In 2024, Eleven launched its inaugural Women’s Week at Owen River Lodge on New Zealand’s South Island. This retreat offers both first-time and experienced women anglers the opportunity to learn or refine fly fishing skills in one of the world’s premier fisheries. Participants are supported by expert lodge guides, a welcoming staff, and the luxurious comforts of the lodge, all while connecting with like-minded women.
In the midst of the red stag roar, I crouched low in the tall grass, heart pounding as I peered through my binoculars. The rugged mountains of New Zealand’s South Island loomed above me, with the echoing calls of red stag cutting through the crisp air. My hunting buddy, Rene, and I had been tracking these elusive beasts for days now. We hadn’t closed in on one yet, and our hopes of success felt as distant as the memories of our last proper meal, bed or shower.
Each night, as we trudged back down the mountain, exhausted and empty-handed, we’d joke about the luxuries awaiting us at Owen River Lodge, the next stop on our South Island tour. When we paused to stretch our aching backs, we’d exchange tired smiles, and repeat the one simple phrase that eased the pain: “Next week at the lodge…” It became our dangling carrot, pulling us through the grind.
For those unfamiliar, Owen River Lodge is a charming fishing retreat tucked away in a remote valley on New Zealand’s South Island, just 90 minutes from Nelson. The main lodge, a converted mid-1900s farmhouse, overlooks the pristine Owen River. Six country cabins dot the landscape like a watercolor painting. A beloved garden, tended by two longtime chefs, provides fresh, local ingredients for the lodge’s meals. In the background, red stag bellow in the distance and birds harmonize in the fruit trees. The setting rivals the best of Country Living.
We arrived around 4:00 on a Tuesday. The other women were out fishing, so Rene and I sat on our cabin balcony, overlooking the river and giggling with excitement at the thought of laundry service and fresh-baked cookies. It felt like coming home to Mom after a long day at work, with that comforting encouragement to settle in. It took all my restraint not to run around in a bathrobe, drink in one hand and a warm blanket in the other.
As a regular guest for the past 12 years, the lodge has always felt like home to me. There’s something wonderfully disarming about the guides and staff that sets a welcoming tone. One of my favorite things is watching new guests arrive a little on edge, only to see them completely relax as the lodge’s Kiwi Hospitality works its magic. I was excited to bring Rene to join me for the annual women’s week.
Rene had never fly fished and hadn’t the faintest idea what to expect. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that starting at one of the most impressive fisheries in the world might ruin her expectations as a beginner.
The rivers surrounding Owen River Lodge range from small, gin-clear creeks to milky, glacial braids. The fish are strong and eager, readily taking nymphs, dries, streamers, and even mice. Monsters up to fifteen pounds are not uncommon and the rivers are easily accessible. Truly, it is an angler’s paradise.
The women began filtering in, painting the air with laughter, stories, and sighs of relief as they sat down to de-wader. Hailing from the USA, Australia, and New Zealand, the group was a diverse mix of ages and experience. There was a mother/daughter duo from America, a retiree living life to the fullest, a spitfire expat proving that age is nothing but a number, a local keen to connect with other women anglers, and even Dame Lynda Topp, ambassador for New Zealand Fish and Game (and an absolute legend). It was going to be a great few days.
The next morning, we headed out with guide Stefano, who we’d heard was nothing short of entertaining. As we drove, we swapped stories, found mutual friends, and planned our day. Our main goal was to get Rene into her first trout—and first fish on the fly. Stefano was enthusiastic and knowledgeable, and Rene, both athletic and quick to learn, absorbed the advice she needed while brushing aside the more advanced details.
When we waded into our first run, Rene focused intently on Stefano’s instructions, careful not to interrupt. Six false casts later and she landed her fly perfectly upstream of the fish.
“Watch thees one!,” Stefano’s Italian accent cut through the air, and together we yelled, “Hey!” as Rene’s fish jumped and ran to the middle of the river. Stefano swooped in with the net, beaming as he inspected the catch.
The trout shimmered a soft blue, green, and pink topcoat glazing its silver shoulders and yellow belly. I’ve always been amazed at how such sparkling creatures blend into the dull backdrop of rocks and foggy water windows.
I watched Rene’s confidence return after a week of being defeated by red stag, soggy boots, and relentless sandflies. As the fish slipped back into the current, she too found her rhythm again. It showed in her wading, her casting, and her poise as she went on to land another half-dozen fish.
That evening at the table, Rene fit right in with the other women, all of whom had equally wonderful days. As the rain fell and the river rose, we refused to let anything dampen our spirits. We embraced the downpour—of both rain and wine—drowning out the howling wind with stories and Lynda’s expert yodeling performance.
The next morning came quickly. Stefano waited for us by the car with a grin only an Italian mother could love. He looked like he was up to something, knowing we were about to go somewhere spectacular. We were heading to a river I’d fished once before. The fish there are enormous—averaging ten pounds—but I’d never been savvy enough to land one. We opted to fish the upper section, trudging through fields and puddles, hoping to beat the inevitable brown-water blowout.
As Stefano predicted, the fish were feeding. No, not just feeding—they were nearly beaching themselves to devour our flies. We knew our window was short; rising water would soon kill the bite. And then, I saw him.
Maybe he was the same behemoth I’d seen years before, or maybe he was one of the ten-pounders who had since packed on another four pounds. Either way, he was three feet off the bank and he had his back to me.
The current was tricky and the wind was strong, but I managed a decent cast. He ate. I missed. He turned and followed, only to miss on his end. His behavior suggested he hadn’t noticed me, so I stayed low and quiet, giving him time to settle.
We decided to rest him, hoping he’d return to his feeding spot. When we came back, he was there—this time in an even better position. The cast was easy. The line pulled taut, and I lifted my rod to begin the fight. He shook his head once, and my line snapped effortlessly. As he sauntered into the swirling pool of debris and bubbles, I could almost hear him say, “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”
I screamed. Wind knot? Maybe. A nick in the line? Possibly. Pure rage? Absolutely. If water has memory, it carried some colorful language downstream that day. I walked back with Stefano and Rene in silence, eventually meeting up with another guide familiar with the fish we’d encountered.
“Oh, him…,” It was all I needed to hear. I soon learned that other lodge guests had hooked the same fish, but none had landed him. No one knows if he’s 12, 14, or 16 pounds. In my memory, he’s already on his way to a solid 20.
Our final evening together was more subdued than the last. There was a bittersweet air, knowing our time was ending. We shared our last stories, each of us recounting trip highlights. Lynda led one final yodel, and we toasted to the fish, the laughter, and the friendships we’d made.
As I packed my gear that night, I couldn’t help but smile. Rene had conquered her first trout, and though I’d lost my battles with the river’s giant and the mountain’s beast, I knew I’d be back to try again. Owen River Lodge has a way of calling you home, and this wouldn’t be the last time we answered.
Women’s Week 2025 at Owen River Lodge is currently full, but we encourage those interested to join the waitlist or secure your spot for 2026. Reach out to [email protected] to learn more.
