The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine Issue #10 by The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine

ISSUE 10 JULY | AUGUST 2018

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experience counts for everything

Dan and Tom Harrison operate their guide service on the waters surrounding T&T headquarters in western Massachusetts. They are some of the hardest working guides we deal with, and have an intimate knowledge of local rivers that consistently produces outstanding fish. Hardcore professionals like the Harrison brothers are testing our products to the limit every day and push us in our pursuit to build truly great rods. Their knowledge, expertise, and understanding are passed to our craftsmen, who strive for perfection and uncompromising performance in every rod we make. To us, the Harrisonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s and their fellow professionals are our unsung heroes. We salute you.

introducing the new avantt and contact series from t&t. remarkably light. extraordinarily strong.

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CONTENTS Cover illustration: Howling brother, shape-shifting werewolf, spirit animal of hedge fund suits - the world of Oliver White.

16 UNDERCURRENT: FLY FISHING SUCKS Matthew Freemantle turns to the internet for excuses to not take up fly fishing. 22 HIGH 5s New Zealand-based JP Samuelson on fly fishing and surfing far-flung Pacific Ocean atolls. 26 THE PRINCE OF PERSIA Ewan Naude searches for massive Mangar in Iran. 38 THE MAN AND THE MOON Guide James Topham on the moon and its moods from Argentina to Norway and Astove Atoll. 42 CAPITAINE After decades of searching, Ed Truter finds a river in Cameroon teeming with giant Nile perch. 54 OW! Globe-trotting guide, former hedge-funder, environmental crusader - Oliver White means business. 78 THE CROSS-OVER Leonard Flemming on his fly fishing evolution.

REGULAR FEATURES Payday 72 Shortcasts 74 Wands 76 Exposure 80 Lifer - Jay Smit 98

08 Edâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Letter 12 Wishlist Fish 14 Beers & Beats 20 Troubled Waters 66 Salad Bar

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T U D O R CA R A D O C - DAV I ES

IT’S LIKE A TRICK SHOT

he longer The Mission’s been around, the more non fly fishing people quiz us about this thing that we are obsessed with. I find myself trying to explain the why of fly fishing quite a lot. It’s something I’ve always struggled with in terms of clear reasoning and solid justification. Because, if we are honest, it’s seldom the easiest, nor most effective way to catch fish. Finally, I had an epiphany. Daft, difficult and addictive, fly fishing is essentially ‘Office Olympics’, but in the great outdoors.

Isn’t that what fly fishing feels like half the time? Like when you’re playing pool on your own and consistently try to make an advanced trick shot. Black to be bounced over the pack, rebounded off the far wall, sinking pink, brown and three yellows in the process. Behind your back, but with one foot on the ground in recognition of Marco Polo and Fishy. It’s the impossible sports compilation video on Youtube where a blindfolded guy throws a basketball off a cliff and scores. (I don’t care if it’s fake, don’t burst my bubble.)

Picture the Men’s Health magazine offices on Adderley Street in Cape Town, about a decade ago on any given Friday afternoon, around beer o’clock. We’d be on deadline, but these were the dying throes of the week. Company policy decreed that it was too early to go home, but most of us were done on the work front, after having compiled another solid issue of maps to the G-spot and ab workouts. While the art director would be sweating over the finishing touches with the editor, the rest of us from the digital guys to the editors (associate, managing, copy, chief copy and various other inflated media titles), as well as that weird guy Troy, would all be engaged in the most convoluted of games.

For us, it’s the ultimate Hail Mary, taking into account the wind, the current, the overhanging branches, the drop off, the weed, the weight of the fly, the direction a fish is cruising in, while also negotiating last night’s hangover, sweat in your eyes, 15-year-old knee injuries, blocking a stressed, distracted mind and the pernicious, finicky moods of our quarry. Has it fed already? Has it been pricked by the hook before? Has it gone vegan? Is it just a dickhead?

The goal? Get the tennis ball into the paper bin. The rules? Byzantine. Bounce the ball, with spin, off the support column using your non-dominant hand. The ball has to bounce twice before the column rebound. Thereafter it can get into the bin any way you like. Bonus points for a straight entry, half points for rimming the cup (snort). The prize? Eternal glory and extra beers to the winner. Last placed finisher had to wear the cone of shame (literally a homemade cone devised from office supplies) the whole of the next week. Every week the challenge changed, new elements were introduced (e.g. a rolling office chair as a starting point) and the stakes raised.

Against some variation of those odds, for the most part we try and we fail (the latter time and again). But, every now and then, like those golden moments in team sport when every pass works, every touch is sublime, everything works… sometimes in fly fishing it all clicks. The fly is appetizing, the cast is true, the retrieve is perfect, the fish hungry, your nerve holds, the strike is sharp, your tackle does its job and sploosh, you’re dished up one of the most satisfactory highs you will ever experience outside of a Russian oligarch’s superyacht. A high which, your non-fly fishing friends will lament, you have clearly never come down from, because you’re still talking about that fish. Or that other one. That’s the point of a trick shot. We make it difficult for ourselves because in the easy, there’s no satisfaction. Well, not for long. As Jimmy Eagleton explains when asked why he fly fishes at night on a stormy coastline for species nobody has ever bothered catching on fly before, “If it were easy, everyone would be doing it.”

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The universe in the eye of an Iranian mangar makes us think of this Joe Rogan quote, “If you ever start taking things too seriously, just remember that we are talking monkeys on an organic spaceship flying through the universe.” Photo Leonard Flemming

EDITOR Tudor Caradoc-Davies ART DIRECTOR Brendan Body CONTACT THE MISSION The Mission Fly Fishing Mag (PTY) Ltd 20 Malleson Rd, Mowbray, 7700, Cape Town, South Africa Info@themissionflymag.com www.themissionflymag.com

EDITOR AT LARGE Conrad Botes COPY EDITORS Gillian Caradoc-Davies ADVERTISING SALES tudor@themissionflymag.com brendan@themissionflymag.com

THE MISSION IS PUBLISHED 6 TIMES A YEAR. THE MISSION WILL WELCOME CONTENT AND PHOTOS. WE WILL REVIEW THE CONTRIBUTION AND ASSESS WHETHER OR NOT IT CAN BE USED AS PRINT OR ONLINE CONTENT. THE OPINIONS EXPRESSED IN THIS MAGAZINE ARE NOT NECESSARILY THOSE OF THE MAGAZINE OR ITS OWNERS. THE MISSION IS THE COPYRIGHT OF THE MISSION FLY MAG (PTY) LTD. ANY DUPLICATION OF THIS MAGAZINE, FOR MEDIA OR SALE ACTIVITY, WILL RESULT IN LEGAL ACTION AND THE CURSE OF A FARSI COCK-GOBLIN.

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CONTRIBUTORS #10 Leonard Flemming, Ewan Naude, Matthew Freemantle, Ed Truter, James Topham, Tudor Caradoc-Davies PHOTOGRAPHY #10 Leonard Flemming, James Topham, Stephan Gian Dombaj Jnr, Jazz Kuschke, JP Samuelson, Jako Lucas, Tourette Fishing, Keith Clover, Stu Harley, Johan “Vossie” Vorster, Gerald Penkler, Ewan Naude, Oliver White, Johann Du Preez, Trevor Bourne, Jan Verboom, Andre van Wyk, James Topham, Warwick Leslie

@THEMISSIONFLYMAG

WISH LIST FISH

THE BELMAN RARE, SECRETIVE AND (POSSIBLY) NEVER CAUGHT ON FLY, THE BELMAN IS A BIT OF A GHOST FISH. WE’D LIKE TO CHALLENGE YOU TO CATCH ONE. Photo: care of Ed Truter

What: Belman, baardman, bellend, these shy secretive fish are relatives of corbina, as found on the beaches of L.A. They look a little similar to a kob (mulloway), but with a more angular head, a smaller mouth designed for nibbling on bloodworm, prawns and shellfish (not chomping on baitfish) and a slight redfish-esque curve to the body. They could be a kob’s nerdier librarian sister.They are renowned for fighting like a wet towel but, if we are honest and if it were all about the fight, we would not be fly fishing.

Looking like it has just swallowed one of Neptune’s loafers, belman sport a tassel under the mouth like a taxi tout on the Mowbray-Cape Town route sucking on a stompie. They grow to a maximum of 12kg, but if you are lucky enough to find a shoal, expect a range of 2kg to 5kg fish. Where: Belman are found along the African coast, in sandy bays or tidal reefs and flats where you might get a shot at them, as well as in deeper

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water. They move in shoals, feed through areas and then move on again. How: It’s difficult to say, but we imagine if you treat them as you would permit, you are in with a chance. Anything from an 8-weight rod upwards, with a floating line and 15lb tippet, prawn, crab or marine bloodworm flies, should bring rewards. Who: You’re on your own on this one.

Introducing the new EVO and XTR machined reels

FODDER

BEERS & BEATS THE BEER - LITTLE WOLF We love a good hoppy beer but, sometimes, brewers go overboard, creating an overly-bitter beer in their pursuit of a hoppy overload. In contrast, Little Wolf’s Hoppy Wheat hits the sweet spot. Plenty of hops flavour, none of the bitterness. Brewer Stefan Wiswedel says, “The idea behind the Hoppy Wheat was really to showcase the aroma and flavour of hops without the bitterness that so many people do not like. I use a few modern brewing techniques to ensure we capture as much of the aroma and flavour as possible. Instead of using caramel malts, which are traditional in IPA’s and Pale Ales - and give a sweet, caramel, toffee character - I use wheat and oats to give it body and a subtle hint of sweetness (almost like the inside fluffy bit of a French baguette) to help balance the hoppiness but also to make it effortlessly drinkable. At 5% ABV it’s super sessionable and definitely a great beer to have alongside you on the river.” The man’s got talent, which is why craft brewery power player, Devil’s Peak, have decided to partner with him. Wiswedel says, “They saw that I was doing good things and had the right priorities when it came to making great beer but I was really struggling at such a small size and with no support. The partnership allows me to make my beers on a larger scale and to ensure the best quality and shelflife possible so that people can be sure that when they buy Little Wolf, it tastes as I intended it to.” Keep an eye out for Little Wolf’s quarterly “Field Notes Series” releases. www.littlewolfbrewery.co.za

MUNCHIES - THE MIDYETT RUB

Bored with salt and pepper? Tired of marinades? Try the Midyett Rub, devised by Silkworm and Bottomless Pit bassist Tim Midyett and lauded by Steve Albini (the producer behind Nirvana’s In Utero and Pixies Surfer Rosa, who also happens to be an occasional food blogger*). Ingredients: 2 T Sea Salt (Maldon) 1 T black peppercorns 1.5 t sumac 1.5 t ground coffee 1 t garlic powder 1.5 t cocoa powder

Blend it all together in a coffee/spice grinder. Rub it on meat – from steak to ribs, lamb chops to whatever else you like. Easily packed for the braais/ BBQs/asados of glory you intend to have on a weekend away, it makes all meat even better than usual. Trust us on this. * “If there are fennel-haters out there, they and the brussels sprouts guys should start an asshole club. Call it England. Or the ‘aged rotten asshole haters of the delicious’ club.” Steve Albini ranting about fennel on his blog.

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THE WINE – BASALT WINES ‘THE BREAM KING’ TEMPRANILLO While fly fishing for bream in Australia’s Victoria state recently, The Mission team stumbled upon this small award-winning biodynamic winery where the winemaker has produced a kick-ass tempranillo as a tribute to the man who taught him how to catch ‘brim.’ basaltwines.com.au

THE HARDTACK – GRUNDHEIM BOEGOE BLITS Witblits, aka White Lightning (aka Allan Donald), aka fire water is the kind of smallbatch hard tack that’s usually less about flavour and more about function. This doubledistilled 50% proof favourite made from Colombar grapes from Grundheim does both. Infused with buchu (an aromatic, wild herb indigenous to South Africa), one sniff is enough to provoke a Pavlovian recall of the veld we hike through on our way to fishing spots. Warms the cockles of the heart, drink too much and you might shart. www.grundheim.co.za

Warwick Leslie

B E AT

N O I S S I M E H T T S I L Y PLA 8 VOL THE

“SHE DON’TE CALL ME ON O N AND ONLY, LLS A SHE JUST C SHE ME WHEN Y” GETS LONEL

ANDRE VAN (IG:@NEPTU WYK DRE’S ECLECNNA) T SLEIGH RIDE IC

PLAY

TRACK LISTING Dolly Parton - Jolene at 33 rpm, Cajun Moon - J.J. Cale, SOJA - Here I Am, Current Swell - “Rollin”, Traveling Wilburys - Tweeter And The Monkey Man, 3 Shades of Black - Hank Williams III, WILLIAM TOPLEY feat. MARK KNOPFLER - Sea Fever, Social Distortion - Don’t Drag Me Down, Widespread Panic - Surprise Valley, Baba O’Riley (The Who Cover) - Live at Madison Square Garden - Pearl Jam, Emmanuel Jal - Emma, Fine Young Cannibals - Johnny Come Home, Fokofpolisiekar - Ek Skyn, Future Islands - Seasons, Mattafix - Shake your limbs, Sublime - Santeria, K’s Choice - Not An Addict, The Dead South - In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company, System Of A Down – Toxicity, Parkway Drive - “Bottom Feeder”, Pantera - Cemetery Gates, Slayer - Seasons In The Abyss, Spiderbait - Black Betty, Eminem - Soldier, Everlast - Ends 15 Visit www.themissionflymag.com to listen.

UNDERCURRENTS

FLY FISHING SUCKS W H Y F LY F I S H W H E N Y O U C A N P L AY G O L F, G O S U R F I N G O R U S E A M E D I TAT I O N A P P ? P L A G U E D B Y O F F E R S T O G O F LY F I S H I N G , M AT T H E W F R E E M A N T L E C O N S U LT E D T H E I N T E R W E B S F O R A N S W E R S .

ost people, when they reach the age of 38, have found satisfactory ways to fill their days. I am one of those people. There is no such thing as spare time and, if new hobbies are to be accommodated, older ones have to make way. Like a packed nightclub, it’s a “one in, one out” policy. So, when someone suggested recently that I try fly fishing, I knew immediately and with a pang of annoyance that something beloved would have to be sacrificed. Some pastimes are more demanding than others. Golf must be among the hardest to love from the outside. It takes forever, it’s expensive and it’s mainly about being reminded of an age that should long since have passed, where poor men carry the possessions of rich men on their backs. Surfing is also notorious, even if there are fewer bigots in the surfing world. I have lost a lot of good friends to surfing. Interactions with these bygone pals are now a waste of time, for them too, I suspect. They stare, sheepeyed and distracted while you speak, more concerned with the twitching leaf just behind your head that suggests the wind has changed offshore. They are lost to the world of non-surfing, which, it is worth remembering, consists of everything else wonderful in the world. Love it or loathe it, surfing, like golf and fly fishing, is clearly a potent drug. If sober, sensible people have been mesmerised - and, to my mind, badly simplified - by it, then their charms cannot be denied. If you try one of these activities, you will want to do it again, and again, until eventually it’s all you’ll want to do. It is at least worth considering that you needn’t try them at all. Obsessive sports like the aforementioned tend to be quite difficult, take a very long time and are best enjoyed alone, surrounded by nature. The same can certainly be said about fishing and even more so about its highfalutin’ cousin, fly fishing. Because it threatens to rob me of precious time, it is with fly fishing chiefly that I have an axe to grind. The trouble is, fly-fishers won’t take no for an answer. Their reaction is worse than cheerful persuasion, it is total bafflement. They are so confident in the appeal of their

passion that they cannot understand why you wouldn’t want to do it too. So began the obvious necessity to find as many reasons not to do it as possible. To this end, I set about trawling the world wide web to put forward the case against fly fishing, which is a perfectly normal thing to do although I risked veering horribly wide of my editor’s brief It may be true that you can have anything confirmed by the internet - I recently saw someone give The World of Birds, a sanctuary for sick or injured birds and monkeys, a one-star review on Facebook. It was unnervingly easy to find strong and vociferous disapproval for fly fishing and its protagonists online. To the popular FishUSA forum, where user AndyLee had provoked 223 responses to a post asking: Can somebody explain fly fisherman snobbery to me? TastyTrout, listed as an ‘Expert Angler’, warned that “making that assumption opened up a whole can of worms”, which may or may not be true but which at the very least works as a deft fishing pun. “When I go bass fishing, guys using crank baits don’t look down on guys using soft plastic worms,” said Tasty. I don’t know what that means but it sounds like reasonable grounds for chagrin.” Tension on the stream bank? You work all week, wake up in the dark to go and stand waist deep in cold water and instead of blissful tranquillity you’ve got some surly spinwheel rod fisher staring daggers at your back and kicking over your bait box when you aren’t looking. This was a useful negative; my case was gathering heft. Apparently, fly-fisher people have derisory nicknames for non-fly fisher people, such as “bait floppers” or “worm drowners”. The plebs do have their comeback names, like “water slappers”, but they aren’t as clever or waspish. I’d rather be a water slapper than a worm drowner, wouldn’t you? (Again, it’s worth remembering that we don’t need to be either.) D-Nymph closed the book on AndyLee’s question, with the following contribution: “Sure. It’s because we are smarter, better looking and wealthier than you. Our women are hotter too.” It will take some Pulitzer-level - though perhaps not Pulitzer worthy - research to determine the

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credibility of this claim but, if true, it would strike a serious blow to the naysayers.

wildly active outside world can keep in tune with their own screaming inner disquiet.

Diving deeper, it became clear that what most fly-fishers liked least was other people “fishing their hole”, which seems entirely reasonable too. I can’t think of many things worse than having my hole fished.

Unsatisfied with simply going for a swim, for example, these addicts must not only catch and release (or occasionally kill) creatures inferior to themselves, they must wax lyrical about it at any given opportunity. Needing justification for these increasingly dubious claims, I returned to the internet to have the idea conformed. I found William G Tapply’s piece “The Truth About Fly-Fishermen”, in which he writes: “[The fly-fisher] thinks he’s the Ultimate Sportsman, and he fancies himself a poet. It’s all about the scent of clean air, the gurgle of rushing water, the symphony of birdsong, the fine art of casting, the craft of fly tying.”

The more I read, the clearer it became that even if you’re not a pretentious bigot already, fly fishing ensures that you will be accused of being one anyway. This surely comes from the idea that most hobbies are referred to as sports, or crafts, while fly fishing is offhandedly referred to as an art. This is obviously a misnomer, however loftily you speak of the act of throwing string into rivers. At the end of the day, it’s about catching fish. Calling this an art is as absurd as saying ‘The Art of Duck Hunting’, which is also a thing, and even quite a long book, the internet is quick to confirm. There are, of course, many positives to counterbalance the downsides of taking all day to bother fish. There is the fresh air, the nature and the solitude, among other meditative advantages. But all of the good things about fly fishing can be accessed simply by going to the places fly fishers go and just standing there for a while. And if there is nothing obviously better to be said about fly fishing than standing alone in a mountain stream staring at the water - and there isn’t, because I searched the internet purely to find something to support this view and found it - then we have another reason not to do it. It’s not just that fishing adds an extra hour to your preparations for standing in a river, it’s that the hour concerned is taken up pulling yourself into a sort of amphibian lederhosen and selecting very specific offcuts of dead animals on hooks. Foregoing all that malarkey, you could be at the river before everyone else and stand there quite happily, choosing the best part of the river to stand in and look at, unencumbered by the roughly 450 bits of non-negotiable fly fishing paraphernalia. Small price to pay, you fly fishers might counter, and perhaps we could live with the obstructive practicalities if fly fishing didn’t also demonstrate the vanity and folly of the human spirit. I know, it’s unfortunate. I’ll explain Like surfers, who conceitedly impose themselves on nature in order to acknowledge its power, fly-fisher people have to drag a variety of species out of their natural environments in order to feel connected to theirs. Like poking a beast with a stick, these humans can only respect nature when it gets up and bites them. A wave is not powerful until it has snapped your board in half; a river not beautiful until it is also challenging. The point is being missed, and badly. Waves were powerful and awe-inspiring before we started skiing down the face of them in big shorts; you can meditate without a fishing rod in your hand. In this way, fly-fisher people are like bungee jumpers; fretful adrenaline seekers with no inner stillness whatsoever, for whom only a

He sounds like a bit of an arsehole. If only that was all. Dull, superior and, let’s face it because I’ll probably find something online to corroborate this, probably neglectful of their families, fly-fishers are an anachronism in an age where adequate rejuvenation can take place in 12 minutes with the help of an hourglass meditation app. There’s no need to go wading around in rivers denying the future when technology has answered all of our prayers with the virtual reality fishing experience Pro Fishing Challenge VR for Oculus. Think about it. By strapping a set of goggles to your head in your bedroom, you can quite easily spend half an hour fishing any river in the world and, provided you spend a little bit of actual money on a good virtual rod, which is in no way a waste of money, catch whatever you like, at will, in your tracksuit, without even having had to shower and brush your teeth. With this option dangling like a ripe pear at the bottom of the tree, it’s laughable to see people still grasping for the higher fruit. “Is fly fishing a waste of time and money?” I asked Google, and came up with nothing before I had my suspicions confirmed by a 1-star Tripadvisor review of a fly fishing holiday from someone whom I’ve never met yet whose credibility I don’t at all question. In any case, the unimpeachably accurate search engine returned over five million results to that question, which I think represents an overwhelming affirmation that yes, fly fishing is indeed shit. If you think that the internet alone cannot be used to verify my claims, then, in conclusion, we turn to a recent article in the Daily Telegraph - a fancy British newspaper that contains no lies because it is British and the British never lie - entitled ’10 Things No-one Tells You Before You Take Up Fishing’. All the classics are there. At number one, you’ve got,“Everything smells” before the list loses punch a bit, running out of ideas at number 7 with the irrelevant,“Carp isn’t the only coarse fish” but ending strongly with “once you’re hooked, other sports will be spoiled”. I think that settles it. I don’t have to go fly fishing. Thank god for the internet.

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Distributed by Xplorer Fly fishing - www.xplorerflyfishing.co.zaÂ Email: jandi@netactive.co.za or call 031-564-7368 for your closest dealer.

T R O U B L E D WAT E R S

THE BLUE HEART OF

EUROPE The Waters: The last wild rivers of Europe, snaking out of Bosnia and Slovenia, are home to myriad species from marble trout and grayling to hucho hucho (Danube salmon). The Wankers: Hydro-power dams financed by international banks. If the wild rivers of these countries are seen as the blue heart of Europe, then the hydropower schemes are giant KFC Doubledowns giving the area atherosclerosis and imminent cardiac arrest. Dams not only harm eco systems and exacerbate climate change (through their methane emissions), they also displace communities and drive species to extinction. The Way Forward: Visit Patagoniaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Blue Heart website (https://blueheart.patagonia.com), find out more about the destructive nature of hydro-power schemes, watch the trailer, set up a screening and sign the petition to stop world banks from financing the construction of more dams.

The Bosnian World Premiere of the Blue Heart movie screened against the wall of one of the offending hydro dams. Photo: Stephan Gian Dombaj Jnr - Fly Fishing Nation

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GUIDES

HIGH 5S S A LT WAT E R F LY F I S H I N G N U T, S U R F E R A N D PA C I F I C I S L A N D EXPLORER, NEW ZEALAND-BASED GUIDE JP SAMUELSON IS A LONG WAY F R O M W H E R E H E S TA R T E D I N C A P E T O W N , S O U T H A F R I C A Photos: Jp Samuelson Archive

5 of the most difficult guiding experiences so far? 1) Once, while being guided for yellowfish, I found myself way too close to a crocodile for comfort. But, what got me was when the guide suggested, “It’s only a Likkewaan (monitor lizard).” Hmmm, forgive me, but I know likkewaane and that was not one. 2) When the trades blow for days and you only have six days with a group, it can be pretty tough. Everyone really wants to get that “perfect eat” so you have to keep busy and work hard. 3) Guides can’t control the weather gods Most people understand that. Most! 4) When your client says he is ready to cast and he hasn’t even stripped line off his reel. 5) Sharks charging a hooked fish make this job rather difficult at times. 5 people you’d like to fish with? 1) My uncles and my dad, all together, to show them how it’s done. They are a salt crew of handliners from Strand. 2) Francois Botha in Central Africa for goliath tigerfish. 3) Arno Matthee, The “Milkman”, in Gabon for huge tarpon. 4) David Attenborough. He’s just a legend. 5)Jono Shales, Ningaloo Reef for black marlin 5 fish on your species hit list? 1) Large tarpon 2) Goliath tigerfish 3) Roosterfish 4) Napoleon wrasse 5) Broadbill

5 best things about where you guide around the Pacific Ocean 1) Far north New Zealand. The white sands and mangrove systems of the harbours and estuaries teem with all sorts of fish. I target saltwater species like snapper, trevally, sharks, kahawai and tuna, but mainly big yellowtail kingfish. The west side is rocky and rugged, whereas the east is sandy with rocky nooks and crannies in between. This area is wildly diverse in terms of fly eating species. You can almost always guarantee shots at three or four different species. 2) South Island, New Zealand for saltwater species and sea-run browns. Most serious fly anglers interested in these parts of the world would’ve seen and heard about the ever-growing saltwater fly fishery New Zealand, but this is especially true down here in the deep south. This place is not just for the high country trout hunters. Remote flats and estuary systems are loaded with extremely large searun brown trout, South Pacific king salmon, hordes of tailing kahawai and kingies (yellowtail). They are all here for one thing and one thing only - feasting right in close on a “hatch” of white-bait, mullet, silveries and dark cockabullies. It’s the perfect alternative for the predominantly freshwater anglers already visiting the place in summer. I mean what else would you want or need in a fly venue? Freshwater fish mixed with saltwater species – a fly angler’s wet dream! 3) Fiji. I have done a few seasons in Fiji now and it is such a special place. I can’t wait to start this next season on Yacata Island at Ocean Souldiers’ Amanziwai Eco Lodge situated in the Northern

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Division of Fiji, some 40 nautical miles off the Garden Island of Taveuni and Qamea. I had the time of my life there recently and coincidentally landed a lekker guiding gig at Amanzi-wai. This remote island group boasts sand flats, waterfalls and reefs stacked with a diverse range of wild, unschooled fish. Last year I was taking anglers out to the Mamanuccas - a huge sand bar straight off Malolo Island for geets, bluefin and triggers. Offshore there are the marlin and tuna around one of the best surf breaks on the planet - Cloudbreak on Tavarua. I needed to pinch myself every so often to see whether I was dreaming. 4) Samoa. People visiting here get the raw island cultural experience. Having lived and guided on the island of Savaii for the past five years, I can only tell you this: get over there and explore the south west edge. For any fly angler, spear fisher or surfer, this place will blow your mind. 5) Tokelau. I quote: “It’s easier to get to the moon than Tokelau.” This came from an old Tokelauan who was on the 36-hour freight ship I took to get there from New Zealand. It’s not even a venue (yet) and it’s not the kind of place I can see many people gaining access to, considering the amount of hoops I had to jump through. I got there in the end and it was worth every minute. It’s a final frontier place. Tokelau’s atoll is literally only two to two and a half metres above sea level and it is slowly sinking due to rising sea levels and climate change. A narrow volcanic brim creates the only liveable land area and this isn’t very big at all, but the internal lagoons are to die for. I basically went and did a

Taking exploratories to the next level, JP Samuelson shoots fish in a barrel. W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

Smurfs and snappers - eternal foes

recce there looking for waves, bones, milkies, permit, triggers and geets. The diving was off the freaking chain too. The place is similar to the Cooks/ Aitutaki or Kiribati and has its own unique environmental challenges. It’s wild and teaming with fish, but also ready for sustainable change in terms of the way they manage their special fishery, moving from destructive, commercial, harvesting practices to ecotourism. 5 fishing items you don’t leave home without before making a mission? 1) Leatherman and belt combo. 2) The Mad Hueys polarized sunnies, plus cap and buff combo. 3) Camera bag - including extra SD Cards, batteries, fish eye lens and headlamp.

4) Freshly stacked fly box and pretied leaders. I prefer having fresh flies in my boxes. 5) Hammock-swag combo (a robust Australian, waterproof, insect-proof sleeping bag cover) 5 bands to listen to while on a road trip? It all depends on how my day goes. When I’m by myself though, I often listen to some old beats from my ancient 30GB iPod - a mad mix from Linkin Park to Gramatik - heavy to soulfunk. I am currently enjoying the following: 1) Queens of the Stone Age - Lullabies to Paralyze 2) Prof – No. feat. cashinova 3) Innerparty System - Don’t Stop 4) Glød - You Can’t Get Me 5) Atmosphere - We Ain’t Gonna Die Today

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5 things you are loving right now 1) Reading Barbarian Days of Surfing for the second time. It reminds me of my searches for perfect waves traveling through countries I never, ever thought I’d make it to. This book is a must read for any water man (Ed or woman!) with a taste for adventure. 2) My new little project, building bow and stern platforms for my little inflatable boat, along with custom mods to make it the ultimate light-weight fly fishing craft. 3) Summer time. I love the smell of sunscreen and surf wax. It takes me back to sitting at the car park at Koeël Bay on the False Bay coast, watching the waves and dodging those bastard baboons trying to steal our food. 4) My amazing support network of dedicated individuals piecing

“WHAT ELSE WOULD YOU WANT OR NEED IN A FLY VENUE? FRESHWATER FISH MIXED WITH SALTWATER SPECIES – A FLY ANGLERS’ WET DREAM!” together our own slice of the pie. I get to work with the right kind of people, creating our own fortunes, slowly getting better at it and cutting out the bullshitters. 5) Getting professional guidance to prepare myself for the Southern hemisphere’s winter season ahead. I’m literally frothing to get back to Amanzi-wai in the Northern Division of Fiji, but I want to get back there as a new, better version of myself. 5 indispensable flies for saltwater? 1) Shrimp/ crab fly patterns 2) Deceivers /Tube flies resembling large baitfish, particularly flounder 3) Poppers 4) Surf candies 5) Chartreuse and white clousers 5 things you have learnt from freshwater fly fishing? Fresh water fly fishing is something I have always enjoyed from a distance. I’m not sure why. It’s most likely because I was so used to catching big saltwater species. Immigrating here to New Zealand I had to learn fast! What I have taken from my experiences in the fresh (going for wild browns and salmon in the estuaries of the South Island) is this: 1) Big Bullie patterns rule Match the native silveries, smelts and cockobullies “hatch” with small saltwater clousers on light gauge stainless hooks. The fish here are big and aggressive and they know competition is lurking nearby, so they do not pass up easily on a big meal. 2) Canal fish are cool Whether you are a purist or not, canal fish from the South Island’s Mackenzie Basin near Lake Tekapo are some of the coolest fish to target on the coldest days and nights of

winter. Nothing gets your blood going more than hooking a double figure fish that lives in a man-made hydro canal and you can see it cruising the banks with little to nowhere to hide or find cover. As an apex predator in that specific habitat, that fish has seen more nymphs and lures than most but, if you hide yourself and manage to hook them with a well-timed, delicate presentation, you have reason to celebrate. 3) Don’t kill the trout Summer dry fly fishing with terrestrials in the spring creeks and rivers around Marlborough/Nelson/ Abel Tasman accounts for some seriously stunning fish with unique markings. Unfortunately, I have seen too many people taking these fish home. I don’t care who you are or if they are an introduced species to NZ. These fish don’t deserve to die and they are worth so much more alive. I don’t kill trout. Period. 4) Negative nymphing For me, nymphing blindly for a trout in a pool is kind of boring. Unless of course it’s ‘nymphing’ for saltwater species by prospecting outcrops or gutters for snapper hiding in the shallows. Somehow that’s different. 5) Salmon Secrets Don’t take anyone (especially socalled mates) to your favourite salmon hole nor show them which fly to use. They will try to catch their limit and go sell it to their mates – fuckwits. 5 shower thoughts that have occurred to you while fly fishin 1)When was the last time I was at that location? Was it good? Did the tide affect the fishing? 2) Why am I not surfing? 3) What’s coarse fishing like? 4) Why do some dudes get so loose

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just before the start of an eightday remote atoll reconnaissance expedition? 5) Does anyone else really like fly reel handles smashing your fingers to shit as much as we do? 5 of the most underrated species in your book? 1) NZ kahawai 2) NZ albacore tuna 3) NZ silver trevally 4) Bluefin trevally 5) Rainbow runner 5 destinations on your bucket list? 1) Chatham Islands - Blue moki, trumpeter and hapuku 2) Western Australia - Black marlin, samsonfish, barramundi 3) Gabon - Mangrove jack, giant African threadfin, tarpon 4) Amazon - All the species! 5) Nile - Nile perch 5 common mistakes that most clients make? 1) Casting inaccurately 2) Not using the wind to their advantage 3) Line wraps and tangles 4) Trout striking - not strip striking 5) Getting sunburnt to hell on the first day Your last five casts were to…. Deep dwelling yellowtail (kingfish). Recently I had my fly tying maestro/ supplier Max Graham pop in unexpectedly to drop off my stash of Kingfish Candy and poppers. As he lives down south in the cold foothills of the Southern Alps, I thought I’d better take him out and show him what North Island kings fight like. We dredged big flies 20 meters deep for 15kg fish off a marker buoy and chain over shallow foul.

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IRAN - MANGAR

THE PRINCE OF PERSIA “LIKE A LARGEMOUTH YELLOWFISH, BUT EVEN BIGGER?” W H E N L A R G I E FA N AT I C E WA N N A U D E H E A R D A B O U T T H E G I A N T, M Y T H I C A L M A N G A R O F I R A N , N O T H I N G WA S G O I N G T O S T O P H I M FROM GETTING THERE. By Ewan Naude Photos Leonard Flemming, Gerald Penkler & Ewan Naude

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eonard Flemming and I were sitting at Cape Town International Airport, sipping long and hard on our beers, our last for nine days. Paging through our passports we discussed the possibility of ever getting into the United States of Trumpbekistan again. We agreed that it was highly unlikely and, that if we even got through passport control, we might just find ourselves in an interrogation cell in Guantanamo Our Green Mamba South African passports were littered with visas from countries dubbed “undesirable” but, for us, places like Sudan, Yemen, Mongolia, Gabon and now Iran, were too exotic to ignore. We were on our way to Iran to target a species of barbus, called the ‘Mangar’ or ‘King Barbus’ (Luciobarbus esocinus), basically a largemouth yellowfish (Labeobarbus kimberleyensis) on a high protein diet that bench presses 250kgs and says ‘boet’ a lot. Explaining our travel history to security officials is one thing, but trying to explain this trip to friends and family was another challenge altogether. No, ISIS don’t operate in Iran. No, terror attacks are almost nonexistent. No, it’s not just a big desert and no, FFS, no, it’s not like Salmon Fishing in the Yemen!

and I continued to follow the updates and started communicating with a few of his European clients to gauge their opinion of the fishery and Iran in general. Their responses were unanimous: “unbelievable experience”; “fishing is very consistent” and “make sure to pack your ‘Fuck-Trump’ T-shirt if you want to be popular”. Leonard and I then started chatting in earnest about this trip, pitched the idea to a few guys and, in the end, Gerald Penkler joined us from London, managing to drag himself away from the pike orgies that had become one of his many fly fishing vices.

The idea for this trip began a couple of years ago at the Vanderkloof dam, when Peter Coetzee and I starting talking about this ‘giant largie’ found in Iran. There were a few pics floating around social media posted by a local guide named Sina living in Tehran. They warranted some serious attention

Fast forward to the 29th April 2018 and the three of us are sitting with Sina and friends drinking sweet tea and gorging ourselves on chicken kebabs in the home of Mehti, our boat driver, in a small village in the Khuzestan province of Iran. After a four-hour drive from Ahvaz to this village, our nerves where shot. Thirty

hours of travel, the last of which were with an Iranian Evil Knieval in a tiny Renault, had taken its toll on my box of smokes. From that journey, the meal and through the duration of the trip, we soon discovered that once you dig deeper, Iran is geographically diverse, rich with history and has some of the friendliest and most selfless people you are likely to meet. You are routinely stopped in the streets by people who ask you where you are from and what your impression of their country is. We also quickly learned that Iranians really dig kebabs, yak milk soft serves, Pepsi and feeding foreigners until they look like Mama June. Despite our comfortable lodgings in Mehti’s home, insomnia-inducing anticipation meant a night of fitful sleep but, after a dawn wake-up, we were on our way. After a short drive to the lake from the village and an hour’s boat ride we were finally at our campsite, home for the next week.

“WE WERE ON OUR WAY TO IRAN TO TARGET A SPECIES OF BARBUS, CALLED THE ‘MANGAR’ OR ‘KING BARBUS,’ BASICALLY A LARGEMOUTH YELLOWFISH ON A HIGH PROTEIN DIET THAT BENCH PRESSES 250KGS AND SAYS ‘BOET’ A LOT” 28

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Call me! 30

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Finding our feet On our way to the campsite Sina gave us the news that the lake above the one we were to fish had, before our arrival, released a massive amount of water to drive the hydroelectric turbines. We’d seen evidence of this from the boat… flooded vegetation and sodden low lying fields that had been well above water a week ago. Ask any largie fisherman worth their salt and they will tell you that a sudden change in conditions is about as useful as 8x tippet in the Seychelles. And, if these mangar were anything like their South African cousins, we were in for a challenge. Our plan was to use our past experience on large dams, such as Vanderkloof, and apply this to Iran. I admit I’m an avid fan of the darkside, but, after two days, and having chucked every piece of plastic and metal in my box, not even the heathenware could raise a strike. We decided that, instead of blind fishing likely areas, we needed to try and sight fish to see how they reacted to our offerings. It’s not that we hadn’t caught anything by then. In fact, Leonard and Gerald had cracked a species on fly that had our new Iranian friends in awe. How Leonard Shirbotsky got his nickname Shirbot are crazy fish. They swim with a serpent-like motion, often right on the surface and can attain weights in excess of 70lbs. They can be very aggressive at times, smashing a zonker or spinner but, in our experience, they required a more subtle approach. They are also stupidly strong. Gerald and Leonard are technical, accurate and patient fly fisherman. Years of fishing for technically demanding quarry, such as carp, have honed these skills. On the other hand, I think 4x tippet is for flossing your teeth! The two of them consistently caught shirbot and some really good ones too and achieved cult status among our hosts who had never seen such success fishing for this difficult species. We kept hearing the word ‘shirbot’, interspersed with

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their native Persian, as they looked at Leonard with the kind of admiration some might have for a sports star or a Kardashian. And so it came to pass that Leonard earned the moniker, Shirbotsky. Outgunned Shirbot orgy aside, after two days, we were questioning whether this lake had any mangar in it at all. We changed tactics and started walking the banks, perching ourselves on high rocky outcrops in the hope of spotting cruising fish. It was only then that we all saw our first mangar. It was one of those ‘pinch yourself’ moments. We were getting shots but their body language wasn’t good. Then, sitting on a very high perch, Leonard Shirbotsky saw a very good fish of around 30lbs. But, as (bad) luck would have it, he was armed with his 6-weight, a small zonker and 2x leader, waiting for a shirbot to pass by. I watched Leonard do his best heron impersonation as he roll cast the small zonker and, a split second later, the fish had inhaled the fly. With a fish that size on that tackle, the story was always going to end in tears, and it did. It was like those war movies when a mortar explodes and everything is black and there is no sound but ringing ears and when the sound returns it’s Simon and Garfunkel singing , “Hello darkness my old friend….” Once the ringing had subsided, the normally composed Shirbotsky let out a stream of cathartic expletives and continued to silently and diligently tie on another leader. There wasn’t much else to do or say. This was the first mangar that ate and it was a big one. We were all very bleak. Breakthroughs and bears By this stage we had also figured out that, wherever we walked, we were being carefully watched by one of the local inhabitants, the Baluchistan black bear. When planning the trip, we had been so pre-occupied with assessing the human security threat

SHERBET that’s a nice Sherbot!

that we neglected to ask Sina what else could kill us there? It turns out, a lot! There are a large number of very venomous snakes, scorpions and of course, the bears. On the first day I saved Gerald’s backpack from becoming an abode for a venomous tree snake and it was after this that I began chatting to Sina about other fauna we might want to avoid. Phrases like, “not so big, only up to 500kg” and “not so dangerous, only kill one or two locals per year” got me a little jumpy. It didn’t help that around every corner was a fresh, steaming pile of berry laden turd.

Unless Gerald and Shirbotsky were smashing the trail mix, there was only one thing that could be responsible for the seemingly ubiquitous excrement. Despite all these tell-tale signs we never saw a bear, but for the duration of our trip I made sure I sang Mmmmbop at the top of my lungs so that those bears knew I was coming. The rapid rise in water levels had definitely affected the mangar. We were getting good shots at fish, but they had commitment issues. We simply had to keep looking and casting and hoping that we would

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get one to break the fast and eat. On the fourth day Gerald delivered. I was separated from Leonard and Gerald and well into the second chorus of Mmmmbop, when I heard whoops of delight and saw distant high fives. Gerald had sighted a decent mangar fairly far out, made a great cast with a little zonker pattern. The fish ate and a good 8lb plus mangar was the result. We had taken our sweet time but we were on the board. The next day I managed two livebait-size mangar which ticked the species box but I was hungry for a bigger specimen.

Leonard Sherbotsky with the Sherbot release

A hefty chiselmouth

Better late than never I wish I could say that we cracked the code and the mangar floodgates opened but, I’m afraid, this didn’t happen as floods of a different kind had rendered any code cracking improbable. The fish were seeing lures and flies but they were simply out of sorts. Although the fishing was tough, we were extremely privileged to see fish that made us weak at the knees and I have no doubt that, under normal conditions, these fish would’ve eaten the fly. Leonard saw two fish 60 meters out that he described as small Zambezi sharks and estimated to be at

Gerald Penkler off the mark with the trip’s first mangar W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

Gerald Penkler, Leonard Flemming (regretting having seconds), Ewan Naude and the Iranian crew.

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Like the spawn of a barramundi and a largemouth yellow, an Iranian mangar finally gets to swipe right on Ewan Naude

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least 100lb. I had a very good shot at a fish that was 50lb plus which turned on the fly, before slowly disappearing into the depths. On the fifth evening I was feeling pretty low after another heavy day of walking in the heat and catching vokkol. The flatbread and lamb diet had caught up with me and a combination of Hadeslevel heartburn and mild nausea just aggravated my fragile state of mind. I was feeling way too sorry for myself. When we got off the water and back to camp, I grabbed a spinning rod (earmuffs for all the #itonlycountsonfly crew) and I walked the camp bank section to try and clear my head. I was on a point that had looked fishy for the past five days and I lobbed a few casts without a result. But then, within ten minutes, my crankbait stopped dead. A few minutes later I was cradling a stunning mangar in excess of 20lbs. I was over the moon as I admired this fish for a few minutes and soaked up the moment. All you need is one fish to make you believe again and I woke up on the last day optimistic and ready to have one last go at a decent mangar on fly. Instead of trekking along the treacherous bank, I elected instead to stake out a spot where I had seen a good fish the day before. This area was a hive of spawning activity of a number of smaller species which seemed to attract baitfish and in turn the bigger shirbot and mangar. It didn’t take me long to see three mangar swimming together up and down the bank and there was no doubt that they were in feeding mode. Despite lubricating my fly-line on a regular basis, the dry air often made casting difficult and I had made a shitty cast at a good fish the day before. I wasn’t going to have this happen again. Still a long way from the water’s edge, I poured my bottle of water over my rod and reel and slowly made my way down the hill to hide behind a tree. I stripped off a few coils of line into my stripping

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basket while I waited for the fish to turn and head back my way. The next few seconds unfolded so easily and perfectly that it was hard to imagine our struggles over the past five days. As the fly hit the water all three fish charged it and the first one there ate without hesitation. All my ululating had caught the attention of Sina who came rushing around the corner and arrived just as I landed the fish. We were both ecstatic and although the fish was a comparative baby, it was hard earned and right at the top of my list of fishing highlights.

“ALL YOU NEED IS ONE FISH TO MAKE YOU BELIEVE AGAIN AND I WOKE UP ON THE LAST DAY OPTIMISTIC AND READY TO HAVE ONE LAST GO AT A DECENT MANGAR ON FLY” Closing thoughts Mass media, hidden agendas and vested interests undoubtedly give rise to negative publicity which, in turn, has an impact on the ordinary people of countries like Iran. However, those that dig deeper and explore past the headlines will be rewarded with an experience that is very difficult to beat. Yes, with my present passport covered in the evidence of past travels, I may never be allowed to enter a country like the United States again, but was it worth it? Hell yes! The fishing was tough, the terrain tougher, but we got to see barbus that weighed over 100 lbs swimming before our very eyes. On another trip, under different conditions, we will convince one of the 100-pounders to eat a fly.

THE MAN AND THE MOON S O M E T I M ES B U R N I N G B R I G H T, S O M E T I M ES F I C K L E , S O M E T I M ES S H Y N O M AT T E R W H E R E G U I D I N G TA K ES J A M E S T O P H A M , F R O M ASTOV E ATO L L , TO O S E N I N N O RWAY A N D T I E R R A D E L F U EG O - T H E M O O N I S A C O N STA N T C O M PA N I O N . T H R O U G H A L L I TS P H AS ES , I T CASTS A D I F F E R E N T L I G H T O N E AC H LO CAT I O N A N D L E N D S A C E RTA I N M AG I C TO E AC H F I S H I N G EX P E R I E N C E .

t was one of those late nights or, rather, early morning tying sessions, when my back started feeling a little stiff and my bladder a little full. My back gets sore pretty quickly these days, and while it may have a lot to do with my slouchy posture at the vice, I’m sure it’s mostly from rolling 44 gallon drums up the beach or lifting 90hp outboards off the back of our skiffs during season at Astove. Either way I needed a stretch so I rested the bobbin on the desk to stop it from spinning and walked out the door of my cottage and into the warm Lowveld night. It was mid-summer and I could smell the citrus blossom from the valley below. Finding a spot for relief was easy enough with the full moon washing the ground with its ghostly light. Once I’d found my bush (small leaves to prevent splash, slightly downhill to prevent stream from returning to my bare feet) I got on with it and took in the moonlit valley, the nightjar calling and the moon shadow falling from the Mobola plumb tree in my garden. It was a beautiful evening and naturally my gaze turned to the full moon. It was a complete and perfect disk, too bright to make out the old man or even to look at for too long. It left spots in my vision when I had to look away and made me think of all the other times I’d looked up at it and where I’d been and how important the moon and its waxing and waning had been to my life as a guide.

Astove It’s 21:00 on Astove island and the guests are having post dinner drinks in the dining room. I’m standing at the entrance to the old coral block guest house having a smoke and trying my best to ignore the three billion mosquitoes that have overcome the bug zapper by clogging it kamakazi style and are now trying to fly up my nose and into my mouth. The moon is so bright on the sand it feels like twilight, despite the sun having gone down two hours ago. The tide is so high that the waves are running into the takamaka bushes at the top of the dunes. Somewhere a giant green turtle will be laying her eggs in a deep pit dug by her flippers. It’s been a long day. I’ve walked close to eight miles in the surf and along the soft dunes and the limestone cliffs and I’m shattered. The noise level from the dining room briefly overtakes the crashing of the nearby surf, and I can tell that Jim or Bob or Tom or Dick- one of the Texans I spent the day with- is re-telling the story of the shark and the GT. “I have the GT on, but the goddamn thing is coming straight for me and the shark is trying to eat his ass and the GT swims between my feet and then the shark is trying to eat MY ass and the guide yells, ‘Get out the fuckin’ water!’” They laugh hysterically and they drink more rum. I don’t laugh - mostly because I am too tired and it worries me that he doesn’t know how close

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he was to being bitten by a shark and what that would have meant for him seeing as he’s about two flights and many, many thousands of kilometres from the closest hospital. Tomorrow morning the moon will disappear and the tide will recede. Fishing will be tough to start but when it drops to the point that old coral heads start to show on the surf flats, we can start catching big bones and triggers as they tail in the shallow water. We’ll catch fish and have fun, but I will get asked where the GTs are. I’ll have to explain that, as it is a large fish and requires more than eight inches of water, we’ll have to wait for the pushing tide. For the rest of the morning on the hour every hour I’ll be asked if the tide is pushing yet. “No”, I’ll have to say, “Only at three o’clock. You’ll feel it, it’s going to come in hard.” Explaining that there will be no GTs before lunch is a blow to morale, despite catching 6lb bonefish at will and the odd crafty trigger. Eventually the flats completely dry out, there are only Picasso triggerfish left in tiny rockpools, and pepper morays slithering over hot, sharp coral rocks. Lunch is served at the lodge under the aircon, and I eat mine sitting on the cool tiled kitchen floor. It would normally take a lot of motivation to walk out into the searing midday heat, but the tide is about to push. We have to be in the right place when it does. Jess drops us off in the buggy at the southern tip of the lagoon. The shallow water is hot and unpleasant to walk through. I can feel a barrage

of doubtful thoughts radiating from my two guests. I explain that we have to walk just short of a kilometre in this hot water to the confluence of two shallow channels called Czech Point. “It’s a walk but it should be worth it,” I have to add. Once we reach the desired location the stakeout begins. Waiting, blind casting, sighing, asking when the tide will push. And then it does. At first the water in the draining channels slows, as if the lagoon has finally emptied, and then the current stops altogether. Shortly after that a scum line of hot yellow foam washes towards us, and behind it come the sharks. The water is suddenly cool, almost cold. Once more, “Is the tide pushing?” and this time I can smile and affirm, and caution to keep eyes peeled. Then the water begins to rush, and the channels become rivers and the turtles and big sharks and rays stream past. Shoals of mullet explode on the shallower flats, a GT comes out of the glare of the setting sun and nearly beaches itself trying to get to the mullet. There is no more sighing or slow, lazy, blind casting. Everything is fast and rushed and there is someone shouting all the time and GTs streaming up the channels and backing whistling through rod guides and the sound of a 12-weight rod snapping and still more yelling and I realise it’s my voice and there are fish to be tailed and photographs to be taken. In the lull the line cuts and lacerations from tail scoots are patched up and the spare 12-weight is rigged. There is laughing and reminiscing until a large lemon shark is spotted finning on the flats. There is more noise and excitement and swearing and re casting and the fish slamming the fly and the guest letting out all the adrenaline and relief in one loud yell. Opposite the pink horizon the moon begins to rise and the purple sky tells us it’s time to go home, but the sighs are happy and contented.

Tierra de Fuego Full moon does not mean good fishing. More accurately, full moon often means excellent fishing, but in a very limited time frame. In Tierra Del Fuego the days are long and the wind is cold and relentless. The gale blows from early morning until the late evening. It rips the doors off cars if you park them facing in the wrong direction. It throws a constant spray of water in your face, soaking you even though there isn’t a cloud in the sky. It takes constant effort to stay on your feet and the dried goose shit gets blown off the gravel beds and hits you with the force of a paintball. The fishing is tough all day, because you’re fishing for sea-run browns and they sulk during the daylight. W h i l e

this all might sound like a chore and I guess it is a bit - you know that evening is approaching. There is always a different atmosphere post afternoon siesta. The evening session is full of anticipation, the pin has been pulled from the grenade and now we must work the river until the cordite catches. On a daytime drive through the pampas one would be forgiven for thinking that the wind-blown surroundings look harsh and dull, all but featureless and monotonously brown, but there is a secret magic that happens when the sun gets low. They say that Magellan named it

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the “Land of Fire” because of the natives’ camp fires that lit the shore as the ships sailed past. But this must surely be a conclusion of an armchair historian who has never seen a sunset over the Rio Grande. First the wind slows, then stops, and then for a short time God himself shows his hand and all the glory of the heavens is revealed. For a precious few minutes the very Arctic tip of South America burns from the tops of the once benign, now glowing, grass to the highest of the clouds. All too soon, the flaming sky recedes below the skyline, and the full moon rises slowly, demure and coy above the horizon, throwing its incandescent and cool light over the burned pampas. My guests often start catching fish during this transcendent light show, but it is almost a disappointment to tear your eyes away, despite waiting all day to see a fish. The real fishing only starts when it is so dark there is only a silver reflection from the moon on the surface of the water to tell you where to cast. If you don’t foul the line in the darkness, all it would take is a few twitches and the fly would be smacked by what is often a 20lb trout. I don’t think I ever took a good photograph of those night time fish, at least none that did them justice. But the sunset and the moon were witness to those late evening catches and they threw their light in approval. Norway Of all the moons the Norwegian moon must be the most reticent. All summer it hides behind the sun. Even towards the end of summer, when the sun would finally relinquish the sky to darkness, the moon skirts behind the mountains of the fjordeland, like a weary

soldier in a trench hiding from snipers. Even when the moon does rise high enough to find a gap in the mountains, there is usually a cloudbank for it to hide behind. It is shy, the Norwegian summer moon. Though secretive, the moon makes its presence felt by way of the tides. The river mouth drains until it is the shallowest of runs. The salmon mingle in shoals in the fjord, eagerly waiting to head up river to the deep pools and spawning beds. Similarly, the fishermen check the clock in the dining room while they eat their dinner. Tonight dinner is early, so that the fishermen can be at the dark peaty pools three hours before the crest of the tide. That is when the fish will start their epic run. The fishermen know this because the tide told them, and the moon told the tide, and the salmon feel it all in a natural instinct that the fishermen try to understand but never will. There seem to be a few misunderstandings between the salmon and the fishermen. There is one last skol to the fish before the fishermen don waders and carry their long two-handed fly rods down to the river. They walk in a group laughing and talking about seasons past. All but one man. Gunnar is an octogenarian and has been a fine salmon fisher all his adult life. He has seen many more moons than me and understands things about salmon. But there is no language he can use to explain his understanding other than the rod he carries. It’s a short walk to The Hammer, a unique pool below a high rock cliff. The road passes along the top of the cliff, overlooking the deep dark pool. Looking downstream Gunnar can see the river mouth and the seagulls landing on a gravel bar. It is early in the tide, and he wonders if he’s perhaps too early but just then a bright silver fish leaps in the air downstream. The moon, unseen,

is pulling the tide and the fish are flooding with it. Gunnar unhitches a large monkey hair fly from the reel, strips off the head of his fly line and casts it off the cliff so that it dangles below him, the fly only just touching the water. Then he peels six long lengths of running line and steadies himself. With a surprisingly swift and strong movement he threads the backcast along the cliff behind him taking care not to get stuck in the birches next to the road. Just as the

line folds out behind him he shoots it forward. The line rolls out in front of him, high above the water. It unfolds nicely and drops gently into the pool below. Gunnar peers down from his eyrie and watches as the current bows his fly line and the fly starts swimming across the pool. His eyes may be aged and watery, but he can see the fly clearly, it’s strands of flash flickering next to the pulsing monkey hair. Nothing. Is it too early? But there was that jumping fish… His next cast is flawless and a few feet lower. Again he watches the

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fly and then it disappears behind a large silver flash. Gunnar knows you don’t strike a salmon, but he also knows that he is so far above the fish that by the time the slack is taken up the fish would have dropped the fly, so he waits for the fish to turn and then buries the hooks with a sudden jerk. After some violent head shakes the fish tears downstream- the line rooster tailing behind it- and tail walks. The splash is illuminated by the setting sun, and prisms of light reflect from the crystal shards of water droplets. It’s a thick fish, fresh from the ocean, and Gunnar knows the fight could go either way. He puts a whistle to his lips and begins to blow shrill signals up the valley. I was watching someone fish the home pool and I’m not sure when the first whistle blows registered, but at some point they got through the fog of my subconscious and I began running downstream. Running in wading boots isn’t easy, but finally I reached Gunnar. I ran down the steps to the bottom of the cliff and netted his fish. It was fat and chrome, and long tailed sea lice clung to the scales behind it’s adipose fin, a sure sign it was fresh from the ocean. When I shook Gunnar’s hand and congratulated him he said simply, “Yes it is a good fish, she can go back”, and we let her slip into the peaty depths of the pool. Although it was still light, a silvery moon rose above the spruce trees. Back home in the Lowveld, it was too late to tie any more flies. My mind had wondered for too long and now it was time to let my subconscious take over. I crawled into bed and let the silver moonlight flood through the windows. Soon there was the running water and the crashing surf and the thought of all the fish in the world ebbing and flowing through my sleep.

Stu Harley with an incredible riverine Nile Perch. 42

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CAMEROON - NILE PERCH

CAPITAINE CA PI TA I NE I S T H E FRE NC H N AME FOR N ILE PERCH IN AFRICA’S F R A NCO P HO NE CO U NT RI ES. IT WOULDN ’T BE A BAD N AME FOR PI O N E E R I NG S O U T H A FRI CA N ANGLER, ED TR UTER , WHO, TOGETHE R W I T H D R M I KE FAY (CO NS E RVATION BIOLOGIST), KEITH CLOVER AN D ST U H A RLE Y (O F TO U RE T T E FISHING) AN D VOSSIE VOSLOO (FLY BOX F I L MS ) , H AS RECE NT LY T RAVELLED AGAIN TO CAMEROON AS PART O F H I S DECA D ES - LO NG M I SSION TO FIN D A MORE OR LESS INTACT, NI LE PERCH FISHERY. Story: Ed Truter Photos: Johann Vosloo, Tourette Fishing

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issus! There’s moerse (massive) “ mountains there,” I said to Keith as we rounded a bend on a river in Northern Cameroon. “That’s the high-country on the border where that leaf-wearing tribe lives. The ones who have the farting ceremonies.”* Whether Keith wanted to hear it or not, I proceeded to give him the details on the tribe’s “special-talents” man, referred to as the master-farter, charged with doing most of the ceremonial cheese cutting. The poor chap has to take frequent breaks from gyrating his arse in the air so that he can rub a soothing concoction on his anus that gets so swollen from his dominant display of flatulence. Two months earlier I’d stood at the same spot, but the mountains and I had been washed out in sepia scenes of Sahara dust blown from the north. We’d been walking the banks on our first afternoon out when an interesting drop-off in the clear flow caught my eye. With the spinning rod that I prospect with on exploratories, I sent the first cast of the trip on its way. The oversize stickbait that I call the Zombiestopper arched high and true, sailing sixty-odd meters out, and I’m pretty sure everyone in our group’s mind was awash with expectation as their eyes tracked the lure to where it smacked down just on the shallow-side, just right. I engaged the reel and swept the rod to bring the plastic to life. The I-wonder-ifa-fish-is-there question we all had was expressly answered in an eruption of spray I’d expect to see from something crazy-vicious living in the deep sea. The fish never connected but in an instant our spirits soared in nervously optimistic anticipation of what we’d perhaps found. I thought, could this really be it? I found it hard to temper my expectations as I wondered if the location was going to live up to what I imagined could be possible. Expectations of finding an intact, savannariver Nile perch fishery, of finding the fish in the place where evolutionary-speaking it was more at home than anywhere else. I’d had big expectations before, untold number of happy, optimism-fuelled expeditions over two decades of hunting off and on through the savannas of

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Burkina Faso, the Ivory Coast, Ghana, Togo, Niger, Mali, Senegal, and such, and every time the happy expectations had been swallowed up and drowned out by the wretched, dark reality of a tsunami of hungry humanity, every spirit-crushing time. It’s tough when you get your hopes up, because fishing is soul-stirring at every scale. Brain juices juggle us between Paradise and Hell as our psyche reacts not only to what’s happening while we’re on the water but as responses to all the dimensions shaping our every angle and being as fishermen. It means, like it or not, we end up ‘catching feels’, and being a fisherman in Africa can be a particularly wild emotional ride. Now we were back, Mike, Keith, Stu, Vossie and I. A lot happened that first afternoon. We didn’t’t hook any perch but the river was untamed and raw, like being thrown into a thick soup of life. Game, crocs, hippos, and fishes, in your face and everywhere. I saw more wild, living things in the first five minutes on the river than in all the years of work and travel in the savannas of Western Africa. It made me so happy I wanted to cry from happiness and sadness at the same time. I could fill twenty editions of The Mission as a peddler of doom. I could tell how conservationists currently label much of the savanna belt, of which Nile perch are a part, as so severely impacted as to be termed “endangered to critical” habitat. I could describe how an exploding human population has impacted eight million square kilometres of landscape, severely compromising the functioning and integrity of interdependent ecosystems, and where more than 95% of the biomass of indigenous wildlife and fishes has been removed. But I don’t want to be responsible for anyone’s suicide, so let’s make the words that follow a celebration of what we found in the perch themselves and in some of the other creatures we crossed paths with and how their home represents a window into the beauty and wonder that was once everywhere across the northern savannas of Africa.

RIVERINE NILE PERCH The Nile perch is an amazing creature. It’s an adaptive beast whose habitat changes month by month as river levels change from powerful and turbid to languid and crystal clear. A perch’s hunting and predator avoidance strategy needs to change with the conditions. It’s obviously a master of its environment because it thrives in rivers that belie the size of the perch that can live in them; rivers where, by the end of the dry season, just a series of pools narrower than a fly-cast wide, might remain. And they can bulk-up to 100kg in a river like that. Part of their survival instinct is to use tight nooks and crannies as their safe places. In Cameroon we’ve seen how jiggling a fly around the edge of the rock shelf where you are balancing, sometimes brings a little perch dashing out to

eat the fly. The moment it’s hooked it buries itself back in there, like a triggerfish in a coral bommie. The big fish do the same, which explains how they avoid predation by the plentiful crocodiles (note: not Nile crocs but West African/desert crocs, Crocodylus suchus). To the fly angler though, it’s problematic because the perch know their pools like you’ve a mental map of your mom’s grocery cupboard. When they feel the bite of an 8/0, they head for their safe place. Perch have a massive surge of power and energy in their first run, and I’ve had that run end with their muscling and wedging straight into a cave, each time ending in a protracted stalemate and bust off. Fuelling their power and growth though, takes feeding and perch feed impressively. It’s something that

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must be felt to be fully grasped, and I don’t mean felt through the line. I mean felt through your feet and reverberating in your head. Have you ever felt the sensation when road-builders are blasting far-off and there’s a dull thump as the shockwave shoots through the ground and up your legs? That’s how it can feel when a perch engages dinner. Even if the savagery is happening well below the surface, you often hear and feel the “doohf!” that punches through the riverside rocks. It’s as if the fish’s jaws spread supersonically, generating a violent vacuum that’s end-of-programme for anything within reach of the searching vortices that are like the fingers of oversize, deadly-gripping hands borne in a fizzing jet of water. If it’s a surface strike, the sound jars the evening like an unexpected gunshot, driving

Things that go bump in the night: crocs, hippos and Nile perch W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

ripples down your spine as you contemplate what unfortunate life form is being sucked towards the bright light. When the strike is the sucking-in of your fly, then the real brutality hits home. Some may pooh-pooh the perch’s fighting ability but my experience of riverine perch is different. They are heavy hit and runners and their first bolt is way more boisterous than you might imagine from something with a big belly on it. It’s a run that is fast

and backed by heavy momentum; there’s a ton of things that can go wrong for the fly fisherman. Oysterpocked rocks are a constant danger and the angler needs to boulderhop and clamber while running to stay abreast of the fish to keep the line away from the rocks. Hippos are a problem too. Perch and the pachyderms are big bed-buddies, probably because it helps the fish to avoid crocs and there’s free food in the gaggles of baitfish that fight each other to exfoliate the hippos’ backs and cracks. Perch happily shoulder

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through the tangles of legs and bums seeking safety, which doesn’t end happily for the guy fumbling the buckling 12-weight. I’ve been searching but can’t seem to find any 80lb tippet spools that have “hippoproof” in their advertising blurb. In the hand, perch are mean-looking and beautiful. They have spikes and blades on their gill plates that will cut you like a prison bully. Then there are the finger-thick fin spines that will get you shanked too if you put a limb out of place. Perch eyes glow

It’s rare for tigerfish like this to fall into the “bycatch” category

like backlit-bronze by day and rubyred in night time torchlight, just like crocodile eyes. Their scales are silver, a bright-bright silver with gold-olive tones on the fish’s back. Baby perch, who hide in the shallows, are helped from harm’s way by having a brownmarbled camo pattern. The front and back ends of perch are exaggerated. The tail is a broad, rounded paddle, its design something that, maybe, white water kayakers should look at. There’s an oversized mouth at the eating end and it doesn’t have to be on a monster to fit over a man’s head.

I’ve burned into my own head, the image of a ghost-like outline of the 20 litre bucket-mouth lips of a perch rising from the depths to suck in a 3kg catfish that my perch fly had foul hooked. And that in the pool of the river that you’d consider too small to grow a 2kg smallmouth bass. For the big perch there has to be ample food and of that there’s a near constant, raucous reminder of the other fish life living there with them. It may be the sound of a bony tongue tail-smacking the

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surface; any of many catfish species rising to gulp air, or tigerfish chasing baitfish against a beach. If one looks around there are groups of the weird giraffe catfish huddled together on the sandbanks and various labeos with their elegantly flared fins like underwater petals, sliding deftly over slabs of rock. Deep down, the dark shapes of Distichodus taunt you with a fishing challenge that still has to be cracked. Shallow riffles are bejewelled with the sparkle and flash of a myriad feeding, fingersized fishes, weaving and darting

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Renowned conservation biologist Dr Mike Fay with a Nile perch caught at night

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Finger thick fin spines that will get you shankedâ&#x20AC;?

Smiles all round for Keith Clover and Willem de Wet W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

as they grovel in the gravel. In the quiet pools there are troops of tetras from toenail size to foot-plus size inspecting every dimple in the surface film. They are sprightly minions that are happy to eat a dry fly, but often get taxed by tigerfish of which there are three species in the river. Yellowfish (Niger barbs) are restless cruisers who glide by quickly then always seem to turn and come back for another look. You can’t quite place if it’s out of curiosity or

“PERCH HAPPILY SHOULDER THROUGH THE TANGLES OF HIPPO LEGS AND BUMS SEEKING SAFETY, WHICH DOESN’T END HAPPILY FOR THE GUY FUMBLING THE BUCKLING 12-WEIGHT.”

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just a beady-eyed taunt to turn up their rubbery noses at whatever you’re tempting them with. Besides the tigers there are lions and leopards and hyenas and elephants, and giant eland, and buffalo, and roan, and kob (antelope) and bushbuck, and duikers, and forest hogs, and colobus monkeys, and other monkeys, and baboons, and birds … all the rare, West African varieties of Nature’s creatures

and plants exist there. All that is big and small, in a quiet balance representing an island of hope. It’s easy to lose oneself while sitting on a high rock overlooking the river, mesmerised, tracking the trains of fish living their lives, unaware of their fickle, on the edge foothold in the big picture. Riverside-dreaming is quickly flooded out when it’s time to go home, when faced by an endless sea of destruction and depletion by desperate people. One’s heart sinks

for it feels that, to save places like this, is like farting against thunder. Yet, I believe, if we can make enough meaningful noise, like those ancients who live in the mountains and whose flatulent traditions and gut-busting laughter have endured, perhaps we can bring about a wind of change and ultimately defy and laugh in the face of the storm. * The people are called the Koma, they fled into the hills centuries ago

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to avoid capture by Muslim slave traders. Their geographical isolation has allowed for much of their culture to survive, which includes ceremonies where displays of Islamic taboos such as farting and excessive laughing are still used as a taunting celebration of their defiance of their captors. If you think that’s all hot air, go on, YouTubesearch: “Farting Komas”, “Central African Shocking Practices Tribal Farting”; turn up the volume. We advise you not to do this at the office.

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PROFILE

GUIDE, PHILOSOPHER AND FRIEND (TO THE ENVIRONMENT), OLIVER WHITE MEANS BUSINESS.

Who’s the ‘Where’s Wally?’ of the fly fishing world, popping up in the Caribbean, Tanzania, and most recently the Nubian flats and Lesotho? OW! Who sports a beard that, on anyone else would pigeonhole you as a woodwork teacher or a member of Duck Dynasty? OW! Who is sponsored to the gills or given ambassadorial duties with some of fly fishing’s biggest players from Yeti, to Costa, Howler and Yellow Dog? OW! Who has his own rum brand, Frigate Reserve, being launched with Flip Pallot? OW! Who has two premium bonefish lodges in the Bahamas? OW! Who was abducted in the Caribbean, just, you know, by the by? OW! Who has a German Shepherd called Bono and a vintage ’67 Ford Bronco. OW! Who did the dirty with the corporate world and returned back into the fold, like a fly fishing Odysseus, smarter, fitter for business,

still a philosophy degree-toting dreamer, but with the business acumen and financial biceps to do something about it? OW! Who has Indifly, which has as its flagship a community project in Guyana that both protects the world’s largest freshwater fish, the arapaima, but also ensures the local people don’t get side-lined or screwed in the process. OW!

WHO CASUALLY TELLS STORIES LIKE THAT ONE TIME IN THE BAHAMAS WHEN HE WAS CRUISING IN A SUBURBAN WITH LEFTY KREH, TOM BROKAW, MICHAEL KEATON AND AL PERKINSON? OW!

Interview. Tudor Caradoc-Davies Photos Jaco Lukas, Tourette Fishing, Oliver White Archive

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liver White signs off his emails as “OW”. It’s for brevity no doubt and maybe a way of accounting for ‘toes for fingers’ mobile phone composition when responding to emails on small planes heading off into distant jungles. And yet, there’s something else to that sign-off. A baritone Michael Jackson crotch-hike rebel yell into the internet ether. A wolfy howl. A guide at heart, a philosopher by degree and a business analyst by training thanks to a curveball of fate, White is a rare beast - a fly fishing unicorn who straddles both the fishing and business sides of the game. Whether he likes it or not (he doesn’t), he’s also a brand unto himself. White was an army brat from North Carolina, his father an outdoorsman (though not an angler), so he and his brothers grew up camping and canoeing with the old man. The fishing was just something he took to and in time he picked up fly fishing, but it was only after a serious skiing accident age 19 that it became something more. “I was skiing really fast and a guy hit me, I then hit a tree and went off a cliff. I broke three vertebrae in my back, my hip, my pelvis, my sacrum. I was just totally destroyed. I missed a whole year of college just in bed. I had a big brace on for my back and I was just miserable, a 19-year-old stuck at home. As I started to heal up, one of the few things I could do was take my walker and go out into the yard of my parents’ house and cast my fly rod. For

me that was a big part of recovering mentally. I found a lot of solace in the methodical rhythm of casting. For months, that’s what I would do, every day for as long as I could handle it. As I got better, fly fishing really took over. I was done with skiing. I’ve got permanent nerve damage. I can’t feel my left foot or the back of my left leg. My balance sucks. I can’t play sports; I can’t move laterally. Fly fishing really became the one thing at that point.” A summer job in a fly shop became a guiding gig when a guide did not show up one day. Soon guiding was what White did during his last few summers in college. Finishing college with a degree in philosophy and history, he took a year off to guide in Argentina before taking what he thought would be the next step in his education, law school. But after Argentina there was Wyoming, then Russia, then Argentina again and it just kept going. Now one of the poster boys for the guide life, in the Howler ads, the Instagram feed and the Chevy ads, White always looks like he’s laughing his ass off under that beard. Or eating something while laughing. Or mulling over life while simultaneously laughing and sipping from a tin cup. Or hitting the sweet spot between two looks: “Blue Steel in the Tropics” and “Campfire Trust Me - I would never use a spork/wear Crocs”. But, you’d be foolish to label him as just another furry face on Instagram. White is a power player of note in the fly fishing space. To get there, he took a counter-intuitive route. He had to leave fishing before he could return to it.

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"First and foremost, people have to eat. You have to create a quality of life that will allow them to become conservationists. I am so passionate about Indifly, because I think there are ways to go and find these little pockets of pristine places in the world and create a way to save them and still let economic growth happen. That’s what prompted this last trip to Lesotho. Rob and Keith of Tourette Fishing have a partnership with the local community. It’s essentially an IndiFly-esque project that they have been doing on their own. I think we are going to start working on that and have Indifly help figure out how to help them do more for the community. It will also help give exposure to Lesotho as a country, yellowfish as a species and to get Tourette’s efforts across to the American audience. That’s part of what we all do – become storytellers.” W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

â&#x20AC;&#x153;Sudan was incredible. Triggerfish are really underrated. To go to a destination where you can really just appreciate how fun and challenging they are and have so many opportunities, that alone is really cool.â&#x20AC;? 58

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If I were to guess at the most impactful fish White has ever caught, I imagine in no particular order, that there would be three contenders. The first bonefish he caught in the waters around Abaco Lodge, the spot White owns in the Bahamas, must have been significant in the foundation of this cornerstone of his fly fishing empire. Then there’s the first Arapaima caught in the Guyanan jungle on the initial Indifly exploratories. That was a fish which launched Indifly, White’s favourite project, and confirmed the validity of the area as a fly fishing destination which could both protect the environment and sustain the local community. It looks like other destinations, like Lesotho, might follow. Perhaps the most impactful fish however, was a 20lb sea-run brown trout at Kau Tapen in Tierra del Fuego that White guided a client into, back in January 2005. The last, while a great fish, is on the surface not that remarkable, but its significance cannot be discounted in terms of the progression of White’s career. The client was Bill Ackman, a hedge fund investor and, at the time, a rank newbie to fly fishing who had rocked up at KauTapen with all the gear and no idea. He’d bid successfully for the trip at a charity auction. “First time fly fishing and he got a 20-pound brown trout, that’s a helluva way to start. At the end of the week, Bill said, ‘You should come work for me. You’d do really well doing what I do.’ You get a lot of offers as a fishing guide. People are always throwing things at you. “Come visit,” “Do this” and you never know how real that stuff is. I liked the guy and was intrigued. I finished my season in April 2005, got back to Wyoming where I was living and there was a box at my house full of finance books and a letter from Bill saying, ‘Read these books and give me a call.’” So White did. Booked for the summer, he guided, studied the books and spoke to his other clients, many of

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whom were in finance, about the offer on the table. People generally gave him one of three responses. 1. “Dude, you’ve got to go. How can you not take that opportunity?” 2. “Every chance those guys get, they come and spend their time with you. Why do you want to go be on the other side?” 3. The third was that, at the time there was a lot of stuff going on in the news and Bill Ackman was not viewed in a favourable light, so a few people were wary of White working for him at all. If one thing becomes clear about White, it’s that he knows, or has learnt, how to identify opportunities. This was a potential game changer. “I was guiding 250 days a year so, as far as guiding was concerned, I had it made. I had a killer job in Jackson Hole, all repeat business, I had a winter job in Argentina, but it also meant that I was 25 and I was never going to make more money than I was making right then. Ultimately, it was just a judgement call. I’d spent a week with the guy, I thought he was great. Worst case scenario was I don’t guide in Argentina, I go to New York for six months, I learn that I don’t want to work in an office or live in a city, I learn I don’t like finance and I come back and start guiding again. If that’s my worst case, then I’m good. And the best case was, I don’t know what happens. It’s a lottery ticket.” He took Ackman up on his offer and moved to New York to work for the hedge fund, Persian Square. A fishing guide with a degree in philosophy, he was the only analyst who had not been to Harvard Business School. The story has been told in publications like Outside Magazine and Forbes, ‘The Fishing Guide Who Hooked Hedge Fund Titan Bill Ackman.’ For those in finance, the hook is – what could this guy teach Ackman? From the perspective of the fishing industry White’s is an unusual story – what the hell could White learn from Ackman?

“Yellowfish were way better than expected. They don’t necessarily photograph that well, so you see these things and think, “eh, I’m sure it’s cool.” They are so strong, incredibly powerful.” 60

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“Sudan is this beautiful pristine coast, no developments, nothing, but you walk the shoreline and there’s literally plastic everywhere. That’s the case in the most remote corners of the world. That’s why I think this Kick Plastic movement (ed. A Costa del mar initiative) is a really important thing. We’re doing it in the Bahamas, trying to get rid of single use plastic in our programs."

Why trade in the dream, man? White says, “man” a lot, like you’d expect any ski-bum or river guide to. There’s a familiar ease to the way he conducts himself. You can imagine him, working at Ackman’s hedge fund, toes so used to the sand and mud of the flats now stuck in socks and sensible black lace-ups, pitching an idea to a room of Harvard grads. When a boardroom nay-sayer pipes up, White’s rebuttal would open with, “Man, I respect where you’re coming from, but …” He says, “People definitely didn’t take me seriously, but I didn’t take myself seriously either. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be there. I literally walked around with a legal pad and wrote down things I didn’t understand. I’d stay up all night and teach myself high level finance. It took a while and was really hard. It’s not like being thrown in the deep end and learning how to swim. It’s like being taken in a boat, taken off shore, thrown off the boat and told ‘good luck’.” White spent two years there, a time he describes as one of the more formidable experiences of his life. He brought enough value in that time for Ackman to offer to put him through Harvard Business School, to

‘finish’ his education as it were, but as he was going through the application process White realised that as much as he appreciated the opportunity, it wasn’t what he wanted to do. “I’m a military brat from rural North Carolina, the idea of going to an Ivy League business school was crazy. In the application process there’s a whole lot of essay questions which really force you to articulate what your goals and ambitions are and why business school is relevant for you. It was the first time since I’d been in New York that I could get out of the trenches and look at the bigger picture. I didn’t want to wake up and be 50 or 60 and be wealthy, but be this one-dimensional person who is now retired, trying to figure out my identity and who I was. Bill is one of the more remarkable people on the planet so he just said, ‘All right. So, what do you want to do?’ Off the cuff I told him that I missed being outside and I missed the adventure. If I can figure out a way to get back to that and not just be a fishing guide, to have a real financial future and the ability to make a living – that would be the dream. He said, ‘You know how to value companies, you know what they are worth. Go find an investment, take the money you made working here and I will make up the difference.’ That’s how I left New York and moved to the Bahamas to start the lodge programme.”

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"The way you fish for yellowfish in Lesotho is unreal, getting up on the elevation with radios. Very visual, beautiful setting, fantastic fish."

Quite often, there’s an over-simplification around our life choices and the repercussions thereof. PATH A (parent approved): Get a job, get a haircut and a shave and, if you work hard and smart, you can retire in thirty to forty years’ time. Path B: Don’t get a real job and go off doing something you like, like fishing or rafting or skiing. The real jobsters will envy you and pay you money to take them places. But, if you chose B, the blue pill of running water and fresh air and nature, chances are you’ll spend much of your life wondering if you can pay the rent and how long you can do the job for. In reality, there’s a broad spectrum across which we all fall. Some, the extremists, live 24-7 in the markets of high finance, or on the flats and in the jungles. Most of us occupy the space in between, fighting for both a living and a life. Off the back of his New York stint, White seems to have cracked the best of both worlds. He’s a guy who can both comprehend high finance and then morph into guide mode delivering clients the fishy highs of their lives. He can travel the world fly fishing, investing his time and money wisely and ethically and still get home to Chapel Hill, North Carolina to be with his wife and infant son. The werewolf of Wall Street has his cake and is eating it. White says, “I look at my life as a hub and spoke model. I’m in the centre as the hub and then I’ve got Abaco Lodge and Bair’s Lodge, I write for Fly Fisherman Magazine, I host trips with Yellow Dog, I still guide

and I have Indifly. All these things are the spokes, they all help move the wheel along. They all contribute, they’re not unique from each other. It’s allowed me to create a pretty dynamic life.” His two-year hedge fund experience in New York not only gave him a practical MBA in high finance, but allowed him to think big picture. That’s resulted in a competitive advantage in the fly fishing space because he understands businesses, money and how to access it, but White also gained insight into what people - both the clientele and investors - want. “I understand how businesses work, how balance sheets work, how cash flow works, how leverage works, how to read contracts general business acumen that I apply all the time in what I do. At this point it gives me a real competitive edge because fly fishing is a highly fragmented mom and pop scene, generally driven by passion. For me, it’s a real balance. The lodges in the Bahamas are businesses, not toys. I am not a trust fund kid. Everything I do has a very detailed analysis behind it. From the business side, it’s a game changer because now, if there’s a fishing lodge for sale, I can understand the business economics of it. If the business make sense and the price is right, I can figure out where the money comes from. I don’t have a million dollars, I definitely don’t have ten million dollars, but if it’s for

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;My first trip to Africa, ever, was to go to Tanzania for tigerfish, which is still, in all the traveling I have done one of the top 5 adventures in the world. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s incredible. The place and the fish, the whole thing is unreal." W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

â&#x20AC;&#x153;I do not understand the anti-climate change mindset or argument. The world is growing, development is pushing and the environment will suffer as a result. At the same time, there are still incredible pristine places left in the world. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a lot easier to save them before they are fucked up than it is to fix them after.â&#x20AC;? 64

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"AS A FISHING GUIDE YOU ARE A CURATOR OF AN EXPERIENCE. THE FISHING IS PART OF THAT. WE’RE CREATING MEMORIES FOR PEOPLE."

sale for ten and I think it’s worth twenty, I can figure out where to get the money. Prior to going to New York, the idea of coming up with a million dollars to buy a business was just unfathomable. That was a fundamental game changer, because now the net I could cast was much larger.” “The other aspect that really changed was understanding what’s valuable to the clientele. It doesn’t matter what the trip cost – you go to Cosmoledo, it’s $15 000. For the people that can afford these things, it’s not about the cost of the trip, it’s not about the cost of the equipment, it’s their time. That is the most precious thing these people give you. I go and I spend time in the homes and offices of these powerful famous and rich people and the pictures on their walls are from time they spent with me. You realise, these guys move the world, but the time they really value, the time that’s really important to them, the things that they use to identify themselves are those very rare moments that they choose to spend in the outdoors. As a fishing guide you are a curator of an experience. The fishing is part of that. We’re creating memories for people.” It’s human nature to create idols. And when they pass away or fade into obscurity, we want to replace them with a new idol. The king is dead! Long live the king! Carl Lewis gives way to Usain Bolt. Sayonara Madonna, hello Lady Gaga. And

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so on. The other day fishing blog Gink & Gasoline speculated on who would take over the late Lefty Kreh’s mantle. Spoiler alert, they decided OW was the man. It’s easy to see why. Like Lefty, there’s a magnetism in White and like Lefty he’s already had a larger than life ride. Lefty got infected with anthrax at Fort Detrick and lived to tell the tale. White got abducted at gunpoint in the Bahamas and is still around. Lefty taught Fidel Castro how to cast. White guides Jimmy Kimmel and other big names every year. Lefty Kreh and fellow legend Flip Pallot (now a friend of White’s) were the guys White grew up idolising. He says, “Watching Flip on TV, that was the guy I wanted to be. The guy who gets to go around the world and do cool shit.” Tick. A couple of years ago Ackman had the ten-year anniversary for Persian Square. White and his wife got an invite and attended. “When I got there it turned out there were current employees, but I was the only former employee. When Bill was doing his little opening remarks, and of course I look like this, he gets me to stand and says, ‘I just want you to know that if you quit, this is what happens to you.’” I imagine White smiled to himself with satisfaction and thought, ‘Spot on.’

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THE SALAD BAR HOWLER - H BAR B TECH SHIRT   Call us vain and maybe our priorities are wrong, but for decades it seemed like we would never get fly fishing gear that also looked good, you know, elsewhere in life, like in a bar or round a campfire. Howler have…drumroll…heeded the call with kit that does both. The H Bar B Tech Shirt is a prime example. Made with a cool nylon-poly blend fabric with engineered stretch and a vented rear yoke, it’s technical and perfect for fishing in climates as hot as Hades, but it also has Howler’s signature styling so you stay cool AND look cool. Smart features include a sunglass cleaning microfiber at right hem, hidden zipper pocket at lower right seam and ring snaps. Available in Relic Stripe: Silver Birch and Helistripe: Manteo Blue. howlerbros.com

YETI - PANGA BACKPACK Panga = machete in Swahili, so initially we thought this was a weird name for a waterproof bag, but then it dawned on us that Yeti are probably/definitely referring the boat. Duh. And where water is concerned this pack is tight like a tiger. Watertight. Cut from the same waterproof, durable, easy-to-clean cloth as their submersible duffel (including mermaid jargon like ThickSkin™ Shell and a HydroLok Zipper), the 28L duffel reminds us of our school satchels, only with this, the jungle or flats is the playground and the school is the school of hard, fishy knocks. yeti.com

SIMMS – BOUNTY HUNTER REEL CASE  With the compression-moulded Simms Bounty Hunter Reel Case made with ballistic fabric and a water shedding DWR finish, you can carry two smaller reels or one large arbor salt reel. We believe it was Desperado, where steammerchant El Mariachi (Antonio Banderas) hunted down the bad hombres with a guitar case stuffed with guns. Well, with this case you could be doing the same, but instead of guitar riffs and bad guys, you’ll be playing the harmonica of hog hook-ups. www.simmsfishing.com, www.frontierflyfishing.co.za

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PATAGONIA - STEALTH CHEST PACK 4L If the Sweet Pack Vest is for the guy who needs to take everything on a mission, the Stealth Chest Pack is for the minimalist who knows exactly what he needs for his home waters. With 4L of space - enough room for two large fly boxes, tippet, some trail mix and spare change - it also features a molded drop-down work station with a ripplefoam fly keeper. Adjustable waist and neck straps ensure a convenient, hassle-free carry. www.patagonia.com, www.flyfishing.co.za

PATAGONIA - SWEET PACK VEST 28L  It’s a pack, and it’s a vest and it’s SWEET. Those are the essential broad strokes you need to know around the Patagonia Sweet Pack Vest. What else? It packs 28L worth of fly fishing kit in an interior protected by polyurethane-coated 210-denier CORDURA® 86% nylon/14% polyester ripstop with a durable water repellent finish. That means while hiking up a kloof like the Jan du Toits or chasing brookies in Virginia spring creeks, you can take the odd tumble and still keep your kit dry. Bonus: the vest is detachable so you can stash the pack and go light if the mood suits you. Perfect for any mission with an extended hike-in. www.patagonia.com

FISHPOND – GRAND TETON ROLLING DUFFEL   Some of the most iconic mountains in the world, there are two claims to how Wyoming’s Grand Tetons got their name. Some say it’s named after the Teton Sioux tribe, while others claim it was French trappers who decided they look like “Ze Big Titties” (insert your own accent). Whatever the case, with this incredible rolling duffel from Fishpond, you will neither be labelled a tit nor a boob (no sir!), because you’ll be rolling comfortably through the world’s airports while your mates dislocate their shoulders and sweat themselves to death under the weight of their wheel-less hold-alls. While a genius separate bottom compartment holds up to six 4-piece rod tubes as well as waders, boots, nets etc, a main compartment takes care of the clothing and other gear. Clamshell zip openings give you easy access for when you arrive in a Wyoming winter from the heat of Dubai/Tanzania and need a quick inter-continental wardrobe change. fishpondusa.com, www.frontierflyfishing.co.za

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THE SALAD BAR SAGE – HERITAGE CORDUROY CAP We love a good cap and this beauty from Sage ticks all the boxes. Old school vibe? Check. Corduroy cos furry ridges are cool again? Check. Captain’s cord running around the front for makeshift fly stashing? Check. Navy underside to reduce glare? Check. www.sageflyfish.com, www.frontierflyfishing.co.za

PATAGONIA – RIVER SALT JACKET  At The Mission HQ we swear by Patagonia’s Minimalist Wading Jacket (applicable for three-quarters of the year in South Africa), but it’s winter here now and with snow on the mountains and rain sluicing down, our attention turns to this latest iteration of Patagonia’s River Salt Jacket. Boasting a 4-layer waterproof wader fabric that achieves crazy alchemy by being both breathable and rugged, this is a jacket we’d go to (tug of) war with (a fish in harsh, cold conditions). With a single-pull adjustable hood, two coated, water-repellent pockets for your fly boxes, a waterproof and a corrosion-resistant front zipper and watertight adjustable cuffs, you’re all set for wet work. www.patagonia.com

SHILTON - SR REELS One of the world’s best reel brands (and South African to boot!), we admit to having a soft spot for Johannesburg-based Shilton Reels. Their new SR saltwater range drops in August and you can expect 6082 T6 Aluminium bar stock precision-machined beauties that will feature a larger drag disc area manufactured from Shilton’s unique customprocessed high grade cork. But the real kicker? The SRs feature not one, not two, but THREE engaging one way plungers onto the drag disc, which means even more stopping power. Quick disassembly procedure for cleaning after being in the salt, easy right-to-left hand conversion and an outgoing click volume that can be adjusted via the reel’s spring pressure and you have a fish stopping machine that you can truly get to grips with. The SR range is available in a SR9 (WF9 F + 210m 30#), SR10 (WF10 F + 260m 30#) and SR12 (WF12 F + 320m 30#) shiltonreels.com

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TRUMP THIS! TWO MAVUNGANA FLYFISHING GUIDES. ONE A DULLSTROOM FRESHWATER GURU. THE OTHER AN ALL-WATER OMNIVORE. HOW DO THEY MATCH UP?

SASKO SAM Guide: Colen Shabangu

Size: 15-weight Advanced skill: Takes 20 yards of backing off the reel when casting the Airflo 40 plus line Favourite gear: Loop Cross SX 905

Favourite fly: Wooly bugger Favourite drink: A case of Zamalek (Carling Black Label) quarts Could have been: An opera singer (no jokes he used to be in the choir) When not guiding can be found: Chasing bass and bream at

De Hoop dam Favourite on the water snack: Man-size chip roll (half a bag of

chips, half a loaf of bread) What his lady calls him: My Ben 10 In the biopic of his life, he is most likely to be played by: Idris Elba

HIGHEST WINS

GAZZA Guide: Gareth Reid Size: 7-weight Advanced skill: Can tie a Bimini Twist with his big toe

while lighting a Styvie Blue and changing a camera lens Favourite gear: Hardy Fortuna reel and Hodgeman interchangeable

sole boots

Favourite fly: Andino Deceiver

Favourite drink: Inverroche Amber Gin, grapefruit rind and black pepper. Could have been: Wildlife photographer When not guiding can be found: at the pub

Favourite on the water snack: Sarah Boulton’s homemade rusks What his lady calls him: Honey-bunny

In the biopic of his life, he is most likely to be played by: Woody Allen

HIGHEST WINS

WANT TO BOOK EITHER THE DOYENNE OF DULLSTROOM FOR TROPHY TROUT OR THE OMNIVOROUS ALL-ROUNDER FOR TRIPS TO THE ANDAMANS, THE AMAZON OR THE ZAMBEZI? GET IN TOUCH WITH OUR DULLSTROOM OR JOHANNESBURG STORES TO SECURE YOUR SPOT WITH COLEN OR GARETH NOW.

Mavungana Flyfishing Johannesburg 011 268 5850

WWW.FLYFISHING.CO.ZA

Mavungana Flyfishing Dullstroom 013 254 0270

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THE SALAD BAR SEMPERFLI FLY TYING MATERIAL From plush chenilles, to super strong Nano threads, micro glint (superb for ribbing), fluoro brite, spyder thread, extreme string (great for baitfish patterns) and much, much more, Semperfli’s range of fly tying materials may sound like a shopping list for camp superheroes, but in the right hands it will transform your fly boxes into piscatorial kryptonite. www.xplorerflyfishing.co.za, www.semperfli.net

HODGMAN - AESIS SHELL JACKET Storm warning? Bring it wena! With the 3-layer waterproof and windproof V-TecH™ breathable fabric of the Hodgman® Aesis Shell Jacket, you can forget the weather and focus on the fishing. A double water-shedding rain fly on the front zipper and fully taped seams, a wire brim hood, water tight cinch cuffs and a ROM™ (Range of Motion) fit to facilitate casting, means that no matter what nature throws at you, you stay dry (yes, we are aware that sounds like a diaper advert). www.hodgman.com, www.flyfishing.co.za REDINGTON - THE ELECTRIC MAYFLY HOODIE We’re not going to over-stuff the sausage here. Sometimes the simple stuff is the best. This is just a classic grey full zipper plush Redington hoodie for warmth while fishing or just for that apresfish camp chill time. Now available in South Africa too. www.xplorerflyfishing.co.za, www.redington.com

LOON OUTDOORS – FLY TYING TOOL KIT Who doesn’t love some matching accessories? With the reassuring heft and high-end machining of the Ergo Arrow Point Scissors, Ergo All Purpose Scissors, Ergo Bobbin, Ergo Bodkin, Ergo Whip Finisher, Ergo Dubbing Brush and the Gator Grip Dubbing Spinner, Loon’s all-in-one fly tying tool kit has all you need. The rest is up to you and your clumsy fingers. Packaged in a heavy duty travel case for when you need to fly and tie. loonoutdoors.com, www.xplorerflyfishing co.za

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For your nearest dealer contact Frontier Distribution on info@frontierflyfishing.co.za

M U S T H AV ES

PAYDAY SEIKO – PROSPEX “TUNA” DIGITAL One of the most famous dive watches ever made, the Seiko “Tuna”, was an oversized behemoth of a watch so named for its tuna can-sized face. Over the years there have been many iterations, including a digital/analogue version but, with the release of the SBEP series, Seiko have their first fully digital “Tuna” and it’s a 49,5mm diameter stunner. A Casio G-Shock rival, it’s water-resistant to 200m (so it should handle your deep dives in the shower) and sports a solar-powered movement with world time, timer and alarm functions. The world time option for 44 cities around the world is especially useful for managing your panic when you are watching your next flight’s departure time in Bolivia while experiencing a delay in Dubai. The black, ion-plated titanium protected outer case (which Seiko claims has no fewer than 20 patents behind it) ensures that no matter whether you’re wet wading through caimans or lounging in the Caymans, it will take all the scratches, bumps and saltwater corrosion your life can throw at it. Of the five SBEP variants, our favourite is the SBEP003 with the Pepsi coloured bezel. From $274. www.seiko-watch.co.jp

THE FEATHER THIEF BY KIRK WALLACE JOHNSON A real life whodunit about a 2009 heist where, after performing at London’s Royal Academy of Music, 20-year-old American flautist (and salmon fly tying nut) Edwin Rist visited the British Museum of Natural History. He then proceeded to steal 299 rare bird skins from a collection that included contributions by Darwin. Motive? Fly tying materials. While fishing a river in New Mexico, author Kirk Wallace Johnson* heard about the story from his guide and his search for answers resulted in The Feather Thief: Beauty, Obsession, And The Natural History Heist Of The Century. If you’ve ever lusted after a spangled Cotinga, let alone an albino yak or some polecat roadkill (for fly tying of course), or if you just like a good read, this book is a must. www.amazon.com * Other than writing kick-ass books, Johnson also founded The List Project, a non-profit organisation that aids Iraqi refugees who helped the US Government during the Iraq War.

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THE MOTHERLODE

Big the e Catch Fly xc ar of G. lusive sto e Loom ckists is fly The g r G.Lo uide’s ch ods. omis oice, is guide legen Arn da go-to o Matthe ry e’s brand for the s alt.

RODS, REELS, FLIES, FLY TYING MATERIAL AND ALL THE OTHER TACKLE YOU COULD NEED – BIG CATCH FLY HAS IT ALL! Need to gear up? Whether it’s a local DIY trip or getting kitted for an overseas trip, speak to Big Catch Fly to get the best gear in the business. A store within a store, Big Catch Fly sits within Big Catch, the Western Cape’s premier fishing store. Bringing over 20 years’ experience in fishing into fly fishing, Big Catch now stocks a huge selection of the best gear available.

From renowned G. Loomis rods (including the Asquith, NRX, Crosscurrent GLX and AMX Pro ranges), Cortland lines, Gamakatsu hooks, Flyzinc flies and many more premium brands, Big Catch Fly is your one stop shop for fly fishing and fly tying. Visit us at 60 Section Street Paarden Eiland, Cape Town and get kitted now. +27 (0)21 511 1914

www.bigcatch.co.za

Stockists of: Cortland Lines, Costa sunglasses, Flyzinc flies, Varivas leader material and a whole lot more.

SHORTCASTS F LY T Y I N G I N T H E N D E L A V I L L A G E , P O D C A S T S W I T H T H E P R O S , T H E R O N B U R G U N D Y O F F LY F I S H I N G A N D E C O - F R I E N D LY S I X - PA C K R I N G S

WATCH… REDINGTON’S ‘In the Loop with Bob Frankenfurter’. Picture Anchorman’s Ron Burgundy and his Channel 4 news team, but with a beat entirely focused on fly fishing. Got it? Good. With several suspiciously similar looking team members, Righty McShay, Randy Hardhat, Dr Adipose, Flatbrim Billy, Cam Sneakerton and your host Bob Frankenfurter, the In the Loop team use a spoofy approach to cover a range of serious subjects from fish handling to spawning (“a Hog Johnson lovefest”). vimeo.com/redingtongear

KEEP AN EYE ON… THENDELA VILLAGE’S fly tying initiative. Locals of this fishy Kamberg village (www.thendelaflyfishing. co.za) where Trevor Sithole (our Issue 2 High 5s guide) hails from are learning to tie everything from Para-RABs to Papa Roaches, damsels and more under the fly tying guidance of guide and pike fishing nut Simon Graham (www.allaboutthegrab.com).

LISTEN TO… THE FLY TAPES by Syzygy Fly Fishing, an offshoot of Writers on the Fly. There are more and more fly fishing podcasts out there, some great, some decidedly average. The Fly Tapes falls firmly into the former category with a series of chats and readings with fly fishing writers like Chris Santella (The Tug is The Drug) , Steve Duda (Fly Fish Journal), Geoff Mueller (The Drake) and our fan favourite, Nathaniel Riverhorse Nakadate. www.syzygyflyfishing. com/episodes

CHECK OUT SALTWATER BREWERY’S six-pack rings made of wheat and barley that could actually feed sea turtles instead of killing them. While we prefer the idea of people not littering in the first place, this idea from the Florida-based brewery working in conjunction with creative engineering start-up E6pr (Eco 6-pack Ring) could have a great impact if there is mass sign-up from breweries far and wide. saltwaterbrewery.com, www.e6pr.com

READ… THE SUSTAINABLE ANGLER bl og by Rick Crawford of Emerger Strategies. A sustainability consultant by trade, Rick advises businesses (many of which are fly fishing related) on sustainability best practices. Dovetailing with that he has the Sustainable Angler blog where he interviews industry insiders from Hilary Hutcheson to Jako Lucas about the real impact of climate change on fly fishing. www.emergerstrategies.com/blog

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WE GOT HEADWEAR

0) R350 ($3P PER CA

ORDE YOUR R TODA S Y!

T O B E S T Y L I N â&#x20AC;&#x2122; O R N O T T O B E , T H AT I S T H E Q U E S T I O N . WHETHER TO GET ONE OR GET THEM ALL, THE STRUGGLE IS REAL: T H E TA I L G U N N E R G R U N T E R 6 - PA N E L ( B O T T O M L E F T ) , T H E TA I L G U N N E R G R U N T E R T R U C K E R ( C E N T R E ) T H E TA I L G U N N E R GRUNTER FUZZY TRUCKER (BOTTOM RIGHT) THE MISSION LOGO TRUCKER (TOP RIGHT) T H E M I S S I O N L O G O 6 - PA N E L ( T O P L E F T )

FIRST COME, FIRST SERVED. LIMITED STOCK Mail gear@themissionflymag.com to place your order. South African orders include postage. International postage not included.

WANDS

THE BLACK MAMBA

L I G H T, B U T D A R K , S S S S M O O T H B U T P O W E R F U L , B U I LT E X C L U S I V E LY F O R T H E M I S S I O N , S W I F T F LY F I S H I N G ’ S BLACK MAMBA IS A LETHAL TROUT ROD.

• Silica nano matrix fly rod blank with internally reinforced ferule system • Sure-Fit™ ferrule system. Makes section replacements simple • Helical wound core construction – light, while giving superior strength • SnakeBelly™ finish with super hard gloss coat to protect your rod • Stunning Japanese Silk thread wraps • Finest quality Portuguese cork grip • Titanium stripper guides - corrosion proof • Premium quality snake guides from Snake brand USA - highly corrosion resistant • Our original design flip top rod sock - just better • Katana Rod Tube™ • cleaning cloth

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WIN THIS ONE-OF-A-KIND ROD! - - - - -

Follow and/or like @themissionflymag and @swiftflyfishing on Instagram and Facebook. Keep an eye out for our The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine’s posts about “The Black Mamba” giveaway on Facebook and Instagram. Comment on one of the posts, or both, by describing what you would be targeting with the 6-weight Black Mamba. One entry per person per platform. Send us your greatest hits album later.

You’ve got to hand it to Swift’s in-house rod guru, Trevor Bourne, the man knows how to make a high-performance rod that also catches the eye. This latest collab between The Mission and Swift Fly Fishing is no different. “The Black Mamba” is a one-of-a-kind, premium quality 6-weight carbon fibre (graphite) fly rod. Built off Epic’s medium-fast action C Series blanks, with a SsssnakeBelly™ finish for extra protection, Ssssnake Brand Universal snake guides, an incredibly grippy grip made from matte carbon fibre weave and an S2 glass reel seat, the Black Mamba is both incredibly light (36g for the blank, 93g for the rod) and exceptionally tough. It’s also lethal, like a Black Mamba should be. Highly responsive, it’s perfect for everything from technical dry fly, to streamer and nymph fishing.

Competition terms and conditions 1. By entering this competition, you consent to having your name and/or image reproduced online on The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine and Swift Fly Fishing’s websites, as well as their social media profiles. 2. All content shared with The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine as entry into the competition may be used on The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine and Swift Fly Fishing’s websites, and their associated digital platforms. 3. Entries close at 8pm (GMT+2) on Friday 31 August 2018. 4. Winners will be notified via Facebook message no later than Friday 7 September 2018 at 5pm (GMT+2). 5. Representatives of The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine and Swift Fly Fishing will draw one winner by random selection from all entries. 6. The judges’ decision is final and no correspondence will be entered into. 7. The winner will receive one 6-weight The Mission X Swift Fly Fishing “Black Mamba” rod and case. 8. Prizes are non-transferable. 9. Entry into the competition and acceptance of any prize shall constitute consent on the winner’s part to allow the use of the winner’s name, image, voice and/or likeness by The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine and Swift Fly Fishing for editorial, advertising, promotional, marketing and/ or other purposes without further compensation except where prohibited by law. 10. This competition is not open to The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine and Swift Fly Fishing staff and their W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

THE CROSS-OVER G R A D U AT I N G F R O M PA P G O O I T O L U R E S , T O F R E S H WAT E R F LY F I S H I N G B E F O R E F I N A L LY G E T T I N G T O G R I P S W I T H T H E S A LT, L E O N A R D F L E M M I N G ’ S L E A R N E D T O T I E A N D F I S H H I S O W N WAY BY Leonard Flemming

he switch from bait to lure fishing was not an easy one. New rods had to be purchased plus the following: a stout baitcasting outfit for ‘worming’ big bass out of timber; a medium baitcasting outfit for spinnerbaits; a soft baitcasting outfit for crankbaits; a broom-stick for ‘calling’ catfish; an ultra-light setup for bluegills and kurper and long pole-like rods for dipping carp. These covered most of the species found in Western Cape dams. Then I started fly fishing. It wasn’t the 6-weight I purchased that threw me financially, but the large number of fly patterns. I was so confused which of my creations to tie on for my first rising trout, that I ended up drifting a commercial Wickhams Fancy over which, to my surprise, fooled the fish. Therefore, my fly box initially contained mostly famous, commercial patterns (the Wickhams Fancy, Coachman, Kingsmill and so on) and a few olive variants of my own. They all worked fantastically well, even catching stillwater bass, but I could never tell what the flies really imitated. The Kingsmill could have represented a house fly and my olive variants looked like green lacewings. I didn’t really care, as long as they did the job. Carp were easy. I already knew they loved eating Zulus from the art lure ages. And bass? Well, bass mostly ate any fly that got twitched past their hungry mouths. The hard times in freshwater fly fishing came when I tried to build up a collection of personal trustworthy patterns that would allow me to catch rainbow and brown trout almost anywhere in our country. After a lot of frustrating trial and error over

about ten years, the personal patterns emerged, together with some line control. These new skills gave me a lot of confidence when visiting new streams and dams for trout and smallmouth yellowfish. There were no ‘mediaeval’-looking things left in my box, except perhaps for Frank Sawyer’s pheasant tail nymph, which remains a favourite. Instead my box was full of Wolf and Tetrapheasant Spiders, the Mot dry, bi-colour RABs, Cellophanewing Mayflies, Para-foam Beetles, Ed’s Hoppers, CDC para-Adams-like flies, CDC Klinkhamers, Bionic nymphs, Zaks, emerger Brassies etc. etc. This box travelled from the Western Cape to the Drakensberg, Lesotho, Mongolia and even New Zealand and the flies in it caught trout (and most other fishes I encountered) in all those places. Then I discovered saltwater fly fishing. After the first three outings I wanted to cry. I realised that while my freshwater knowledge was fair, my knowhow of marine fishes was virtually nonexistent. I caught a few juvenile garrick and elf on things like Blondes and Clousers, which was satisfying enough to keep me interested. However, time on the water, countless, fruitless hours of observation and the odd outing with a more experienced fisherman taught me some of the more important things. The most important thing I learned was that many marine fishes actually feed less than 10 m from shore (and not ‘miles’ out at sea as I had always thought). I’ve seen crazy things like yellowtail swimming with their backs out of the water on the edge of a sandy shore; kob and big steenbras spooking in the shore break, and big

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white mussel cracker looking for food ‘at my feet’ while I walked the rocky edges of narrow gullies. Another big lesson was that a fly cannot be too sparse for saltwater fish. My best Clouser Minnow for Socotran bonefish comes to mind when, after the third bonefish, there were only three chartreuse and five white bucktail hairs left on the hook. It was so ridiculously sparse that I counted the hairs – and the fly continued to work. With this in mind I recently started tying with more freedom, combining fly designs and playing with alternative materials hoping to find something special. DMA/Clouser combos with articulated balloon or bucktail tails, in an attempt to add more movement; saltwater CDC squirmy wormies; rabbit fur DMAs (as inspired by Tim Leppan from IG: lifeonfly) and Charlies, zonker Clousers (as inspired by a post on Feathers and Fluoro by Peter Coetzee); articulated EP fibre and spanflex sinking prawn flies (as inspired by Ian Kitching’s deerhair, floating prawn) have all popped out of my vice. They also caught lovely fish on the first few test trips, including kob, garrick, an eagle ray, grunter, white steenbras, blacktail, my first Cape stumpnose on fly, etc. The freshwater to saltwater fly fishing cross-over has been THE hardest of all the fishing I’ve done. But the recent success I’ve had playing with freedom in tying, it feels like that light bulb finally got some electricity. I am so amped up about saltwater fly fishing on our coastline right now that dust mites are grazing on my 000 – 6-weight rods…

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EXPOSURE

B-SIDES

“Carpin at the Castle” Location: The Castle, Cape Town. Target: ancient Skeletor carp. Photo: Matt Gorlei 80

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“Mooi Man” Location: Thendela Village Target: brown trout with guide Trevor Sithole Photo: Warren van Rensburg 82

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“Clash of Clans” Location: Tankwa Karoo Target: Clanwilliam yellowfish Photo: Ryan Janssens 84

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“The Legend of Fuck You Valley” Location: Booking river, Lesotho Target: smallmouth yellowfish, brown trout, rainbow trout. Photo: Micky Wiswedel 86

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“Low-riding Avocado Salma Hayek” Location: Providence Atoll, Seychelles Target: bumphead parrotfish Photo: Taquin Millington-Drake 88

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“High 5s - Taba ‘west’ Phiri” Location: Orange River Target: smallmouth and largemouth yellowfish Photo: Mark Murray 90

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“The Not So Best Man” Location: Colorado Target: brown, rainbow and brook trout Photo: Ryan Janssens 92

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“High 5s - Francois Botha” Location: Pira Lodge, Argentina Target: dorado Photo: Francois Botha W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

“A Ride on the Ras-Mad Rollercoaster” Location: Oman Target: Indo-Pacific permit Photo: Jeff Tyser 96

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T H E L I F E R - JAY S M I T

THE MACHINIST T H E M A N B E H I N D W H AT I S A R G U A B LY T H E W O R L D ’ S B E S T F LY T Y I N G V I C E , J AY S M I T M AY H AV E C O M E T O F LY F I S H I N G A N D F LY T Y I N G L AT E , B U T I T ’ S A G O O D T H I N G H E D I D .

The first fish I caught was a tobie when I was four at Mzumbi on the South Coast of KwaZulu-Natal. My dad was a shad fisherman and he used to take us there every holiday. I grew up in Howick, KwaZuluNatal, on a smallholding. It was an awesome childhood. My friends used to come and camp there over weekends. We drove tractors, we had horses, we shot birds with catties, it was just amazing. We had freedom. We couldn’t afford to get someone in to fix things when they broke, so we did it ourselves. My dad taught me that mentality of doing things yourself and “making a plan” stuck. I have not been called a DIY nut for nothing. Just about everything I do is DIY. A typical day in South Africa involves my early morning cup of coffee (Ed: Jay has his own coffee bushes and takes a cuppa very seriously). I look out the window at the traffic going past and say a little prayer that I am privileged enough to be able to work from home and that I don’t have to join the rat race. Depending on orders, building J-Vices keeps me busy fifty to sixty per cent of the time and, in between that, I do little projects from water harvesting to my veggie garden to solar panels or turning my swimming pool into a natural pond with koi and yellowfish. I started fly fishing 17 odd years ago. A friend took me to the Berg and I caught my first fish on a fly. From that moment I was hooked. I decided I was going to tie my own flies. I bought a cheap and nasty Chinese

vice and started tying. Every time I put pressure on the hook it went “ping!” and shot across the room. I decided ‘stuff this, I can do better’. The J-Vice was designed so that I could be with my wife and kids while they watched TV. I didn’t want to lock myself in a room to tie. That is where the base comes from. It also worked out really nicely for when you’re camping. You can sit there in a deckchair and tie. It was all designed to fit in a laptop bag. Laptop bags make an ideal carry bag because they have all the pockets for pens and pencils which hold scissors and bodkins. People always say they want a travel vice and I say, this is a travel vice. I made my first proto-type vice, then improved it a bit and by version three I was happy with it. Then people started saying, “you must make these things!” From there I developed a bit. I had a friend who had a CNC shop and we redesigned the product to suit his CNC machines. On the 15th of November 2003 I sold J-Vice no.1 to Dr Sakkie Bezuidenhout. A lot of local shops and people like Ben Pretorius helped sell it. I am now on number 1637. Just about every member of Durban Fly Tiers bought J-Vices. In the club I think there are J-Vice no.4 and no.8. I did not number them in the early days, but I do have a record of every J-Vice made. After 100 I started numbering them. People like Tom Sutcliffe, Ed Herbst, Hans Van Klinken and Gary Borger all tie on J-Vices. Around the time I did the goose neck, I made

Loren Williams a vice and he became the official fly tier for the American Fly Fishing Team. When I got retrenched, I took a package and bought the CNC machine which is in my garage today. That enabled me to do R&D, change the shapes of things, make a few parts and give them to friends to play with before I went into production. A friend like Ed Herbst was instrumental in the design of the midge jaw and has been amazing with ideas. Although it was all by phone calls and correspondence, he has been a great help over the years in developing the J-Vice. I was always mad about electronics. I built my own Hi-fis and stuff like that as a kid. After 17 years in the electronics department of Eskom, I left and went to work for a company that made wooden doors. I was now in a non-electronic environment. All the machines were mechanical; so what I did was to take processes that were manual and I built automated machines. When I was retrenched, I had built nearly 100 automated machines. All that experience, stood me in good stead when I started J-Vice. The J-Vice goose neck came about when a customer suggested that I use the midge jaw’s goose neck for the main jaw. Initially I thought it would be unbalanced, but I made him one like that and the minute I put my hand to it, I knew, this was the way forward. This was what would make this vice special and different to everything else.

Photo: Tudor Caradoc-Davies

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I am most proud of the J-Vice’s camlock that locks the metal stem of the vice to the base. I spent many, many hours trying to work out how to do this. One night I had a eureka moment. I dreamt of the solution, woke up, did a rough sketch and then went back to bed and slept properly for the first time in months. It’s a simple little thing that locks the vice in the home position and attaches the extension arm. It just works. I try to do one fly tying show a year, either in America or Canada. I normally take things like bobbins and hackle pliers, small things that I can carry in my bag and a few sample vices that I can display at the show. I can’t take enough stock to sell, but I get orders. These shows are amazing. I’ve met guys like Bob Popovics, Bob Clouser and Gary Borger. They all pop in at the stand and say hello. You meet the Who’s Who of the local area, because their living is also fly fishing and they also have to be at these places. What always strikes me about them is that they are such humble, down-to-earth shorts and funny cap-wearing types. They are fishermen and really cool people. No airs and graces. I’m an introvert and I am quite happy on my own, designing stuff, playing around, tying flies. In the early part of my life, I found it very difficult to be not just a good engineer, but to also to be a manager. It was more difficult for me to manage people than just to go and do it myself. I had to learn to nurture and train people and I got a lot of pleasure from that. It’s actually more satisfying than doing it yourself. I like teaching people, giving them a skill. Those people you teach just become better and better at what they do. People think they will overtake you, but they don’t. You grow while you teach. A lot of people are scared to part with their skills. I’m the opposite. I like to part with my skills and share things. The best advice I have ever been given was from my dad. He said

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that you must just be your own person and you can make happen anything you want to. From a young age, I had this thing about not wanting to be old and saying, “I should have done this and I should have done that.” I was mad about sailing in my twenties and wanted to do the Cape to Uruguay yacht race so I put my mind to it, met people, became a navigator, sailed up and down the coast and then did the race. Then I got married and that was the last time I sailed. But I got it out of my blood and will never think, “I should have sailed!” My home waters include a syndicate called Rivendell where I’m a member and the Indian Ocean up the Zululand coast. But I like every form of fly fishing – saltwater fly fishing or tiny streams with miniature trout - if there’s water with fish in it that eat a fly, I’ll do it. I love the Nubian Flats. It’s wild, you’re in the sticks, you never walk the same beat twice. You never see another fisherman the whole time you are there. The tidal flow is virtually non-existent so you can wade for triggers all day. That’s got to be my favourite - trigger fishing. You slowly stalk along, sometimes you step on him and he scurries off, sometimes you see a tail and you work your way closer and sometimes you get your crab in there and you get a take and it all comes together. Fly fishing is a solo pursuit for me. I have fished with competition fishermen and not enjoyed it because they are too intense. I like to go, relax, walk a stream and sit and just watch the water. If I don’t catch a fish, it’s not the end of the world. If I do, it’s a bonus. I don’t really like fishing with anyone, but it’s good to have them at the camp in the evening to drink whisky with. That said, I would very much like to fish with my friend Faruk Ekich in Canada. Fly fishing has taken me to the most incredible places that I would not have been to otherwise. Like the

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Umkomaas Valley. It feels like you’re in paradise – the bush, waterfalls, warthogs running around. I would not have gone there if it wasn’t for fly fishing. I have very few regrets in life, but one is that I wish I had started fly fishing earlier. I was in my 50s when I started in 2000. I am now 67. I’m a real late-comer to the sport. I would also have liked to have started J-Vice ten or twenty years earlier and not spent my whole life slaving for corporates. It’s just one of those things. Life is what it is and you can’t go back. If I could change one thing in fly fishing it would be the people who are trying to eradicate trout. I’d rather they spent the money cleaning up waters. People are spending millions trying to eradicate something that has been here for hundreds of years. If that time, money and effort had been put into keeping our rivers clean all fish would flourish and to me that’s more important. If I could change anything in fly tying it would be all these pre-made legs and cast heads that look like fish. “How did you make those legs?” Oh, you buy them at Cabelas. That’s not fly tying. You might as well go buy a plastic grasshopper and thread it onto a hook. I’m not even mad about the use of chenille. I think you should dub up your own. It’s so easy to take a dubbing spinner, put the material you want in there, spin it and the body is made. If I were run over by a bus tomorrow, I have a son-in-law in Australia who could take over J-Vice in a flash. He’s a fly fisherman, a fly tier, he’s got his J-Vice and he’s also a machinist. He works with CNC machines and he’s got the head for it. Right now, if something happened to me, I told him he’s got to continue this thing. The last fish I caught was a rainbow trout on a muddler minnow I tied myself at Rivendell.

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I T O F F LY F

ISSUE 10

n io

The

Miss

The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine Issue #10

Articles inside

Fly Fishing Sucks