LOCKDOWN MUSINGS

CORONA MOMENTS

IS IT THE ACT OF FISHING, OR THE ANTICIPATION OF HOOKING AND LANDING A WRIGGLY FINNED CRITTER THAT BRAD CARTWRIGHT MISSES MOST?

Long dry grasses in their tawny winter garb and mirror-still cold dam waters hold immense allure for the deprived recreational fisherman.

Fishermen, rock and surf, fresh and seawater alike, found themselves in the same boat – so to speak – as golfers, gym bunnies, rugby and soccer players and surfers; sitting and standing idly by while wondering how it was OK for 50 churchgoers to gather while we were unable to enjoy our recreational pursuits in the battle to combat the coronavirus.

Our business is built around recreational angling – which is obviously not an ideal scenario since the lockdown was announced way back in March. (To date there have been no known instances of fish being infected by Covid 19 – but perhaps that’s just because the test kits are faulty.)

What is interesting, however, is how a tiny virus, which seems to me to have been badly overestimated, has shone a light on how much we all take fishing for granted – and how much we miss it when it’s denied us.

Even before the dreaded Corona raised its ugly spiky little head, I had pondered at some length on whether it’s the actual catching of fish that we miss – the primal hunt and ability to catch food – or whether it’s simply the joy of being in the majestic outdoors, often with likeminded mates, frequently with a wellstocked cold box, but always with the “potential” of catching a fish.

As firm catch-and-release fishermen, we very seldom kill and eat the fish we catch anyway. So it’s not about the macho image of arriving home to the missus and proudly slapping a large halibut onto the kitchen table saying: “There you go darling! Your trusty provider does it again. Clean and cook this and call me when my dinner’s ready.” In all likelihood in these liberated and evolved times this would earn you a cold shoulder rather than a hot meal anyway …

If we were fishing commercially and selling our catch to keep paying the school fees, and possibly medical fees, if we tried the old halibut slapping trick too often, that would be a different thing.

But that’s not what we do. We spend many happy hours, cold beverage in hand, discussing and planning with our mates the next big fishing trip. I estimate this aspect of a proposed trip actually occupies as much time, and possibly even provides as much enjoyment, as the actual excursion itself.

There’s something wonderful about all this planning and the anticipation building up to an official outing. Having your mind occupied with checklists of what gear to pack, not forgetting about those last flies or

A trout fisherman’s idea of heaven: alone in a float tube on the water of a well-stocked dam in the KwaZulu-Natal midlands. Which fly to choose, a dry floater like Duckworth’s Dargle Delight, or a wet streamer fly like the Woolly or Fritz Bugger?

lures you don’t really need, but do really want because they might just come in handy, is a beautiful thing. Just remember not to whistle or hum a tune while you pack within earshot of the family before you finally head off to your destination.

Sure, the fishing trip itself is always fun, but expectations very often outweigh the results in this most fickle of pastimes, and the liver inevitably suffers a bit. There will be moments of great hilarity, anguish and camaraderie, stories to be saved and savoured around the pub for many years to come. But does it really matter who catches the fish, or even if the fishing is slow?

Let’s be brutally frank: ego invariably plays a part and we’d all like to be the one to catch the biggest fish, or the most fish, or the most species. But in this sport, much more than most, luck plays a

I will happily wander alone – or occasionally with my dog – along one of our local river banks of an evening, searching for an elusive rise; I treasure those moments of solitude.

substantial role.

I have stood shoulder-toshoulder with some of the best anglers around and whilst they will often catch more fish, it’s not a given that they will catch a bigger one. That alone is enough to keep us hopeful amateurs coming back.

While I will happily wander alone – or occasionally with my dog – along one of our local river banks of an evening, searching for an elusive rise, I treasure those moments of solitude. Yet I must concede that, for me, a really good fishing trip definitely involves the aforementioned mates (with egos), cold boxes and the potential of catching fish. Not much more than that.

And I have complete faith that while the Ministry of Co-operative Governance has a plan to defeat the pandemic, neither the virus nor lockdown levels will keep us away from the water for too long, regardless of whether that water is salty or fresh.

Until then, I will daydream about the what and where and think about the kit I’ll need for the expedition.