. It wasn’t a bluebird sky, but there was no rain and there were hints of promise between the clouds.
It makes me feel alive and connected — it’s therapy
“There is always a gap in the cloud somewhere,” I said.
“Yes, you just have to find it,” Tony replied with a smile.
I love this “being free” thing — to just have a brief look at the map, make last-minute plans, then head off for a day or two, sleeping and eating outside and fishing your way through it all. That’s everything I want out of life. It’s the simplicity I love. One fishing license (for most of the places), one fly-rod and one goal. It makes me feel alive and connected — it’s therapy. Nature is such a precious thing.
As an aside, between fishing sessions, I ran into Richie Cosgrove of Fish & Game, the organization that manages fishing in New Zealand. In 2023, they did a survey on the effect fly-fishing has on mental health.
The report represents the world’s largest study into fishing and mental health and validates what we all feel is true — fishing is good for you and the more you fish the more you benefit.
In New Zealand you have a better chance for success if you are a part of a team.
The creek
Slowly, Tony and I walked upstream along the creek. It’s small water and, back home, I would expect nothing more than a 10cm trout from it.
The wind was picking up, so he shortened my leader from 20ft down to 16ft to aid presentation. A short leader by Tony’s standard is still long and it takes some adjustment to cast. Since the fishing here is generally at close quarters, you are only casting a short length of the fly-line and it’s crucial for it to “bump” on the reel to turn the fly over accurately and with delicacy.
“Cast on six,” said Tony, before he started counting my false casts. “On the sixth cast you are at your most accurate, so, at that point, bump into the reel,” he explained. That’s how a true champion talks, I thought to myself.
It makes me feel alive and connected — it’s therapy
The sun broke through momentarily and shone into the pool. Suddenly, I saw it — the dark shape Tony was pointing at.
“I think he will come up for a dry,” he said. “Put the fly on his left. Go for his right and he won’t see it due to the sun’s position.”
For once, my nerves were with me. I pitched my dry-fly where Tony wanted it. The fish rose. I lifted, and Tony netted a surprisingly big and beautiful trout.
What I experienced was next-level — a guiding masterclass, only it was short-lived. Before we said goodbye, we promised it wouldn’t be another 15 years until we saw each other again.
According to Simon Chu (right), Tom Hodge (left) is New Zealand's best big-fish guide.
Something memorable
Fishing in New Zealand is different from anywhere else I’ve experienced. It can be a kilometer or more between fish, so in that sense you don’t fish a pool or a beat — you fish a river. Ideally, you want an entire river to yourself. To start at the bottom and work your way up. That’s why crowding can be an issue here and why fly-fishers’ ethics are crucial.
I was now with Simon Chu — a guide, friend and a wonderful ambassador for the fly-fishing community. Simon scanned the water from a bridge. What had been a small creek was now big and brown and far from being the ideal piece of water to introduce me to, though Simon thought he saw a rise.
Spending a night or two on the bank is highly recommended.
“You don’t come to New Zealand to catch numbers,” said Simon. “You come here to try and catch a memorable fish, but today, I feel, might not be that day!”
I agree. New Zealand is not about numbers. Nor is it all about chasing trophy trout. It’s something else. Something bigger. You must make that one cast count to the big fish next to the boulder, or the one holding deep and feeding like mad in that jungle pool — you just can’t take your eyes off them.
As the rain picked up again, Simon told me that the New Zealand summer of 2025-26 was cold and wet and a challenge for many fishers.
“But you can’t catch them from the couch,” he muttered, as he crawled under the fence on his way up to the pool to where he thought he saw the gentle rise.
I thought the water levels were falling. If the rain stopped, we’d be in for a treat.
What gear was Emilie using?
Gear is a personal preference, no matter where in the world you fish, but for New Zealand I took Loop Z1 and 7X rods in four, five, and six-weight models . If conditions are good, a five-weight is perfect for the dry-dropper method, single dry-flies with long (sorry — very long) leaders and for making delicate casts at range. You’ll also need something a bit heavier for windy days and for fishing streamers.
In 2012, on my first trip to New Zealand, all my luggage was missing for the entire trip, so I had to borrow a rod and reel and bought flies while traveling around with pretty much all my belongings in a plastic bag.
This time, being more cautious, I brought spare gear packed in two different bags in case one was lost in transit. For flies, after coming here three times, I’ve found that the trout like them big, around size 8-10, especially when water is high and a bit colored, which makes the fish less spooky. I like to spice things up a bit with big stonefly nymphs and bigger cicada patterns — some with rubber legs. Don’t leave home without them.
What gear was Emilie using?
Gear is a personal preference, no matter where in the world you fish, but for New Zealand I took Loop Z1 and 7X rods in four, five, and six-weight models . If conditions are good, a five-weight is perfect for the dry-dropper method, single dry-flies with long (sorry — very long) leaders and for making delicate casts at range. You’ll also need something a bit heavier for windy days and for fishing streamers.
In 2012, on my first trip to New Zealand, all my luggage was missing for the entire trip, so I had to borrow a rod and reel and bought flies while traveling around with pretty much all my belongings in a plastic bag.
This time, being more cautious, I brought spare gear packed in two different bags in case one was lost in transit. For flies, after coming here three times, I’ve found that the trout like them big, around size 8-10, especially when water is high and a bit colored, which makes the fish less spooky. I like to spice things up a bit with big stonefly nymphs and bigger cicada patterns — some with rubber legs. Don’t leave home without them.
Change of plan
We caught the fish Simon had spotted from the bridge. It took a dry-fly, in the rain. Then Simon got another while blind fishing with a streamer. I failed to set the hook on a fish or two before Simon admitted what I had been suspecting for quite some time. The river was rising and the water was getting muddier by the minute.
“OK, we need a change of plan,” he said.
According to the forecast, there was a hole in the rain an hour’s drive to the north. Simon doesn’t like chasing weather, but there is a time for everything. He pulled out his phone.
“I’m gonna call a friend!”
Tom Hodge is someone Simon believes is New Zealand’s best big-fish guide. He said something to him about getting into a “memorable” fish.
“I know it can’t all be about chasing the biggest,” Simon said. “It’s about that moment. How you connect with a water, fish and place, and how you enjoy all of that, that matters, isn’t it?”
Simon Chu setting the table for a well-deserved meal in the wild.
Simon Chu setting the table for a well-deserved meal in the wild.
Change of plan
We caught the fish Simon had spotted from the bridge. It took a dry-fly, in the rain. Then Simon got another while blind fishing with a streamer. I failed to set the hook on a fish or two before Simon admitted what I had been suspecting for quite some time. The river was rising and the water was getting muddier by the minute.
“OK, we need a change of plan,” he said.
According to the forecast, there was a hole in the rain an hour’s drive to the north. Simon doesn’t like chasing weather, but there is a time for everything. He pulled out his phone.
“I’m gonna call a friend!”
Tom Hodge is someone Simon believes is New Zealand’s best big-fish guide. He said something to him about getting into a “memorable” fish.
“I know it can’t all be about chasing the biggest,” Simon said. “It’s about that moment. How you connect with a water, fish and place, and how you enjoy all of that, that matters, isn’t it?”
Choosing the right fly is always important — but when you only have a couple of drifts of the fly before the fish spooks, then it's crucial.
No negative thoughts should go through your head
I agreed, but still, when someone hints that I might have a chance of the trout of my dreams, I can’t help but get a bit wound up.
“We’re about to make memories, you know,” said Simon as he ended the call with Tom.
Through my work, I’ve had the opportunity to fish with many guides over the years and I find it so inspiring that none of them fish, think or act the same on the water. I am also a guide, and that makes it a privilege to learn how others work. Tony Entwistle once told me that no negative thoughts should go through your head because that negativity is somehow transferred to the fish. I’ve always taken that on board.
Emilie leading the charge downstream with a big fish on.
The big trout
It wasn’t easy to keep up with Tom. He moved quickly between pools while utilizing a remarkable ability to spot fish. We stopped here and there and made a cast or two, but it was obvious the fish weren’t in feeding mode.
“Let’s pick up the pace a bit,” Tom said as he swung the net on his back.
The energy was starting to drain from my legs, but there was no turning back — the river was falling and the water was getting clearer by the minute.
Suddenly, Tom stopped and waved at me. “Come closer, but keep a low profile. It’s a huge fish and it’s swinging from side to side.”
I got that lump in my throat. I knew this was one of those now-or-never moments.
Ten minutes later, Tom was lying on his back with his arms and legs stretched out and staring emptily at the sky. I, on the other hand, was walking back and forth with my head down, kicking every rock that got in my way.
For a moment I was in heaven, then straight down to hell
I would sacrifice my left pinky and maybe something more to have wound back the time just five minutes or so. Yes, the dream fish rose to the fly. Both Tom and I were pretty sure he took the fly and that I set the hook. Still, we didn’t connect. Then everything just fell apart. For a moment I was in heaven, then straight down to hell.
When Tom had somewhat recovered, he turned to me and said, “This is why I hate dry-flies.”
Then he gave me a talk on how a small dry-fly hook risks tipping over when engulfed in a big male trout’s jaw, with the hook never getting a hold of the fish.
I was devastated. I nod and promised Tom that I’d never cast a dry-fly to decent-sized fish again!
The magical second chance
Time was running out. On the horizon, a new front of clouds was building. “Rain?” I asked.
Tom nodded in the direction of the bank of cloud. “Yes, there’s just never enough time, eh?”
We both knew we really needed to end it there, but with the slightest of chance, one more straw to grasp — we had to take it.
I couldn’t help thinking about the Fellowship of the Ring and Gandalf’s speech to Frodo — “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us”.
“Is there time for one more?” I asked Tom. “If we run?”
“No,” Tom answered, “but we’re going there anyway, right?”
I couldn’t believe my eyes when Tom pointed to a feeding double-digit trout. It was another shot at a dream fish. I felt something that could only be described as magic in the air. The only problem was that it was eating adult flies and I’d just made a promise.
Emilie's well-earned memory maker.
Emilie's well-earned memory maker.
The magical second chance
Time was running out. On the horizon, a new front of clouds was building. “Rain?” I asked.
Tom nodded in the direction of the bank of cloud. “Yes, there’s just never enough time, eh?”
We both knew we really needed to end it there, but with the slightest of chance, one more straw to grasp — we had to take it.
I couldn’t help thinking about the Fellowship of the Ring and Gandalf’s speech to Frodo — “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us”.
“Is there time for one more?” I asked Tom. “If we run?”
“No,” Tom answered, “but we’re going there anyway, right?”
I couldn’t believe my eyes when Tom pointed to a feeding double-digit trout. It was another shot at a dream fish. I felt something that could only be described as magic in the air. The only problem was that it was eating adult flies and I’d just made a promise.
“You get one cast,” Tom said as he tied on a new leader with the size 18 Blue Humpy on the end. That promise was about to be broken, but hey, it’s not like I’m known for keeping my word.
I cast short with my 22ft leader and a single dry-fly. The line bumped on the reel — on six, as Tony taught me.
From the top of his lungs Tom yelled, “Hit!”
We were connected. After a marathon charge downstream, Tom netted a thick, healthy and stunning brown trout.
That was the fish of my dreams, and it was indeed third time lucky. Just remember, always leave some room for magic!
PHOTOGRAPHY: TED LOGARDT AND ALASTAIR PARKIN
For great pre-trip information about fly-fishing in New Zealand, including licenses and regulations, visit: fishandgame.org.nz
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Emilie Björkman
Emilie Björkman is a lifelong fly-fisher with a deep passion for wild fish and untamed waters. Based in Sweden, she is a Loop Tackle ambassador and a recognized voice in the global fishing community.
