Brown trout from the Owen River are cautious and persnickety, which makes landing one that
much more rewarding.
“As you get acquainted, three-fish days should be your
expectation, but rest assured here they employ the 80/20/80
rule: spend 80 percent of your time at 20 percent of the water
that holds 80 percent of the fish.”
BROWNS
Plenty of reason to travel to New Zealand’s
Owen River, the least of which is the river’s
impressive brown trout.
By Jason A. Atkinson
W
E JUST SAT DOWN ON a rock. I wanted to take
in what just happened and not rush the moment.
Eighty years of fly fishing between us, thousands of
days and millions of casts perfecting our craft, and
the double-digit brown trout unbuttoned. We didn’t impress him,
not at all. I was happy, humble, and thankful. If it’s true you only re-
member the one that got away, then I confess this day on the Owen
River was the best day of my life of a lifetime on the water.
DAYS BEFORE I LANDED IN Nelson and got in a right-handed rental and preceded out of cell
range with the local FM blaring ’80’s hits. It was new, yet familiar. I’m an Oregonian and the
northern part of the South Island felt like an old shirt, except the people were nicer. It must
have something to do with their pace of life not set to the RPMs of cable news. As I drove into
the collar of the Kahurangi National Park, New Zealand’s second largest, I found the turn off to
Owen River Lodge, and a few sheep paddocks later was greeted by two people who I’m certain
will be lifetime friends: Felix Borenstein, owner and operator; and Kylie Sargeant, his partner
and certainly better half.
“We want people to think this place is their private club,” Felix tells me. “My job is to make
sure my guests are spoiled one step up from feeling at home.” I came to learn, quickly as I was
shown my room, this mantra is what later gave me the experience on the river.
Several buildings compose the compound: the main house where happy hour and the
should-be-famous dining room are. Manicured paths to the spa, wader room, and lounge deck
overlook the river. Two more buildings of rooms reminiscent on the outside of white old western
bunk houses with a Four Seasons meets New Zealand’s finest interiors. The Blind Lady of Justice
in my mind had to wait getting out of my room cocoon each morning against my passion to
chase giant brown trout. I’ve slept in many, many, places chasing fish, but at night I was measur-
traveling angler
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