I’ve never been an arachnophobe, but these unidentified spiders gave me the creeps. Every hundred yards or so, one of their glistening webs guarded the goat trail which, obviously, hadn’t seen much foot traffic of late. Too often, smack dab in the middle of that snare, would be a palm-sized critter that closely resembled a protagonist from an outer space horror film. Their fangs were particularly menacing and we took turns clearing the way with a machete on our search for the elusive Hawaiian trout high in Kauai’s Waimea Canyon.
We were on assignment for the Trout Unlimited TV series “On the Rise”, led by the president of the local TU chapter, a gentleman named Deane Gonzales, whose hospitality was only matched by his eccentricity. Deane split his time between the relative hustle-and-bustle of Maui and a remote cabin stashed a mile above the Pacific coastline in this enchanted rain forest. We were “Deano’s” guests for the week and every morning we rolled out from our hammocks and couches at his pad to the sound of a blender churning banana smoothies for the entire crew, which consisted of Matt and Nate (cameramen), Jed (host), and me.
While these adventure-productions were always interesting with the inherent unpredictability of a road trip in the Mystery Machine, we had a job to do, and this one was proving difficult-two things that aren’t conducive to recording with television cameras, deluges and rappelling, and we were gearing up for a day of both. My job title on this production was twofold; I was Producer/Audio Technician, which meant that, at once, I acted as GM and janitor. The audio vest was a tangled, electronic octopus of wires and cords that allegedly, recorded crystal-clear sound for the editor, but it was the bane of my existence. I had lugged this thing around on enough outdoor productions to know it wasn’t designed for forays into soggy jungle-canyons.
Worse, I was hard-lined via audio cable to Nathan, affectionately known as the “Baby Gorilla”. Rappelling in the mud with this cumbersome device strapped around my chest, attached to a guy who moved with all the grace of an inebriated moose, was dreadful. I’m no gazelle myself, and together, we were like the head and the ass of a horse costume. No amount of mushy plantains, served by a Gonzo in a bathrobe, was going to brighten my mood on this day.
With precarious game trails etched into knife-edge ridges and game check stations along the winding access road, these mountains had much in common with places I’d hunted deer and elk (here, hunters pursued feral goats and boar). Throughout these canyons free-flowing streams, which were originally stocked with rainbow trout in the 1920’s, rolled down the mountains to the sea. During our visit, they were doing so at a rapid pace, and likely taking the fish with them. It had been raining hard for days, and given our position adjacent Mount Waialeale, we were experiencing a thorough dousing in one of the wettest places on earth. I’m all for optimism, but by day three, your lenses would have to be pretty damn rosy to believe that we were going to discover any trout on this mission.
After we had gathered all that we could in terms of the fine work the local TU chapter had done to improve habitat and access for trout and trout anglers, Deane enlisted the services of a local fly fishing guide, Nigel, and we set forth to find some finned stars to sprinkle into this flyfishing production.
The weather finally broke and we checked some other lowland streams around the island but the situation was the same, turbid water would flow for the duration of our stay and it was time to think outside of the trout fly box. We entertained the notion of trying to fish the ocean flats on the other side of the island; there were big bonefish and Giant Trevally present.
This concept was partially rooted in my hidden agenda to fish these fabled waters myself, but after Nigel explained the scenario, involving chest-high wading and precarious footing, the idea of capturing the adventure on film seemed reckless, and we had already pushed the envelope of sensibility just enough. Over breakfast, I began researching other fishing options, and came across a local lake stocked with familiar largemouth and smallmouth bass, and the exotic peacock bass, an Amazonian Cichlid transplanted to Hawaii. Given the weather pattern, fishing guests were in high demand and the guy that ran the place gave us a great deal on two boats, one for Jed and Nigel, and one for us, in exchange for a little exposure in the television program.
The “talent” boat was an intimate setting, and at 6’5” Jed fit nicely up front in the bathtub while Nigel manned the motor and breathed down his neck. The fish were here, and as per usual, Jed found them. He caught the aforementioned familiar bass species, some other odd silvery fish that resembled a tilapia, and then, the peacocks.
This was my first experience seeing these predators anywhere other than a fish tank, and they were cool! They followed the fly near the surface like a roosterfish in Baja, often all the way up to the boat before eating it. Though none of them broke the 3-pound mark, we were all excited just to see some fish.
The skies darkened as another menacing storm rolled in off the Pacific. We concluded that we had pulled a rabbit out of a hat gathered what we needed to slap together an entertaining episode. We returned to Lihue, grabbed hotel rooms, and hit the town like a TV crew on a wrap-day will do. We still had another day left on our itinerary and the following morning we all convened for a Bloody Mary breakfast and watched the rain fall in sheets out of the hotel bar window. By the time our second drinks arrived, we had hatched a plan.
Miracles appear in the strangest of places. I went outside to get a better look at the beach, and nearly bumped shoulders with Johnny, a guy that I had guided and fished with extensively in Oregon but hadn’t seen in years. He was here on an extended surfing mission, and the probability of our paths crossing on a Hawaiian Island was even with catching a trout here. “JZ” was the final missing piece we needed to perform an Opus. We now had the entire cast of characters, the proper set and weather conditions, 2 professional cameramen, and just enough tape to finish the job. The end result eventually ended up in the prestigious Fly Fishing Film Tour. Some men dream of fame and fortune. My dream was to reenact the final scene in a classic surfing/bank robbing movie. Henceforth, everything is gravy!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CIb2ExDWHcA