The Little Guy

THE LITTLE GUY MOUNTAIN LINES

WE CHAT TO JARED KOHN ABOUT CAREER CHANGES, DRAWINGS THAT SPEAK TO THE DNA OF THE GREAT OUTDOORS AND HIS BRILLIANT BOOT-STRAPPED BUSINESS, THE GREAT BREAK.

Photos. Jared Kohn, Brit-lee Kohn

Who are you?

I grew up in Blouberg, Cape Town. After studying architecture, I worked in the industry for several years designing residential and commercial buildings. While I love architectural design, unfortunately I didn’t enjoy the industry much. Instead, I looked for other avenues to express my creativity and love for the outdoors. I started creating illustrations inspired by nature and an outdoor lifestyle. I like to say I swapped the mostly geometric, rigid lines of architecture for the organic, free flowing lines of the natural environment. I shared my work on social media which resulted in a passion project that gained a decent following (Mountain_lines). It was enough to spark a new career. On the back of this, my family and I (wife and two young kids) took a leap of faith, leaving behind the city and our ‘regular’ jobs (and comfort zone) for life in a small town along the nature-abundant Garden Route of South Africa.

Tell us about what you do for a living. What do you specialise in?

After working as a freelance illustrator and designer for a couple of years my wife, Britt-lee and I decided to further develop the business into a ‘design and supply’ company - The Great Break. Here we teamed up with a local craftsman, Rikus Geldenhuys both to illustrate and also to develop bespoke apparel, goods for your home and kit for your next outdoor adventure. All of this is to encourage people to enjoy the outdoors. We now sell our own unique goods and also work collaboratively with brands and businesses in the outdoor industry, from design to manufacture.

Who are your clients?

We have worked with a number of international brands (the majority US-based) providing illustrations and branding. Locally, other than marketing our own goods, we have assisted with event apparel for trail runs as well as illustrated race maps for popular MTB races. My favourite designs are, in the end, still personal, commissioned artworks for individuals.

What’s your artistic process?

I get this question quite often and it is always tricky to define. I guess for illustration, simply put - inspiration, layering, experimenting, delivering. Nature provides plenty of visual inspiration. I enjoy adding depth and layers to my designs by overlapping additional concepts. The fun part is experimenting as to how multiple images/concepts can be integrated visually. For me the creative process is a short intense one. I enjoy delivering the design for comments, feedback and importantly, unique interpretations.

What’s your outdoor life like?

Growing up in Cape Town and now living along the Garden Route, I have always had so many options when it comes to the outdoors. Camping (preferably wild camping) and hiking must top the list. I try to get in some rock climbing as well (we have some great routes at our local crags). Living in a small coastal town we spend loads of time on the beach with various water sports. I have tried my hand at fly fishing, but have yet to master the technique!

Which are your favourite mountains and why?

Table Mountain and its many trails would have to be where my love for mountains began. Kilimanjaro would top the list in terms of my big mountain experiences. I spent some time hiking in the foothills of the incredible Grand Teton in Wyoming, the quintessential jagged snow-capped mountain peak.

Are you working on anything new we should look out for at either Mountain Lines or The Great Break?

I continue to share illustrations via Mountain Lines when inspiration strikes. At The Great Break we have a number of new outdoor goods lined up. Be sure to check out our newly launched range of illustrated shirt designs. Check out Jared and Britt-lee’s business at thegreatbreak.com

“ALL OF THIS IS TO ENCOURAGE PEOPLE TO ENJOY THE OUTDOORS.”

100 WAYS TO LEAVE YOUR LOVER

WHAT IF, THE MOMENT YOU’VE CAUGHT A FISH ON YOUR HOME WATERS, YOU WERE TO RELEGATE THAT FLY FOR THE REST OF THE SEASON? AND THE NEXT EFFECTIVE FLY? SAME STORY. THAT’S THE EXPERIMENT DAVID KARPUL CONDUCTED ON THE CAPE STREAMS FOR AN ENTIRE SEASON. WHAT HE LEARNED MIGHT SURPRISE YOU…

Fly photos. Knut Otto. Fishing photos. Garth Nieuwenhuis

“The answer is easy if you take it logically, there must be fifty ways to leave your lover”

Flies are not like lovers: they don’t get jealous, you can have as many as you like, one two or three at a time, they’re relatively inexpensive, and they have a small prick. Yet, we hold our favourite patterns dear and promote them to our friends like a discovery worthy of scientific publication. I love mountain rivers and I love fly fishing for trout where I find a beauty and an engagement, both simple and complex beyond my capacity. In this last river season, I set out with an odd, and possibly impossible challenge, one that would inform me, indulge me, elate me and surprise me.

“Make a new plan, Stan”

Take your favourite fly, bin it. Great. Now your second favourite, do the same. Keep going till you’ve ditched 60 or 70. What’s your 80th favourite fly? Last September I set out to catch 100 wild Cape-stream trout on 100 different patterns in one season. I spoke to a few people beforehand, and most agreed that the back stretch was going to be a slog, if not impossible. We were wrong.

“You don’t need to discuss much”

The rules, if we can call them that, were simple. The fish must be netted. I must still have that specific fly at the end of the season. Finally, it must be a pattern previously unused in the challenge. Further, no more than one “variant” on a design aspect, i.e. bead size, bead colour, hook size would be allowed per pattern; it’s okay to investigate if a variable (such as size) was critical, but what’s the point if all the flies are basically the same?

“Just get yourself free”

Off the bat I saw signs of the unexpected benefits to come. After each fish I’d engage in my little ritual of cutting off the fly, storing it safely, and then searching for the next victim in my fly box. The pause was enough to break the goal-oriented frenzy I can sometimes find myself in, and to create a little moment of Zen. Occasionally I became stuck in a brief suspended animation, staring into the void of my box for minutes, unsure of where to go next.

“…would you please explain?”

A second fringe benefit was the inherent data recorded through storing the flies. For the most part, successful flies were kept in order and separated by day fished. Overall, you start to see trends of nymph days and dry days, good days and bad days. It was cool to be able to look back on each day and see its character through the flies I had stored. Not every day on the water was used for the challenge, and not every new pattern was kept and stored but still, the 100 tell their stories, and that’s many more stories than I’d normally have.

From the top left of the left hand side of his fly box (day 1, fly 1) to the bottom right of the right hand side (fly no. 105), over the course of a season David retired every fly that caught fish

“It grieves me so to see you in such pain”

One of the most interesting things I learnt was not “what works” but rather, “what doesn’t work”. There are some interesting mentions here. Dark bodied parachute flies with white hackles seemed to induce a sudden fish drought. This worm pattern, popular in Europe, just could not catch a fish. I’m sure I could make it happen eventually, but I was unable to catch on a standard Alflexo crab. Watching the fish carefully and gently side-step the pattern was almost comical. The worst flies in the box though, are not ugly, or badly tied. They’re not bizarre or even unpopular patterns. They aren’t even refused by the fish. They do, however, all have one thing in common: dry fly hackle. Getting the eat was actually very easy, fish love that shit. It’s getting the hook-up that’s a different story: two, three, four eats without a fish to the net; five, six, seven eats. Wtf? I can imagine a less confident angler missing a fish with one of these flies and blaming themselves, or the conditions, or the drift but, in truth, it’s the pattern. Sure, you get the eat and you’ll certainly catch fish, but with what handicap? The worst pattern in the box was a beautifully tied caddis I fished in a dryfly run on a lovely summer’s day to happy feeding fish. The fly isn’t too large, but it’s over-dressed for the Capestream trout; seven eats before I got a fish to the net.

“I wish there was something I could do to make you smile again”

You can’t read too much into the success of each pattern, as you only catch one fish on each, with no record of the fish you failed to catch. Each time I’d open my box

I proved to myself over and over that the pattern wasn’t important at all and yet, that it was super important. It’s all about mechanics. Catching was mostly about fishing well, and what it means to fish well is more complicated that just good drifts. It sometimes does mean a good drift; or maybe fishing the right depth; or matching the size of the insects; or a fly that casts well in the wind; or doesn’t spook fish in slow clear water; or induces an eat from a lazy fish… or one of countless other parameters. Good fishing wasn’t about what pattern was chosen, but was about reading the circumstances and selecting a fly that allows you to fish well. This is why as I moved onto fly 50, 60, 80, 90 it didn’t get harder and harder to catch. This is because the conditions were changing throughout the season and throughout the river, and what approaches and consequently what fly mechanics I needed were always different.

“Why don’t we both just sleep on it tonight”

105 soldiers remained at the end of the season, but there were a few that fell along the way, flies that caught fish, but did not make it into the box. Often it was when I was having too much fun to change the fly, and eventually it was lost; snapped off by a fish presumably too large to fit in my net (without evidence to the contrary). In memory is a “found link” fly gifted to me by a friend and a purple squirmy that caught several fish. The most notable missing fly was a size 4 Largemouth yellowfish streamer with a 5 mm orange tungsten bead that took several fish in near floodwater in early season. It was a stupidly large fly for the Cape streams and my sorrow for its loss is only as great as my joy in catching on such a ridiculous fly.

“You don’t need to be coy, Roy”

One of the best fringe benefits of this whole thing was that each fish became special. Each time I hooked a fish there was a wonderful sense of panic. I needed to get that fish to the net; I desperately needed not to lose the fly in the process; that one fish, once hooked, now had an additional value. I also specifically set out to catch on ridiculous flies. The more bizarre the better. I remember fishing the tail-out of a pool while my buddy fished the head. I caught four fish in a row on different patterns, becoming increasingly giddy with each fish and each new, but silly pattern I could put in my collection. He must’ve thought me mad by the time I was done.

From top to bottom: A beautifully tied yet over-dressed Caddis surprised as the worst pattern in the box, yet a large Stillwater zonker, a barebones LeRoy Botha-style nymph, a large Bokong River Balbyter ant, a CDC dry (that accounted for a Witte River brown) and even a bare hook all caught fish

“And then she kissed me, and I realised she probably was right”

Not all the flies are equal. Some are special because I enjoyed tying them, or looking at them, some special because of the way the fish was caught, or the fish itself, some because of who gave it to me or who I stole it from. The most fun category though includes those that are just so very nonconformist and unusual, they almost make you laugh even just tying them on. All this fly-tying stuff is nonsense anyway, as evidenced by a bare hook which succeeded the first time I fished it. Other successful ‘patterns’ are simply beaded hooks of different sizes and colours just to drive the point home. On the other end of the scale was a CDC dry sight fished to a lovely Witte brown; every fish up there is hard earned and a trophy in my mind. Day nine saw me fish some unusual soft hackles from Darryl Lampert including his Purple and Starling, as well as a streamer and a nymph emulating the bare-hook minimalist style of Leroy Botha. There was also a full size Balbyter ant usually fished on the Bokong River in Lesotho. As I mentioned, day nine ended with four bizarre flies in quick succession: one of the beaded hooks, a massive black and orange stillwater Zonker, a stillwater Goldilocks, and a badly damaged baby pink Plonker. The last day I fished the challenge, in late season, saw me catch on an orange DDD and a particularly large, extended-body crane fly I tied for the 2018 Commonwealth Championships in Ireland. All in all, 105 patterns, and a well worthwhile exercise. I learnt a lot about fly tying and fly fishing, enjoyed each fish, and celebrated each fly, while also finding moments of peace and respite. I don’t know what I’ll do next season; there are now a million new flies to replace my favourites, and my mind swims with ideas and innovations.

As for you, it’s really not my habit to intrude, and I hope my meaning won’t be lost or misconstrued. But, I’ll repeat myself at the risk of being crude There must be fifty ways to leave your lover. Paul Simon, 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover