The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine Issue #17 by The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine

ISSUE 17 SEPT | OCT 2019

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RIVERHORSE, NEW ZEALANDâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S SOUTH ISLAND, SPANISH BARBEL, TIERRA DEL FUEGO, OMAN, BEERS, BEATS, CUSHIONS & MORE

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W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M ISSUE 17 SEPT / OCT 2019

CONTENTS Cover: A cabin in the woods somewhere on South Island, New Zealand, where Ben Pellegrino suffered an existential crisis or three. Story on page 74 Photo: Jeff Tyser

22 A LONG WALK HOME

The Norman No-Mates of Arabia, Fred Davis heads off on his own into Southern Oman to catch Indo-Pacific Permit. 34 THE SOUL SURFER

One of our favourite writers Riverhorse Nakadate on his name (obviously), his work, his travels and love. 50 SPANISH GOLD

Gerald Penkler and his better half, Suzanne, gorge themselves on the Spanish barbel of Extremadura. 60 TIERRA DEL FUEGO, BRU

Rookie guide Nick van Rensburg weighs in on his first season guiding on the Rio Grande in Tierra del Fuego. 74 HEAD WATER FEVER

Ben Pellegrino loses a fish and almost loses his mind in the back country of South Island, New Zealand. 102 LIFER AVROY SHLAIN

From flying environmental missions to fly fishing, 81-yearold direct-selling legend Avroy Shlain has no regrets.

REGULAR FEATURES 12 Wish List Fish 14 Beers, Beats & Munchies 16 Troubled Waters 18 High 5s

Golden hour in Tierra del Fuego. Photo Nick van Rensburg.

90 Salad Bar 96 Pay Day 98 Clobber 108 Pop Quiz

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

OLD DOGS, NEW TRICKS EDITOR’S COLUMN

Francois Botha with a Goliath tiger taken on a size 22 RAB. Photo Ed Ghaui

was struck by something Ed Herbst said the other day. Ed (our issue 13 Lifer) is one of South Africa’s best known fly fishermen, a small stream, dry fly trout specialist from a time when “fly fishing” meant “trout fishing”. Ed was marvelling at how much, compared to his heyday, the fly fishing world has opened up on every front, from tactics to target species. What were once new(ish) techniques are now mainstream approaches catered for by the big brands. Even newer approaches taken by the curious and adventurous keep us constantly innovating and evolving. For example, anglers like Ewan Naude and Jeff Tyser have been using the Alphlexo crab fly of Seychelles lore, to nymph for smallmouth yellows on the Orange River, while Andre van Wyk (and now several of the FlyCastaway guide crew) are starting to see results throwing Popovics-inspired Beast flies at GTs. As for target species, all the old favourites are still there and for good reasons. Fly fishing will always be indelibly linked to trout fishing for many, whether it’s the wily confidencecrushing browns of New Zealand’s South Island (page 74) or the sea-run bounty of the Rio Grande (page 60). On the other end of the spectrum, the democratisation of worthwhile fly quarry continues.

Another Ed, Ed Ghaui and his partner Francois Botha of Goliath Expeditions, have found a viable new goliath tigerfish fishery in Chinko in the Central African Republic (CAR). Yes, those exact fish that spark cello music and urban folklore in Jeremy Wade TV episodes. Possibly the largest freshwater fish with fearsome dentures*, these massive toothy missiles can now be targeted in shallow water on fly in a river where giant Nile perch (a Holy Grail fish themselves) are effectively a bycatch. It’s crazy that in this day and age “new” destinations are still being added to the fantasy wish list. The fish, the water, everything about what they’ve got is jaw-dropping madness, the kind that makes you want to raid the piggybank and truly interrogate if you need both your kidneys. While Ed Herbst no longer fishes and will never get out to CAR to catch goliaths, he still ties flies for friends. In the past, tying a soft hackle was about as dirty as this life-long, dry fly fiend was willing to get, but recently, for the first time in recorded history, he began tying streamers for Orange River yellows. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Give it a few months and we wager he’ll be strapping beasts for goliaths. *Calm your tits ye Arapaima and Wels Catfish fans, note the descriptor “fearsome dentures.”

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Like South African tax fugitives popping up on the Iberian Peninsula, Spanish barbel are basically yellowfish with Fawlty Towers Manuel accents.

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 EDITOR Gillian Caradoc-Davies ADVERTISING SALES tudor@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 A THREE WEEK ALL EXPENSES PAID VACATION IN BEN PELLEGRINO’S HEAD.

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CONTRIBUTORS #17 Gerhard Human (Riverhorse artwork), Matt Harris, Leonard Flemming, Kevin Flanagan, Fred Davis, Gerald Penkler, Riverhorse Nakadate, Ben Pellegrino, Nick van Rensburg, JD Filmalter, Jeremy Rochester, Avroy Shlain. PHOTOGRAPHERS #17 Tony Czech, Copi Vojta, Jono Winnel, Håkan Stenlund, Jeff Tyser, Nick van Rensburg, Gerald Penkler, Suzanne Penkler, Leonard Flemming, Fred Davis, Steve Benjamin /Animal Ocean, Avroy Shlain

@THEMISSIONFLYMAG

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WISH LIST FISH

GREENHEAD TILAPIA I F T H E B L U E P E O P L E F R O M AVATA R H A D T H E I R W AY W I T H A PUMPKINSEED SUNFISH (DON’T JUDGE), THE PROGENY WOULD LOOK LIKE THIS, THE MAGNIFICENT GREENHEAD TILAPIA. FISH WHISPERER, LEONARD FLEMMING, WEIGHS IN ON WHERE AND H O W T O C AT C H T H E S E B E A U T I E S .

“You’re my boy, Blue! You’re my boy.” Photo Leonard Flemming

What: This is one of southern Africa’s most beautiful ‘large’ tilapiines (a member of the family Cichlidae, i.e, cichlids), a generally pale fish that turns into an orgasmic colour combo of aquamarine, turquoise and grassgreen in the breeding season, and hence the name ‘greenhead’. Where: It has a fairly wide distribution from the introduced population in

the Sashi - Limpopo River system, bordering South Africa in the south, across the Okavango to the Zambezi, Cunene and Kafue Rivers further north. How: You can catch them with fair success by fishing under flooded bushes and trees close to the banks of the Zambezi River in summer. Most lodges that offer tigerfishing

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in the Caprivi Strip of Namibia will gladly park a boat for you to fish for these subtle eaters on a lunch break. They bite well when the sun is burning down and will take smallish flies, like white Falloons, white Hare’s Ears or CDC nymphs with a hotspot bead and Improved Squirmies on 4X - 3X tippet. Be prepared for gentle takes, but hard-fighting fish! I’d suggest a 5-6 weight rod for them.

FODDER

BEERS, BEATS & MUNCHIES THE BEER – JACK BLACK CAPE PALE ALE On this side of the Atlantic and on the underside of the equator, we’re slowly sliding into spring and summer. As it heats up, like beautiful beery butterflies, our beerchugging habits change. We’re moving from the heavier stouts of winter, to lighter, fresher beers. One of our current favourites is the Cape Pale Ale from Jack Black, one of Cape Town’s original craft breweries. Both balanced and fruity, with granadilla vibes and plenty of dry hopping on the nose and a citrusy finish, at just 4,9% this deep-quaffing thirstquencher goes down like a homesick mole. Perfect for that weekend getaway where you anticipate long, lazy sessions on the water, round the braai or in the pool. jackblackbeer.com

JACK BLACK’S FOUNDER ROSS MCCULLOCH SAYS, “A HOPPY CULT CLASSIC AND OUTRIGHT THIRST QUENCHER, OUR DRYHOPPED CPA’S GOT LOADS OF CITRUS, PINE & TROPICAL AROMAS. SMASH IT, IT AIN’T GETTING ANY COLDER.”

JACK BLACK’S BREWING PLAYLIST

IN COLLABORATION WITH THE MISSION

Photo Ryan Janssens

Road Trippin 14

THE BEATS – JACK BLACK – ROAD TRIPPIN A great session beer deserves a great playlist and the crew over at Jack Black came to the party on this Road Trippin collab with The Mission. Featuring The War On Drugs, Kurt Vile, The National and Mark Knopfler it hits that cruisey mid-afternoon sun, third beer sweet spot. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

The Trip - Still Corners Thinking Of A Place - The War On Drugs Instant Crush - Daft Punk Holding On - The War On Drugs Believe - Amen Dunes Pretty Pimpin - Kurt Vile No One’s Gonna Love You - Band of Horses Redbud Tree - Mark Knopfler You’ve Done It Again, Virginia - The National Chess - Petite Noir Harvest Moon - Neil Young

To listen to Road Trippin press

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KEV THE T NO EAN OC

H ES R F FT Y After blanking while fishing for rainbows in an Eastern Cape stillwater, Kevin Flanagan poses with a trophy tuna steak he brought for the braai. THE MUNCHIES – YELLOWFIN TUNA STEAKS Beer – check. Beats – check. Braai/BBQ? To complete the holy trinity we reached out to fly fisherman Kevin Flanagan, of sustainable seafood experts Cape Fish (capefish.co.za), for what to throw over the coals. Here’s the fresh fish expert’s go to recipe for SASSI green-listed pole and line-caught yellowfin tuna steaks. Kevin says, “As the Cape enters the summer months, the warmer water is pushed nearer to shore and with that come the shoals of yellowfin tuna. They can be targeted on fly, but you are going to need a 28-foot ski boat, 14-weight rod, a reel with drag system strong enough to tow a car, followed by a booking with the chiropractor. “Yellowfin tuna is a wonderful product to work with, but it needs the same degree of TLC as a highly-strung super model with food allergies. From the minute it is brought alongside the boat the fish demands your attention. Reaming, bleeding, handling, icing, temperature control, grading and processing are all necessary. Given the seasonality of tuna, minimal weather windows for fishing, and the unpredictability of this fishery - the focus at Cape Fish is on caring for each and every tuna from the minute it is hooked until it hits your braai grid. Here’s how I do it.” Ingredients 1 Kg fresh yellowfin tuna (+-250 grams per person), 1 Lemon, Fresh parsley, Fresh coriander, Fresh chilli, Fresh ginger , Soya sauce , Olive oil, Butter

Cooking instructions Step 1 – The Basting Sauce - Grate some fresh ginger and the zest of the lemon and pop it into a mixing bowl. - Combine the juice of the lemon, chopped fresh parsley, coriander and chilli. - Add a small dash of soya sauce. Use your common sense (palate) to balance the ingredients. - Nuke a knob of butter in the microwave. - Add in the butter and a good dash of olive oil to create enough basting sauce to cover all the tuna steaks. - Marinate the fish and set aside for 5 to 10 minutes at room temperature. Step 2 – Cooking the Tuna - Some like it seared others like it cooked through - everyone hates it overdone. - You want a hot fire, so throw a whack of decent wood on to the braai. - Pre heat a folding (sandwich) braai grid until it’s red hot, so that when you pop the tuna into the grid it will char the steaks. - To serve seared, for a 2-inch thick steak, sear on each side for 3 minutes. Step 3 - Serving - Squeeze lemon juice over the tuna steaks - Get everyone lined up well ahead of time with their salad or side dishes on their plates ready to go. None of this rubbish when everyone hovers around awkwardly. Cold fish is crap fish. If you’re not into 14-weights and popped discs, visit capefish.co.za for both fresh and frozen seafood.

Photo Matt Harris

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

THE REISA ONE OF EUROPE’S MOST INCREDIBLE F I S H E R I E S I S U N D E R T H R E AT. G LO B E -T R OT T I N G A N G L E R A N D P H O T O G R A P H E R M AT T H A R R I S W E I G H S I N O N W H AT ’ S G O I N G O N . The Waters The Reisa River is one of a triumvirate of three celebrated Norwegian Atlantic Salmon Rivers perched high in the Arctic circle. Along with its sisters, the Alta and the Lakselva, the Reisa has traditionally produced huge Atlantic salmon - fish of up to and beyond fifty pounds. These fish are unique, and only a handful of rivers in the world can boast fish of a similar size. I’ve been lucky enough to travel all over the world, yet it’s no exaggeration to say that Reisadalen is one of the most stunningly beautiful environments that I have ever seen. Clean, clear waters come tumbling out of the spectacular canyon at the head of the river, winding through the pristine silver birch forests, with the ramparts of the magnificent northern mountains towering all around. On the east bank, Mollisfossen, at 269 metres, the highest waterfall in Europe, crashes down into the valley, and in the summer, the floor of Reisadalen is wreathed in wild flowers, and plays host to moose, golden eagles and wolverine. The Worry In days gone by, it was utterly sustainable to catch and kill the Reisa’s salmon with rod and line, and even to net the river and estuary. Those days are long gone. The savage impact of open-cage aquaculture, the netting of the salmon and of their prey on the high seas, and the myriad impacts of climate change and pollution have all had a devastating impact on salmon stocks worldwide, and the Reisa has been no exception. The Reisa’s salmon run has diminished dramatically, and is now less than a third of what it was less than a decade ago. While we respect people’s traditions, it is simply no longer sustainable to net the Reisa’s estuary. Despite this, illegal netting continues unchallenged, and a small number of people are even allowed (under Norwegian law), to legally indulge in this destructive practice. This selfish action, by just a tiny minority, has a massive impact on the stocks, and is systematically destroying the river’s salmon population. Once the run is finished, it is over, so we have to act now to protect and sustain the fishery’s fragile salmon stocks. The Way Forward Along with my friend, Roar Olsen, the owner of Reisastua Lodge and a passionate salmon angler himself, I have helped to establish ReddReisalaksen - Save the Reisa Salmon - a charity committed to saving the Reisa’s salmon stocks by bringing to an end all netting (both legal and illegal) that impact on the Reisa salmon stocks. We aim to raise funding in order to buy out the nets, ideally with a one-time, oneoff payment and, additionally, to finance effective and comprehensive policing of the local marine environment, with support from local and national government. If we don’t succeed, we believe that salmonfishing – and the salmon themselves – will die out very quickly. We simply cannot let that happen. You can learn more at www.reddreisalaksen.com - please help us your support would be hugely appreciated.

HIGH FIVES

JEREMY ROCHESTER FROM LESOTHO TO THE ZAMBEZI, THE SEYCHELLES AND BACK AGAIN, VETERAN GUIDE JEREMY ROCHESTER HAS BEEN AROUND THE BLOCK AND THEN SOME.

5 best things about where you guide? 1 A game drive through the Zambian National Park and, after a long day on the water, a G&T sun-downer watching the African sun set. 2 Setting up camp on the water’s edge in the Lesotho Highlands and enjoying the fresh air and simplicity of life around the camp fire. 3 Spending time on the water with like-minded folk enjoying nature and what it has to offer. 4 Living in the Natal Midlands and fishing some of the most amazing South African rivers, fly fishing for brown trout and our indigenous Natal yellowfish. 5 Road tripping through Lesotho, finding untouched rivers, hiking into the unknown and settling in to a make-shift camp for the night. 5 fishing items you don’t leave home without before making a mission? 1 Redington Wayward guide jacket. Light-weight, all-weather jacket that has saved me from the elements. 2 Stormsure adhesive. Fixes rips, leaks and holes…fast! 3 My K-Way Adventure 50l backpack. Perfect for those long hikes with all I need for an overnight mission in the highlands.

4 My pewter hip flask with a wee dram of Glenlivet 12-year-old just to get me through the day. 5 Island Tribe sun stick. Just cannot fish with the thought of sun tan cream on my hands and tackle.

my German Shorthaired Pointer. 3 Spending time in the veggie garden growing organic veg. 4 Wearing the new Craghoppers range of clothing. 5 Winter home fires.

5 bands to listen to while on a roadtrip? 1 Ben Harper. 2 Counting Crows. 3 Dope Lemon. 4 Placebo. 5 Seether.

5 favourite fly fishing destinations across South Africa? 1 Bravo Zulu Natal Midlands (in the top five still-water lakes in the country). 2 Zingela Lodge on the Tugela River. 3 The Orange River with Kalahari Outventures. 4 The upper reaches of the Mooi River. 5 Cape Vidal.

5 indispensable flies for saltwater? 1 Double barrel poppers. 2 Semper. 3 8/0 Brush Flies. 4 Alphlexo crab. 5 Spawning shrimp. 5 indispensable flies for freshwater? 1 Zonker muddlers. 2 Simon Bunn’s Cinnamon Caddis. 3 CDC Elk Wing Caddis. 4 Cluster Fuck. 5 Pheasant tail flashback. 5 things you are loving at the moment? 1 Making time to fly fish with my wife and eldest daughter who is 12. 2 Wing shooting and training Marley,

5 favourite fly fishing destinations globally? 1 Slovenia with Hunter Fly Fishing. 2 Seychelles with the Alphonse Fishing Company. 3 Lower Zambezi. 4 Kilombero North Safaris, Ruhudji and Mnyera Rivers, Tanzania. 5 Kamchatka, Zhupanova Float Trip. 5 of the most difficult guiding experiences? 1 Guiding pensioners with prostate problems. 2 Hooked by a client’s fly at close quarters on a boat on the Zambezi River.

“WHAT AM I LOVING AT THE MOMENT? MAKING TIME TO FISH WITH MY WIFE AND ELDEST DAUGHTER”  18

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Bella Rochester, the shortest, pony-tailed fly fishing guide in KwaZulu-Natal

Jeremy Rochester with a fine Tanzanian tiger gun.

3 Sitting out a massive lightning storm on Sterkfontein Dam. 4 Having to leave a client behind because his passport had expired. 5 Guiding a group of clients after a late night around the camp fire with the biggest hangover and just wanting to have a colourful yawn.

2 Why tiger fish donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t like to eat when the wind blows? 3 Why my wife gets so grumpy when I whistle while I pack? 4 How do we get more ladies to take up fly fishing? 5 I often wonder how many times a fish has been caught.

5 people you would like to guide or fish with? 1 Simon Gawesworth from RIO Products, a legend of a man. 2 Bob Popovics, an inspiration in my salt water fly-tying. 3 Fishing with my wife Michelle on the Soca River in Slovenia, with Hunter Fly Fishing. 4 Our president Cyril Ramaphosa who, I believe, enjoys wetting a line. 5 Bob Marley, together on a slow boat.

5 fish on your species hit list? 1 Tarpon. 2 Golden Dorado. 3 Rooster Fish. 4 Peacock Bass. 5 Khundza.

5 shower thoughts that have occurred to you while fly fishing? 1 What the future holds for fly fishing with climate change.

5 of the most underrated species in your book? 1 Natal Yellowfish. 2 Springer (Lady Fish). 3 Yellow Lip Emperor. 4 Queenfish. 5 Bluefin Kingfish. 5 destinations on your bucket list? 1 New Zealand; South Island for wild browns.

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2 Cuba; cigars, rum and Havana nights. 3 Scotland for all the single malt whisky. 4 Bolivia; jungle experience, golden dorado and crystal clear rivers. 5 Europa Island. 5 things you would take up if you werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t always fly fishing? 1 Playing the guitar. 2 Garden nursery. 3 Kite surfing. 4 Rubber duck racing. 5 Surfing. 5 essential ingredients for an incredible mission? 1 Positive awesome people. 2 Whisky. 3 Good weather. 4 Hungry tailing fish. 5 Good gear. Your last 5 casts were to? An 85cm GT on the back of a ray in Seychelles, St. Francois. Follow Jeremy on Instagram @jeremyescape

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

OMAN

A LONG WALK HOME Q ATA R -BASE D F R ED DAVI S T R IED BLOODY HARD TO GET SOME OF US TO J OI N H I M O N HI S M O ST RECE N T OMAN TRIP BUT, WHETHER IT WAS DU E TO L ACK OF T I M E O R M O NE Y, THERE WERE N O TAKERS. SO, THE N ORM AN NO -MAT ES O F A RA BI A , HE WE NT OFF IN TO THE DESERT ON HIS OWN AND S PE N T A W E E K CATCH I NG P E RMS, WRITING IN HIS DIARY AND TALKING TO HI M S E LF. THIS IS HIS ACCOUN T. Photos: Fred Davis

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L “

ike being on the edge of a waking dream, they appear, those damn Omani permit, melting in and out of your vision as they float through the mess of the shore break. But they are the type of dream that never quite makes it to the best part, the type of dream that leaves you waking up, feeling alone and frustrated, clutching at a vision that you can’t quite piece together, despite its clarity just moments ago.

It’s that unmistakable flash of a silver silhouette in the wave face, framed by a dark tail and fins or that tiny flash of gold that first jumps out at you from the wash. But whatever you thought you saw disappears again so quickly. That is when the demons arrive and you begin to doubt your sanity and wonder if what you know you saw was actually what you thought you saw… But then at the edge of your vision, it will appear again, wraithlike. And never where you expected it. You cast once, twice, four times. The wash of the shore break picks up your line, moves your fly in unpredictable ways and obscures your view. It seems an impossible task… And that’s when the demons arrive, whispering little thoughts of doubt and frustration.” - Post Oman trip journal entry. 2015 Tell a fly fishermen you’re going on a permit fishing trip and they’ll envisage palm-lined beaches, miles of *marly flats and being followed around by some dude carrying your spare rod and beers. Drenched in the dry burnt oranges and rich yellows of the desert, Oman is not a common topic when the fireside chatter turns to the next fishing trip. But, when it is mentioned, I’ve heard the voices drop into tones of awe, wistful maybes and respectful mentions of those who have already trudged those lonely beaches. In 2015, as I dodged the shifting sand dunes along the edge of the Empty Quarter, I had high hopes of completing one of the ultimate fly fishing DIY rites of passage. I went home with hard lessons and a score to be settled. Three years later, I again found myself on a flight bound for Muscat I landed with a 4x4 booked and those demons from the last trip on my shoulder. The weather forecast was indicating growing winds from the south and the yellow and orange bars on the Windy app did not instill in me a bubbling optimism. But I was here and I couldn’t wait to hit the beaches... “Arrived at Markaz. Couldn’t resist a quick selfie at the turn-off sign. The drive over the Al Hajar mountains was way longer than expected! I can’t imagine what those wadis must look like in spate. Stopped to top up the ice at a random village and ended up sharing coffee with the shopkeeper, a young man who says he’s built the

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From top left: Fred with a Two-bar Bream, Fred with the Scarface of Omani bream, Fred contemplates a cave boskak and Fred with a tuskfish

store himself and dreams of expanding. Hospitable to a fault! Anyway, the flamingos are up and it’s a cracking evening. Took a walk with the rod; the bay is thick with bait;- the mullet were pretty much beaching themselves. Unfortunately, apart from the dolphin gorging themselves further out, no sign of bigger fish. Or permit…” - Trip Journal Entry Friday 5 April, 2018 At about 2 am, I woke up to sand in my face. I love sleeping under the stars but sometimes it backfires; the predicted wind had arrived and I was chewing the finest Arabian dirt. I hadn’t brought a tent; a 40kg baggage allowance only goes so far and I sacrificed the tent for a Moka pot and extra flies. I made rearrangements to the back of the SUV and nested myself neatly inside. The back of the Pajero would become my do-it-all room for the rest of the trip. Waking up to sun and a south easterly, I took the “discoverer” and veteran of these lonely beaches, Ray Montoya’s, advice and headed further south to the protected points around Ras Madrakah. This tiny, almost forlorn town is sprawled along the fault between hard black volcanic rock and the light lime and sandstone interior. The black mountains of the Ras Mad point are imposing, intimidating and make for a clashing contrast against the blue waters of the sand beaches that surround them. It is a Mordoresque land and you feel a bit like Frodo, if Frodo had a 4x4... Parking among the old fishing boats, there’s a strange feeling of a recent desertion. This is most likely due to the recent crackdown on illegal and indentured labourers and fishermen in Oman in general. A broken conversation with two Omani fishermen led to the exchange of some Pringles for a cuttlefish that went on the braai that night. It seems that they’re back on the boats full time; a change that the one young fisherman did not seem at all unhappy about. He laughed as he explained in broken English his love for the ocean. The sudden decrease of pressure on the inshore bodes well for the future of the fishery. Let’s hope it is maintained. Getting on with it, I fell into that slow methodical gait that comes with being more focused on the water than the beach. Moving towards Madrakah Island I searched hard for very little. This fishing is not about casting, it is about spotting. In the small bays things seemed slow and, despite the astounding amount of bait around, I saw no chases. There was not a sign of a permit along the white beaches. The green water didn’t help.

“The fishermen this morning seemed bemused by the fly rod. Inspecting first the fly line between calloused fingers they muttered grunts of approval at its thickness but shook their heads in disbelief at the thin leader. They were entirely unimpressed by the crab fly though. They seemed to have seen fly rods in action and the younger fishermen, making casting gestures with his empty hands, brought on peals of laughter from his senior fellows. Not surprising when you consider Ray and co. have been fishing these beaches for years now. I was amused by the oldest of three, who on being offered a chip from the half-finished Pringles can, insisted on the exchanging of a cuttlefish for the rest. The first cuttlefish offered would have fed me for three days - it was one of the biggest I’ve ever seen! Then he wanted to give me two smaller ones. He really seemed disappointed when I fished out the smallest one from the box. But he did holler and gesture at his mates on the panga anchored just off the beach; clearly showing off his cheddar-flavoured prize! The fishing was tough today. The green water seems to slow even the bait. Very little life around the island outside the millions of mullet. The only fish of the day was a Tuskfish; a welcome spot of action. It is such a beautifully marked and coloured fish although, when brought to hand, they feel so soft and squishy! Weird things. Can’t believe there are foxes on the island! Must have crossed on a very low tide once upon a time. And the turtles are hardcore; crisscross tracks have been left all over the sharp gravel after the full moon lay. I’ve got a few places to return to return to at the end of week when there’s a pushing tide. The west and south sides of the island are full of deep gullies with shallow rocky ledges that wash back into the depths. It screams bream and Africanus!” - Trip Journal Entry Sunday 7 April, 2018 When I returned to the island, I was ready for the hard fishing and I had a game plan. The fishing here is tough, in a swirling white water wash along oyster and muscle encrusted rock gullies; not ordinary fly country. I wanted to target two bar and Omani bream. The distinctive two bar bream feeds in a very similar manner to Africanus, up high in the broken whitewash, prying muscles, oysters and crabs from rock crevices in the intertidal zone, while Omani bream sits deeper back and will often herd bait into the shallow gullies. My plan was to ‘nymph’ a crab pattern from a vantage point to feeding fish. Get it to drift, drag free, with the roll of each swell.

“ON THE THIRD CAST, I LANDED THE BIG CRAB ON THE LEDGE PAST THE FISH. WITH THE NEXT WAVE THE CRAB WASHED PERFECTLY OFF THE LEDGE. I WATCHED THE BIGGER OF THE TWO TURN, LANGUIDLY SWIM UP TO THE SUSPENDED CRAB AND INHALE IT.” W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

“So the ‘nymphing’ idea worked - although it’s way more difficult to get right than expected. Keeping the fly in the fish’s feeding zone took forever. Getting that fly in front of a two bar took even longer! But it worked! So stoked! The take was extremely subtle. I would have never felt it and the only reason I hooked up is because I was watching the fish and knew where the fly was. They really are striking fish with those splashes of black over their head and orange on the fins. They change to a really dark colour when stressed, almost black. I wish the Africanus were around, I reckon I would definitely have got one. But super stoked with the two bars. They’re rad fish, such characters!” - Trip Journal Entry Tuesday 9 April, 2018 The Omani bream, Acanthopagrus omanensis, were also around. Endemic to the region, they are the Staffies of the Duqm inshore and a sought-after light tackle target! The first one of the day was a classic sight fishing situation over white sand, that scenario we all wish we had every time we picked up a fly rod. A shadow moving along a sand ridge. An Alphexo crab dropped a metre or so ahead, pause, short strip, pause. The shadow changes track slightly, and before you feel it, you already know it has eaten. Tighten up and fish on... The first one was sweet, but it was an old battered bream in the late afternoon that won the day. “I saw them from way back; two big dark fish suspended in the surface of the whitewater of the gully. Every now and again one would lazily roll up the rock ledge with a swell and dig around the mussels. There was no consistency to their movements and it took me a while to decide on my approach. I’d have to get sea side of them and cast back to the end of the gully. Quick feet and a lifetime of fishing light tackle in the gullies played in my favour. My hands were shaking as I made my first cast. On the third cast, I landed the big crab on the ledge past the fish. With the next wave the crab washed perfectly off the ledge. I watched the bigger of the two turn, languidly swim up to the suspended crab and inhale it. I knew it was a good fish when I spotted it, but the weight was more than expected. I put the brakes on! Hard! The oysters and mussels that encrust the gullies are leader killers. Using the waves and heavy drag, I turned the fish quite quickly and the rest was routine. I wonder how many seasons that old girl had seen. Gnarled, scarred; she seemed tired. I can’t imagine she has many seasons she has left. It’s incredible that, despite the commercial inshore fishery along this coast, there are still old fish like this around. I hacked through a few selfies and a release video. So good to see her swim away. I hope that she has a round or two left adding to the bloodlines. Pure magic!” - Trip Journal Entry Wednesday 10 April

Cruising between Markaz and the different spots at Ras Mad, it is easy to be lulled into the dream world of the desert with its seemingly endless expanses of untouched wilderness. But when you look past the beautiful desolation of the Wusta plains and really start looking at the details, you realise that things are changing. There is major construction in the area and an endless line of trucks that stretch from nowhere to a spot above Markaz. There are big dump trucks full of quarried rubble and more massive earthworks around Duqm. Who knows what monstrosities are being built and how they might affect these precious places? At Duqm you will find a Radisson and Crowne Plaza with evening joggers and cleaners on the beach. “Progress” always seems to be nipping on the heels of the last outdoor refuges. It’s easy to forget, when you stand alone on a beach, that the threats to our environment are endless. We are quick to clean up what the oceans vomit on the beaches we frequent, but I always marvel at the pollution that is found on beaches that no one goes to. Out of sight, out of mind. The horrible irony of our age is that you need to travel to relatively untouched places in order to realise how bad it really is. Setting camp each evening, you’re faced with the leftovers of consumption. Plastic in all forms and sizes litter the beaches. Fluorescent light bulbs. Fishing nets. It’s fun to upcycle old crates and odds for a night or two around camp - crates make for effective wind blocks and ripped out boat decks great tables - but you can’t upcycle the reality. Camp was more like a moving wind shelter! Living out of the back of the Pajero gets tiresome, especially when you can’t spread the camp out. Five nights in and the constant battering of the pink flamingos against the roof gets to you. But, I was still on a beach, almost in the middle of nowhere. The beer was cold and I was eating well (a trip to the nearest village every second day to replenish ice and greens ensured this). Taking stock, I could only appreciate how lucky I was, wonder when next I might find myself in such a place and curl up with a smile on my face. “Seriously, will this wind please *&$@ off! It’s killing me!” - Trip Journal Entry Friday 12 April, 2019 Camel is a place that I have long wanted to get to. I got chased away by the weather on my first trip so I owed it to myself to get there this time. It’s a long walk, hot and not for the faint of heart. Actually, I can’t imagine that anyone outside of a particularly loony group of fishermen has ever walked past the Camel Flats, around the arches and on to The Wreck beaches. I had spent countless hours poring over Google Maps imagery, Ray’s video footage and any other intel I could scratch together. I’d daydreamed about standing under the Camel too many times to remember!

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The first rule of solo fly fishing for permit in Oman: if you catch a permit, take a photo, any photo.

“WE ARE QUICK TO CLEAN UP WHAT THE OCEANS VOMIT ON THE BEACHES WE FREQUENT, BUT I ALWAYS MARVEL AT THE POLLUTION THAT IS FOUND ON BEACHES THAT NO ONE GOES TO. OUT OF SIGHT, OUT OF MIND” Ray had said that Camel wasn’t fishing well. As I crested the rocky ridge I understood why. New sand had washed in, almost tripling the size of the beach when compared to the most recent Google images. I can’t imagine the crustaceans had settled into the recently re-moulded beach. I walked carefully and the flats looked amazing. If the sand stayed just so, it was going to be an incredible place to fish. I left the fabled spot, stepping in my tracks as I headed up the cliffs towards The Wreck. The wind had strengthened as the morning wound along and I was already annoyed by it when I spotted the first permit of the day. Annoyance turned to frustration as I spooked the fish when a gust deposited an otherwise good cast bang on top of the fish. Eventually, frustrated, tired and itching from crystal meth (there’s something in beaches of Ras Mad that scratches and stings you, like tiny shards of glass and it has been nicknamed crystal meth), I retired for lunch under an overhang with a view of The Wreck for lunch. “It’s 12 noon on a blistering beach somewhere between Camel Flats and The Wreck. I’m sitting under a sandstone overhang, hiding from the midday heat while prepping tuna mayo for lunch and peeling a grapefruit. I fluffed three fish this morning. When I turn to the shorebreak to present a fly, the wind pumps over my right shoulder, my casting shoulder. It catches the edge of my hoody and flaps it around my face, the noise makes me think of an overworked flag. I’ve blown the casts for each of the fish I’ve seen; the wind has ensured that my line lands crumpled, miles away from where I intended. I’ve lined them all. There’s no changing the angle of the cast, this isn’t a flat that I can out-maneuver around spotted fish. The beach is long, straight and steep. I have never hit myself with a fly as many times as I have today. This is nothing like the island flats, nothing like the permit chases I’ve completed in the past! My demons have arrived. Along with the white horses, crystal meth and a constant sandblasting, they never seem to let up...” - Trip Journal Entry Saturday 13 April Reading back over that lunchtime journal entry, I realise the only reason I did not throw in the towel that day was

because it was a long walk back, I had nowhere else to be and home was the boot of a 4x4! But it is often strange circumstances that lead to success. And so it was that a permit materialised in the shorebreak and my carefully laid cast fell perfectly between blasts of wind. Time slowed. I watched the fish turn towards the beach, ride down the shorebreak and almost somersault right where I knew the fly was. That same instant I felt the weight through the line and tightened up… Each moment of that fight is etched into my memory, clear as yesterday. Nerves, fueled by pumping adrenaline, pleading with all the fishing deities to let the hook stick. The fish didn’t speed off. It kept just off the

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backline, using that broad body and the backwash to keep me on edge. I waded in at one point and tried to tail it; it didn’t like that. So I played patiently and waited until I beached her. The relief. The exhilaration. I rushed through the photos, although the rush wasn’t needed. She swam away strongly with no ceremony but, had I perceived a whiff of indignation? I sat on the beach and appreciated the moment. Nothing mattered anymore, not the wind, not the crystal meth and I could no longer hear the demons. They had been silenced. The rest of the day blurs in my mind. I didn’t see another fish, but it didn’t matter…

“Today I will not forget. Ever. I think I may have achieved eventual success in the most difficult way - typical! Thousands of kms and many long hours went into it. That beach could be on another planet, a place removed from all that daily life makes us used to! But that fish… Everything about it will stay with me for a very long time! Redemption found, the demons are gone. Now for a beer…” - Trip Journal Entry Saturday 13 April * Chalk or lime-based sediment that creates a cloudy/ milky effect.

PROFILE

THE SOUL SURFER W E ’ R E U N A S H A M E D FA N S O F B O T H T H E F LY F I S H J O U R N A L A N D E S P E C I A L LY T H E I R A S S I G N M E N T W R I T E R R I V E R H O R S E N A K A D AT E . WE CAUGHT UP WITH RIVERHORSE TO DISCUSS HIS NAME ( O B V I O U S LY ) , H I S W O R K , H I S T R AV E L S , T H E P L A N E T, H I S L I K E S AND HIS LOVE. Photos: Copi Vodjta, Håkan Stenlund, Jono Winnel, Tony Czech Artwork: Gerhard Human

iverhorse, judging by the frequency and emphasis of your digital awooohoos, is it safe to assume that you are pleased to be alive?

Each day is a gift. This life is so good, it is as simple as that. No matter the sometimes menial moments of everyday life when not in the midst of something inspiring, I forever believe in being thankful for each fleeting second we are all here on this earth. The smallest moments are everything, and the hidden imperfect lo-fi beauty does it for me. Say no to the manicured, postured, and plastic. I’m a fan of being consciously present, and an unabashed lover of absolutely rowdy, unbridled joy. There are always things to appreciate and lessons to learn. I’m here for the deepest content, far below the surface of the skin. And for the record, if you are following along in the magazines or Instagram, it is actually AWOOOOOHOOOOOOO!

One of a kind, brutha, I know. It is a given name from my birth and native heritage that ended up suiting me well, with which I carry heaps of pride. I was also named the “Keeper of the Light” by the village, but that came in a ceremony later in life. My mother was unconditionally loving and the most beautiful soul around, and she went with her heart when giving me Riverhorse for a name. I have heard there is a bar out there in Sundance called River Horse, a hipster beer company in the northeast, and even a luxury apartment complex, none of which I have visited or care to, but they all have two words in the spelling; so they don’t have the same moniker. I’m guessing I’m currently the only one in the world, which is beyond interesting and amusing in this day and age of repetitive follow-the-herd mentalities. Yes, I am fucking A proud. We follow you through your writing and through the polished lens of an Instagram profile. If the latter is to be believed, you live in your canoe, either in the coastal swamps or in the mountains. Where, in reality, is home? The Texas coast. A vintage bungalow from 1910 with 12 foot ceilings, French beams, and original windows full of soft morning light; tiger oak wood floors; a stout fireplace and a sweetheart sea-blue, claw-foot bathtub from 1914. My home. Oh, damn the guitars sound beautiful in here, or out on the porch swing with some South African wine in a glass nearby. I was born in Austin, and raised there with the river in the backyard and, after all these experiences of life, I still feel that Texas has endless stunning terrain for me…

Photo Jono Winnel

In South Africa, with our eleven official languages, we have a lot of descriptive names for both people and animals. For example, in Afrikaans cameelperd (camel horse) is a giraffe and seekoei (sea cow) is a hippopotamus which, incidentally, means river horse in ancient Greek/Latin. So, taking into account that fact that there are no wild hippos in North America, what’s the genesis story behind Riverhorse?

from the hundreds of miles of barrier island salt marshes with no one around, to the old-growth piney woods lakes, the Hill Country spring-fed limestone canyon rivers, let alone the amazing music, food, and the flavourful culture with heaps of swank Tejano vibes and soul infused into it. Give me handmade flour tortillas with a slab of organic butter warmed in a cast iron skillet, tender brisket, bell peppers, sweet onions, fresh local salsa, cold bottles of Shiner Bock, and take a seat at the supper table with me. Lone star life. The weather here is sticky-sweet, heady, and juicy, with winters that are lazily surreal and we can be outside day in

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and day out year round. The Flyfish Journal and Patagonia supported a film by Liam Gallagher following me through some of my favorite places in Texas and you can see it on their website. The film is called Love & Water: Riding Shotgun with Riverhorse. You’ll see a bit of what happens around here when I am around, hear the guitar that rests by my bedside, and some emotional waking thoughts of the south from me. The eight minute drive-by-dose, anyway. As for the rest of what I call home, it’s often a cherished turquoise thunderbird blanket in the back of the truck, or along a river, mountain, or forest. I’ll sleep anywhere, even in the canoe under the stars on a sandbar, which is a favourite cozy move of mine.

https://www.theflyfishjournal.com/exclusive/riverhorse/

Your feed is peppered with the term ‘AWOL’. Are you ever at home? Actually, not much these days. I think it was the surfer Miki Dora who once said that a local is simply someone who doesn’t have their shit together enough to travel. Amen to that. I’ve been working away on a few environmental fly fishing films with Tony Czech (www.tonyczech.com), which are exclusively supported by Patagonia. Along with quite a few other adventures in and out of the country. The two main projects happening now are a lengthy canoe journey

Photo Tony Czech

Photo HÃ¥kan Stenlund

Photo Copi Vojta

in the Boundary Waters between Minnesota and Canada, to protest a shameful proposed mine, and another that takes place in the Arctic Circle. I feel doing this work is what I was born to do. The Merrimack canoe is always loaded on the roof of the Polar Bear, the flats skiff on the trailer, and I am pretty much running wild endlessly. Why else would we be here otherwise, than to celebrate and fully immerse ourselves into the miracle of Mother Earth? I love to kick back and cook meals at home, have a sacred friend or two over for coffee, write stories, and sit on the porch swing to find my way again all while thinking up new dreams. But yes, forever AWOL and running wild. Some things will never change. You went to Lapland recently. Our art director thought that was a strip club in Brackenfell. Please enlighten us as to what it is like? There are only a few places I have been mesmerized by enough to revisit them. For years I was into surfing El Salvador, and took seven trips there. The Oregon Coast in the Pacific Northwest is another area I am always game for hang time. Lapland, just north of Sweden, is beyond fascinating. There is so much pristine wilderness there, from the rugged mountains to rivers and lakes. I’ve traversed so much of it, yet I feel as if I’ve barely been there during the past two summers. The range of fish in their ecosystems is also amazing. The film should be coming along, and it will have good times with the Sami tribe, reindeer, and make serious global environmental connections. Stay tuned.

You visited South Africa in 2006. Tell us about your time here. Where did you go, what did you do, what did you see and - sit down on the therapy couch - how did it make you feel? South Africa was the one adventure I name when anyone asks what my favorite was. Early 2006, I wanted to surf Jeffrey’s Bay, which is a right hand point break wave that goes for over a mile long while sometimes being as tall as twenty feet high in the winter… along with seeing everything else there. The goal was to surf and fish my way from Mozambique all the way to the Cape of Good Hope, and take a couple of months to do it. There were stunning waves, intense moments on the road with machine guns, car-jackings, two lives heartbreakingly lost in places I was in, and more. I flew to Johannesburg and then down to Durban, grabbed a 4x4 and went east into Mozambique, then worked my way south for weeks. Barrels at Cave Rock, down to the wild and woolly Transkei, and onwards. I saw it all, went all in. The whole adventure felt pretty dreamy, although the sharks and crime were always present. There was a day I’ll never forget when I surfed an emerald green point break alone for hours with a pod of a couple of hundred dolphins swimming alongside me, jumping sky high over me while I rode each wave. To get there I climbed down a mountain, then paddled the surfboard through a vibey series of caves and spooky rock formations. The waves were a few feet overhead and reeling. No one for miles.

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Photo HÃ¥kan Stenlund

“I BELIEVE IN US AS HUMANS; THAT WE CAN DO THE RIGHT THINGS, MAKE CHANGES WITH WISDOM AND INTELLECT THAT SAVE THINGS, AND GET THEM BACK ON TRACK AGAIN.”

What does that feel like? As if Mother Earth rained down a thousand sweet kisses on your cheekbones from heaven, and then did it again. Xoxooooooooooooooooooooo! You write for Fly Fish Journal, The Fretboard Journal and Surfing Magazine. In your opinion, is there crossover between the three? Can you surf while doublehauling and noodling on a guitar, or, do you have to put different hats on? I think I’ve written for over a dozen magazines, and published a couple of hundred stories. Interestingly, all of this writing stems from me making sense of life, the why are we here, and what matters while we are here. Love is the end-all to me; the answer to everything. So this is all about matters of the heart. Nature is the truest unconditional example of this, the beauty of it. As for us humans, so few

get it right. I believe in finding the right hand to hold, and never settling for so so. We can do better jobs of taking care of each other by unleashing the hugs and laughter, day in and day out. Surfing and making music, along with fly fishing as a way to connect with our hearts, is the path for me. They are all endeavours of intimacy and exploration. Flying across the water on a wave that came from a storm a couple of thousand miles away with the end result of that energy collapse on a coral reef or sandbar allowing you to feel like a bird flying in the clouds….how could there ever be words for that? We are all casting out our lines in life to see what may come, so the fish that we connect with are metaphorical in every sense of the word. When you’re not writing for magazines, what else are

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For someone who spends so much time outdoors, how are you feeling about the state of the planet? We are torn between suicidal tendencies at how fucked we are, and, a glimmer of optimism that there is more noise about climate change and biodiversity extinction than ever before. Between panic and chill, where do you sit on the spectrum? I’m a peaceful soul and, any time things get under the gun intense, I get even quieter. Measured introspection is a good thing. Most of us have realised that the earth is struggling. I’m a positive soul too and, no matter how dire things get, I believe in us as humans; that we can do the right things, make changes with wisdom and intellect that save things, and get them back on track again. We can do this. It’s going to happen. And, yes, I love Mother Earth, every waking moment. She is my girl, forever and always.

Photo Håkan Stenlund

Fiction or non-fiction, what should we be reading and why?

you working on? Is there a Riverhorse book in the offing? Yes. I’ve actually saved some of the coolest stories from my life and adventures, held on to them privately for the memoir I’m writing. There is no time frame on all of this, but it seems to have gotten to the point where I’m ready to converse with a publisher, whoever that may be. All of this will likely take another three years if and when I know who I’ll work with. I’m impressed with some of the books Patagonia has put out, so I will talk to them at some point. I just haven’t gotten around to it, even though the introductory meetings/connections were offered. Print and hardbound only, for I feel the things we love in life we should be able to hold in our hands and pull them close against our breastbones. Someday sooner than later, if I’m lucky. Book tour to Africa? Awoooooooohoooooooo!

With a life that comes from running full bore, I can’t imagine anything being more compelling than non-fiction. I’m always holding books of poetry in my hands, or even have one resting on the dash of the Polar Bear to read. Words and communication are all we really have. The list of books recommended would be lengthy, but here are a few bell-ringers from my shelves and heart: Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey; A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold; The Outermost House by Henry Beston; A New Path to the Waterfall by Raymond Carver; The Diving Bell & the Butterfly by Jean-Dominique Bauby (the film version of this by director Julian Schnabel is amazing and in my all-time top three); The Captain’s Verses by Pablo Neruda; Neruda is my hero, by the way. And let there always be Henry David Thoreau, John Muir, Robert Penn Warren, and Walt Whitman. Along with the Flyfish Journal and The Mission, of course. What would you like everyone to listen to? Music, podcasts, the call of the wild. Awooooo. The Fly Tapes is a cool podcast by Jason Rolfe. He puts on the Writers on the Fly tours we have done in cities where we get to read fishing stories at local breweries and showcase artists. There are charities in each town that the proceeds go to. There are plenty of my stories on there that may bring some laughs, such as the Spring Creek Master, and the piece Southern Wish is on another one (read aloud), which many feel is one of the most between-the-lines, candid and honest pieces I’ve written. The Dirtbag Diaries is another podcast that is worth the ride, for me. As far as music, with such a plethora of emotions, I’m always open to anything compelling and inspiring. Being a Cherokee-Viking boy from Texas, there’ll be wild backalley juke joint slide guitar, storytelling, folk, Appalachian bluegrass, vintage country twang, lilting pianos with

Photo Tony Czech

“A I HAVE ALWAYS KNOWN WHY I AM HERE ON THIS EARTH--TO RUN WILD AND PROTECT IT, CELEBRATE IT.”

Photo Jono Winnel

Riverhorse in Swedish Lapland with Sören Forsmark, a Sápmi elder and local river keeper.

the siren’s voice of a woman, and even heaps of vintage classical like Mozart, or Bach’s achingly haunting violin solo Etude Chaconne in D Minor recorded by Hilary Hahn when she was just 17. All that said, the sonic works of Lucinda Williams, Trevor Hall and Gregory Alan Isakov are often cranked up around here, and wherever I find myself. Tell us a story about you and fish….. Oh, there are a few thousand of them. One that readers of The Mission could actually see being caught would be from the Love & Water film. It’s about four minutes in. We were on a beautiful lake in far northeast Texas by the Oklahoma border, and filmmaker Liam Gallagher asked me to take him in the canoe while rolling film and to talk about how I read a lake for fish. I told Liam we didn’t need to talk about anything, because I could tell there was a lardass bass sitting under a downed tree all the way over on the other side of the lake, so he should just get in the canoe and watch it go down. Sure enough, the bass lit up the deer-hair frog popper on the first cast, and even got stuck under a tree for a while during the brawl, but was landed and set free to do her thing again. What can we look forward to from you in future? Tell us more about these upcoming film projects and where would you like us to point people to if they want to connect with more Riverhorse? Instagram? Fly Fish Journal? The current pair of films are with my best friend Tony Czech. He and his songwriter wife live in Nashville when he’s not on the road. We teamed up a couple years ago to do environmental films to protect the earth, and it has been quite a ride since. Tony has worked on films that run the gamut from Lonely Planet, Red Bull, North Face, and he even dragged me into being in a Toyota truck commercial with the canoe, sticking bass a couple of months ago. His work is surreal and these projects are going well. The first film is about a stunning canoe journey through the Boundary Waters where a company from Chile is attempting to put a hard-rock mine at the headwaters (which go for 1500 miles and is a protected wilderness )and ruin the entire watershed

with sulphuric acid pollution. There have been 16 mines of this type attempted in the world, and every one of them has failed. We’ve worked on it for two years and are hoping for completion in February. There’ll be endless amazing wilderness footage, riot gear, wild fish, Chippewa pow-wow leaders, a five million dollar mansion bought in Washington D.C., and bizarre, shocking, personal interviews with a local mayor, and much more. The second film is in Swedish Lapland running wild, fly fishing and hanging with the Sami Tribe and reindeer, and will illuminate the greater implications of climate change as they relate to the big picture. Both films are exclusively supported by Patagonia, and we are beyond thankful for that. If you want to see other work, I’m often in the Flyfish Journal. I even have a 14-page navel-gazer Alpine hike piece in this current issue, and I’m in guitar magazines like the Fretboard Journal, where I recently had some hang time with Keb Mo. Instagram is the easiest place to find me and to see the daily adventures, along with words of what each of these moments are and mean to me and, although it is “private”, if I see you are someone who loves fish, wilderness, or the water, I let you on board, and I am definitely amused to follow along with yours as well. @riverhorse_nakadate You were recently made a Patagonia Fly Fishing Ambassador, congratulations. What’s the brief for a gig like that? Aw, what an honor. Truly humbling. I have always known why I am here on this earth--to run wild and protect it, celebrate it. Patagonia are kindred souls, my people, who have always supported me on these adventures and have endlessly believed in me--especially Chris Gaggia through the years. It doesn’t get much cooler than getting to roll up my sleeves alongside Fish Director Ted Manning and travel full bore around the earth making a difference, chasing dreams, wild fish, creating environmental films, penning stories, and bringing our fly fishing community together at local charity events to both inspire and cheer each other on, and to create change that stands the test of time. Ultimately, their nod to be a part of the team has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the work ahead. Their mission is to save the planet. Whoever you are, wherever you are reading this, come join me out there. This is our one beautiful home, and I’m forever all in. Douglas Adams said 42 was the meaning of life. Considering that the hyper-real world of Instagram tells us that you are always in the wilderness hiking to hidden Alpine lakes in search of cutthroat or paddling and sleeping in your canoe on redfish missions - we figure you must have the answer to the question. What, in your opinion, is the meaning of life? Love.

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D ES T I N AT I O N

SPANISH GOLD M O ST P EO P LE G O TO SPAIN IN SEARCH OF THE SUN , TH E BE ACH A ND T H E FOOD. GERALD PENK LER AN D HIS BE T T E R H A LF, S U ZA N NE, HAD SOMETHIN G ELSE IN MIND â&#x20AC;&#x201C; A S M O RGAS BO RD OF SPAN ISH BARBEL OFF THE BAN KS O F T HE M ASS I VE RESERVOIRS OF EX TREMADURA. Photos: Gerald and Suzanne Penkler

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mirror-calm bay glided into view as we hiked around a dry wheat-coloured hillock. Dry grass lined the banks as far as the eye could see and I regretted wearing the thick socks that had turned into scratchy grass seed pin cushions. This was forgotten as ripples broke the surface and the backs of two fish rose inches from the shore. “Carp or Barbel?”, we asked each other and rushed to rig up. A barbel slipped out of the glare and gloomy depths to sip something from the surface, while I crouched a few metres away, behind a dried out old tree. A balbyter fly pattered down and, with bated breath, I waited. Mirroring the morning calm and neither slowing down nor speeding up, a carp-like mouth breeched and calmly slurped down the ant. First cast, first fish is a bad omen, but this was a great start to our search for the infamous, dry fly- gobbling, tippetpopping, hook-opening barbel that inhabit the large reservoirs of Extremadura, Spain. These reservoirs are truly massive, with the largest, Embalsa La Serena, being one of the largest in Europe and having an estimated 500 km of shoreline. Spain has eight species of Barbus, namely B. meridionalis, haasi, bocagei, comizo, graellsii, guiraonis, sclateri and microcephalus. All of these, apart from the first, are endemic. The lakes we were fishing included comizo (iberian), sclateri (gypsy/andalusian) and microcephalus (shorthead). The aim was to try to catch all three species, although the comizo truly captured my imagination with their sheer size and long protruding heads. Several guides offer trips to target specimen pike, barbel and bass at reasonable rates and, with their high-speed boats, unparalleled access to these huge watery expanses. On our DIY trip we found access limited, especially as Google fails to show the PRIVATE and NO ACCESS signs which are often only encountered after you’ve travelled several kilometres down a dirt road. Nevertheless, low water levels meant that we could hike a few kilometres to more out of the way areas. Swirls, tails and bubble trails littered the shallow bay. The excitement was short-lived as the balbyter remained untouched, while obscure muddy snacks were hoovered up. Following advice (found on a fishing forum) to ignore these mud lovers, we headed onwards in search of gravel shores where fish were fewer in number, but more willing to eat from the surface. Walking away from visible fish is easier said than done and passing a school of carp, their backs out of the water in very thin water, was just

too much to resist. The balbyter ant flicked out again. A little carp vacuumed it down and raced off the flat, my gleeful chuckle echoing after it. What is this place where carp chomp down dry flies? The bay opened up into clear water and a wide gravel edge with a shallow drop off. A shadow casually patrolled along the edge towards us 30 or 40 metres away. The shape transformed into a barbel as it glided up to the ant and, after a brief inspection, sucked it down. In comparison to the first, this one was on steroids and rocketed away. The loose line coiled, jumped and writhed before constricting the reel handle to set the fish free. After a significant amount of self-berating and colourful superlatives like “goodness gracious” and “good heavens,” I tied on another balbyter. As almost every fish set off on a blistering first run of 10 to 30m, this trip provided plenty of practice in controlling the mamba by keeping the line hand wide of the reel. The shallower the water, the more intense the run and the faster the acceleration, which popped tippets or opened hooks if you were not ready. Following the first run, a dogged battle ensued and the line was run ragged over every available rock, log or brush pile. Without fail, the first 15 or 20 cm of fluorocarbon tippet felt like sandpaper after every fish. Extremadura has a very relaxed and laid-back feel with its dry terrain, bush, and sparse distribution of small towns. It is a friendly place, with many greetings in the small streets and stores when buying delicious cold meats and fresh baguettes for lunch. The cold meats are incredibly tasty, particularly jamón ibérico, for which the region is famous. The best hams are aged for up to four years with the pigs kept strictly to a diet acorns. However, change of diet to include cereals and less aging brings a raft of different flavours, colours and textures to explore. While crunching through a fresh baguette filled with delicious Spanish ham, cheese and tomato, we watched several Andalusian barbel patrolling up and down the gravel shoreline looking for their own lunch, occasionally giving a flash as they turned to eat something off the bottom or rising to pick something off the surface. With the sun up high and the fishing becoming very picky and dismissive of the ant, Suzanne switched to a small #16 CDC beetle and intercepted a brazen barbel. It slowed to a standstill and nosed the beetle gently before committing a tentative sip. The hook set and line whirred through the guides and then off the reel as it charged into the depths. And so started a walk-spot-cast routine along the gravellined shoreline. Ant patterns were best in the morning, hoppers electric in the afternoon and small CDC beetles for picky fish. Flies with hot orange posts sent fish diving away in terror.

With an aristocratic shnoz and sleek lines, the Comizo barbel looks like a hybrid between a smallmouth yellowfish, a bonefish and a snook.

Bank stalking was very successful, but the numerous mud rooting fish eluded us. From a vantage point a few metres up the bank I watched as a barbel tailed and sucked mud in earnest. I needed something attention grabbing, something big, bright and brash. Loudly plopping down a large #10 bright yellow Ed’s hopper on the surface did the trick and the fish lifted to inspect the morsel. But, still the mud sucker turned away. A quick repeat cast, resulted in the same inspection, but this time it was gobbled down with gusto. After a frantic tussle a long protruding head broke the surface. This is what I came for. A Comizo. Plumes of mud and bubbles gave away a good carp as it rooted in deeper water. Switching to ‘carp mode’, I plopped a red squirmy two metres beyond the plume with the

intention of bringing the fly back right under its nose. The plume and fish had disappeared as the squirmy settled to the bottom. As my eyes darted back and forth across the surface trying to detect any shadows or movement, the line zipped tight. As backing stretched out across the bay and disappeared into the deep, I knew that this was no carp. After a few quick snaps of one of the biggest barbel of the trip, I wondered if this was a fluke? Another plume of mud appeared in the bay and the squirmy dived into the depths. I slowly stripped it to where the fish should have been, but was disappointed as a shadow drifted away into deeper water. My eyes scanned down the bank for the next fish to experiment on, but was surprised as my line ripped away and the tippet parted before I could react.

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Top left: Spanish carp. Bottom left: Gypsy/Andalusian barbel. Above: Comizo barbel.

The squirmy was proven and I switched back to a dry. On day three, and after some very strong wind, all of the surface fish seemed to have dropped deep and once again a familiar red rubber worm dangled on the tippet. Feeling parched, I cast out into the middle of a bay and reached for my water bottle. Halfway through a gulp, my line disappeared as a fish rushed off. This was a small barbel, but love them or hate them, squirmies proved to be very effective. Dry flies, however, were the most rewarding and accounted for the vast majority of fish. In fact, you could easily be entertained all day on the surface by skipping the mud suckers. There were some barbel, however, that seemed to react differently to dries and ignored or rejected every

dry I had. Changing tactics to a small black rubber-legged nymph, I intercepted a fish coming up along the bank about a metre down. There was a slight hint of movement of the mouth and I tentatively lifted the rod wondering if the fly had been eaten. With 6x tippet and a #18 light wire hook the fish was truly in control, but it did steer clear of a tree and after a protracted battle, I managed to finally swish it into the net. This fish looked very different, with a more convex rugby ball shape, a short head and a mouth set right under its head. I am not entirely sure, but believe it to have been a short head barbel. Over the four days we found that wind played a huge role in both the feeding patterns of the fish, the water temperature and clarity. The best shores were those that

“I WISHED THAT I COULD SPEAK SPANISH TO BE IMMERSED IN THE CULTURE. BUT, AS IT TURNS OUT, BEING ABLE TO SPEAK ‘FISHING’ IS A SOMEWHAT UNIVERSAL SKILL IN AND OF ITSELF.” had wind blowing straight into your face. With strong winds the edges turned muddy. Barbel and carp would move to within inches of the shore, feeding in the discoloured water. Carp, in particular, became pretty stupid and aggressively ate ant and hopper patterns. Due to the size of the reservoirs, water clarity varied greatly depending on where you were. The inlet areas looked like chocolate milkshake, but the water got progressively clearer as we moved towards the outlets. The ultra-clear water provided amazing sight fishing, but the fish were far spookier. A slight bit of colour in the water certainly took the edge off and the fish reacted more positively to the ‘plop’. With English pretty much non-existent among the locals, I wished that I could speak Spanish to be immersed in the culture. But, as it turns out, being able to speak ‘fishing’ is a somewhat universal skill in and of itself. As we walked into a dimly lit pub one hot afternoon feeling very parched after a hike up to a hillside fort, six heads turned to face us and the bubbling voices became silent.

With a smile, a buenas tardes and dos cola por favor we attracted even more attention. Conversation started up again, but with words like pesca drifting over, we were clearly the focus. One gentleman sauntered over to our table and not unlike a draw in the Wild West, whipped out a mobile phone while in a thick accent asking “You fish?” Language barriers disappeared as he showed pictures of trophy pike, bass and barbel that he had caught on lure in these lakes. My Comizo paled in comparison, but fly fishing was known. On hearing the word “fly”, the bartender walked over with a freshly caught fly trapped between thumb and forefinger. Grinning, it promptly disappeared down his gullet, the jaws chewed and the throat contracted to guffaws echoing around the pub. Yes, fly fishing is as simple as that! For info on Gerald’s ingenious go-to ‘Squirmy Switch’ pattern for barbel and carp, visit themissionflymag.com

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D ES T I N AT I O N

TIERRA DEL FUEGO, BRU. RO O KI E G U I D E , NICK VA N RENSB U RG OF FLYBRU , WE I G H S I N O N HI S FIRST SEASON AT K AU TAPEN LO D GE O N T HE RI O GRAN DE AND RIO MENENDEZ. Photos: Nick van Rensburg

f you had asked me a year ago what my future plans were, I’d probably have told you that I’d still be stuck at university, scraping through the shitty pages of textbooks, while frothing over each and every fishy Instagram post from around the world. Although that’s true for only half of this year, I’ve somehow found myself on the edge the world, chasing sea-run brown trout. And, even after two months of being on the water daily, the realisation of what my job is, hasn’t quite hit home. Tierra Del Fuego is one gnarly place. Kau Tapen Lodge is situated in the Rio Grande Valley, which is one of the most intensely harsh and desolate environments I’ve had the pleasure to experience. They say Montana is “big sky country”, and although I haven’t been there (yet), I can almost bet that this place will give it some serious competition, especially in the final hours of the day, where the sunsets will just melt your face off. The weeks leading up to the season were filled with nervous anticipation. I wondered if I’d be able to pull it off without any serious hiccoughs, and whether or not I’d get a feel for the fish, and the style of fishing that’s used down here. At home in South Africa, fishing the swing is a completely foreign concept to most. Throw in a double handed rod, a whole bunch of technical jargon, different gear and techniques and you have yourself the style known as spey fishing. It is one of the coolest ways to fish, and I cannot wait to apply some of the principles of it to the fish at home! For example, here, one of the most exciting flies to fish is a Sunray Shadow. A salmon fly, featuring a very simplistic design, with a bit of monkey fur and flash tied on a tube, fished on an intermediate line just under the surface, with long slow strips. You can just imagine how a sea trout eats that thing. It’s wild. Two months ago, I picked up a double handed/spey rod for the first time. You learn very quickly why it’s the weapon of choice. Quite simply put, when the wind blows, it fucking blows, and you don’t want to be hauling around a single-handed twig, which almost guarantees a fly to the pip. To experience a wind in excess of 90km/h is at first quite intimidating, especially when the Jimmy in the river is asking for casting advice. “Bru, you can literally just wiggle it out.” Meanwhile the water is elevated, and it’s raining from the ground up! One of the first things they teach you here, is to park your car, with the nose into the wind. Stories of car doors hauling ass down the gravel bank, with a guide trailing fairly far behind are too common. Park your car the opposite way, and your car doors will blow off.

“I want to lay you down in a bed of roses.” Nick van Rensburg belts out a Bon Jovi ballad to a Tierra del Fuego sea-run brown Here, there are no apex predators, simply because the environment itself is what keeps everything in a natural balance. Guanacos (a sort of llama cousin) roam free, beavers in excess of 50lbs roll down the river, foxes and condors scavenge the dead remains of anything that’s come short. The dry, windswept landscape comes alive when the wind blows. And when the wind drops, the place has a Zen–like silence to it, with just the odd sound of a guanaco call, or sea run missile slapping the water on its way down from breaching, and signalling the traditionally known “middle fin.” It’s just way too cool. At Kau Tapen, we fish the famous Rio Grande, which hosts some absolutely enormous fish. I’ve been lucky enough to slide the net under a few high teens, and 20lb plus fish over the past few months and, until the scale indicates its size, you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself. Most of the time, it happens within the last few hours of light, which provides for an amazingly eerie, and uneasy feeling.

Quite often, these dinosaurs are dark, and coloured up, with kypes like Captain Hook. They’re decorated with crazy spots, and a serious paddle, which is designed to kick your ass, and quite often, their adipose fins are seriously big, just like that one freak chicken nugget from KFC that seems to find its way into the odd bucket. And then you get the chrome fresh, sea run bullets, which are just as cool. They’re all cool, and each encounter is special. We also fish the Rio Menendez. It’s a small tributary to the Grande which, regardless of size, hosts the same size fish. It’s somewhat comparable to the Crocodile River in Northern Gauteng, where you have these high cut, muddy banks, with deep, narrow channels. Some of the widest sections are around 8-10 metres, which makes it the perfect territory for a single handed rod. Here, the fish fancy small nymphs when it’s clear, and absolutely love a fluffy streamer when its blown out. The average size of the fish will make you completely lose your shit, which is inevitable on the first jump, usually at eye level.

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“THEY SAY MONTANA IS “BIG SKY COUNTRY”, AND ALTHOUGH I HAVEN’T BEEN THERE (YET), I CAN ALMOST BET THAT THIS PLACE WILL GIVE IT SOME SERIOUS COMPETITION”

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“TO SEE A FISH IN EXCESS OF 20LBS COME OUT OF A HOLE NO WIDER THAN A MINI, RISE AND HIT A FLY OFF THE TOP IS CRAZY”

In Kau Tapen’s guide room, flies are tied, feet are defrosted and fishy stories told. This little stream has really made me fall in love with this place and the fish, in their own right. To see a fish in excess of 20lbs come out of a hole no wider than a Mini, rise and hit a fly off the top is crazy, and has you craving the next one even more. Rio Menendez fish are champions. And then, of course, you have the fish. My entire life thus far has seen a fair few troots: browns; rainbows; a cutthroat or two, and even a couple of small brookies. But nothing would ever level with the insanity of the sea trout. Before coming here, my personal best trout was a freak rainbow caught in Katse dam, weighing 13lbs. Now, it’s 15lbs, and the image of that fish will be firmly engrained in my memory for years to come. Whether they’re grabbing nymphs on sink tips, or tubes on the surface, the eat is explosive, and you’ll quite often see the size of what you’re latched onto within seconds of it savaging the fly. The fight is dogged, and wild! They’ll make these insane leaps out of the water, and, at times, they’ll try and head back to the ocean, with you trailing behind it like an Olympic sprinter. Its unbelievably hard to describe them, and its honestly something that each and every angler should try to experience at least once… even the “saltwater guys.” . So this is my first and, hopefully, one of many, international guiding experiences to come. As most guides who have been in the game would probably agree, it’s definitely the world’s coolest job, especially if you’re a complete

fishing nut job. This year the guide team consists of Gaston Gugliminetti, who is a sea trout himself; Hernan “Nanchi” Garcia, who is among the highest class of fishermen and fly tiers that I’ve had the pleasure of fishing with; Paulo Hoffman, a god behind the lens and an insane fisherman; Tobias Spieler, a sea trout angler by heart who rocks a beard like a champ, gracing our presence from Northern Germany; and lastly Derek Manson, coming out of retirement to chase sea trout. It’s a bulletproof group, and working with these dudes is more than a pleasure. Post session stories have the guide house buzzing, and it’s a true showcase of how raw passion and obsession for fish and fishing can bring anyone together. These guys are among the fishiest of people I’ve ever met, and have made my time here an absolute treat! I really hope to fish with them in other places around the globe, and would love to show them around some of my home waters one day. As the season starts drawing to an end, I can’t help but struggle to come to grips with how fast it’s all gone by. It’s getting super cold, and the low water conditions have got us constantly working out what the fish are doing, and how to catch them. Although I’m quite excited to go home, I’m already frothing for next season. Just being on the Rio Grande is a privilege on its own and, to experience these fish and the environment they inhabit has truly become an obsession. It’s been a dream come true and I’ll be sure to come back as much as I can.

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NEW ZEALAND

HEAD WATER FEVER NO BO DY I KNOW HAS BEEN KILLED BY A BROWN TROUT. I F I T WE RE TO HA P P EN , SOUTH ISL AN D, N EW ZEAL AN D WO U LD BE A G O O D PL ACE. IT RAIN S SO HARD IT’D WI P E T H I NG S CLE A N AFTERWARDS. IN THE MORN INGS, WHE N E VE RYT H I NG IS FRESH, IT’S ALMOST LIKE THE NI G HT D I D N’ T HA P P EN. IN THE EN D IT’S THE ONLY WAY TO CLE A NS E O U RS ELV ES, PASSING THROUGH THOSE VA LLE Y GAT ES , T H ROUGH THOSE MOUN TAIN S, TO WALK BES I D E T H O S E RI VE RS. THE SUMMER-COOL N UZZLES F LES H, T HE VAST NESS PEN ETRATES THE SKULL. IN ALL TH AT VAST NESS , I FOUN D A FURNACE INTO WHICH TO STICK MY BRAIN.

Story Ben Pellegrino Photos Jeff Tyser

ts 9:43am, high summer beneath a glass-like sky and there’s a dazzling sun on a pastoral, some might say bucolic, Southland river. The upstream breeze triggers the grey-green tussock to radiate in rippling undulations below the steepening scrubland of the valley’s sides. We’re in the middle, Jeff Tyser and I, mulling over myriad crystalline currents flowing towards us, dancing over rocks of burnt-orange, burgundy and slate. It’s the sentient swaying, some way above us, of a chestnut-colour flutter that has us transfixed. It seems to have a pulse. Any doubts dematerialise as the big brown tilts imperceptibly, elevating itself in the water column. Its spots now clearly defined, its flanks golden, it returns deep within the rhythmic blend. “Parachute… just wanna shorten this dropper.” Jeff said. After all, we had the time. “Maybe right side?” I said. “Ja…fed right again, seems all-right”. Greased up, Jeff steps the few feet closer to the bank and backhands his leader out the guides. Flick-hinging into a short forward from the true right, he turns a slick last loop, unfurling the long leader to lay a delicately trembling fly above the brown’s lie, swiftly approaching the heart of the matter. “Looooking.” The brown silhouette shows against substrate. “It’s tracking man…” Becoming vivid now, she scrutinises the fly, drifting upwards and back, following it. The world whirls in a haze around this crystalizing vision. “Baaa, c’mon… commit man… c’mon...?”. The trout rights herself with a flick of her head; with serpentine grace her body follows into a position of rest that seems in perfect equilibrium within the strong currents. “Fuck.” At first indiscernible, her fins are only partially at rest and she appears to be casually gliding herself downstream on an upstream-facing plane. “Drifting back…” Closer still. “Fuck, still comin’…OK!?...” The brown carelessly buried the gap between us… “OK-fuck-get-down!” Lying flat on our backs in the bank side brush, Jeff and I blindly stare up at the sky. The leader slowly pulls taught through the grasses and an unseen parachute drowns beneath the undertow. I’m taking a few burrs off my net sock, slapping the odd sandy as a couple of minutes go by. We half-right ourselves, propping up to take a cock-eyed squint through the fringe. We see her. The brown hasn’t continued to move downstream. Neither has she moved back up into her feeding lie. She lies dead centre in line with us, both rigid

and stationary. On that first cast, she hadn’t seen us. She had never actually seen us at all. But she had seen those flies we tied and promptly dropped back several metres to straight-up ogle the fuck out of us for disturbing her summertime bliss. Ah, South Island, wavy wilderness lapping at our feet. The McCafferty brothers, Jim and Rich, hadn’t stepped foot on the Island before; Jeff and I were returning. We were there for similar reasons: to seek out world class meat pies and boysenberry jam. And to fish, for trout. The sole angler stalking a sighted solitary trout symbolises the zero-sum survival game, where one animal prospers

only at the expense of the other. As natural predatory orders go, it’s timeless. Alien species, catch and release, friends spotting, increasing pressure and the occasional beat system do not detract from feeling your guts twist as you peel off line behind a large brown trout. It’s purist in a sense; stripped down to the primal; times lived out close to the bone; an undead impulse. Hunting trout on South Island stokes a feeling your great grandchildren too, will come to know in one form or another. It’s nomadic: a shitload of walking, hiking, boulderhopping, climbing and falls. A spellbound propulsion lets you float the hike-ins. It’s barely headwater fever but simply the next-bend philosophy; anticipation of what the next pool or run holds means your mind begs your eyes

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to wander. It goes on like that for ten hours on clement days – we’re simple beasts. The hike-outs are the most brutal on limb and morale. Clocking easy hundred-andtwenty-kilometre weeks over gnarly terrain means any indiscretions hurt for days. Wandering in the absence of snakes - and with the impossibility of any paradise existing without one – I had chosen to bring ample sin along with me. It wasn’t so much the time Jim and I, still warm with coffee, mistakenly tramped upstream through a spring creek’s diverging, tapering rivulets to spend our day wool-gathering in a waterless North Canterbury bowl. Days like that are honest shots gone awry; bad luck. The

joy of wandering with Jim, confused, then pissed off, and finally backtracking, is something to treasure. No, the sin I’m talking about is more a nasty edge I became aware of, a schism in my brain, as I attempted to hunt trophy trout. In reality, when our ancestors weren’t hunched over foraging for tubers and veg, they preyed upon the sick, dead-already, meek and lame, more likely to be predated upon themselves than bring down a spotted trophy. South Island is just the same and headwater fever (derogative) or the pursuit of trophy trout (reductive) is a two-sided coin. Memories of your mate crestfallen, glistening and limping under a heavy pack, as he pauses to smear KY deep in the wrinkle of his chafed crack and balls - are less publicised than smiley backcountry trophy snaps. In spite

“THE SIN I’M TALKING ABOUT IS MORE A NASTY EDGE I BECAME AWARE OF, A SCHISM IN MY BRAIN, AS I ATTEMPTED TO HUNT TROPHY TROUT.”

of this, the pursuit is necessarily lived-out in between these two vignettes. It all boils down to the briefest junctures of connection. We gamble on the reciprocity of litres of sweat bled out over days of tramping; fresh sandfly punctures and cold battered feet for perhaps one moment, even half a chance. With so much ventured before brushing with the slightest gain, the Island can reward you with a deep and carnal fly fishing delight beyond your most primitive dreams. My bushed mental state, however, began to solidify early on in the trip. On that morning Rich and Jeff had gone in search of a river rumoured to hold good fish further south, and Jim and I were left to contemplate what the overcast West Coast morning held for us. By midmorning we had beat up past kilometres of peatswamp tributaries, past the influence of brackish tidal

flows. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d come upon clear flat laminar stretches, just before the big river began to hoodwink its ascent round boulder-strewn oblique bends. The slack water gave trout a chance to cruise between submerged structure lying scattered on languid, cream-coloured sand flats. Jim let me cast at the black shape materialising sporadically between cloud-shadow, which drifted back some ten metres upon second sighting, but was now sidling easily back upstream towards a patch of sunken brush. Scrambling partway down the bank into a casting position, I lay out a long line onto all but slack water, a rodlength upstream of the detritus onto which the darkness closed. The brown reached the indistinct branches below, coalescing with the gloom, its bulk concealed. Everything went remarkably still and quiet and the moment began to endure.

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seeding a longer-lived sense of doubt as to whether I would land a large trout. These roots of misgiving found a warm, moist place to germinate in my brain, and would eventually grow into proper backcountry delirium and a crooked fatalism. It had seen something. I felt marked. The hook had held. Weeks later, I was properly moored, paralysed between bitter reflux of past moments and chasing a mirage of trophies. It felt like being asleep when I was awake and awake when I was asleep. Maybe I didn’t spoil it for everyone, but I hoped Jeff and the brothers never looked too deep into my zombie eyes. At one point I sought selfrecognition elsewhere, a moistened smile let me think this a certainty - but the honey cashier at checkout turned out to be sixteen. Even seemingly unrelated experiences got sucked into my dark hole of depravity. “You still see him’?” I asked Jim. ”Aaah…dunno man...” came the reply. Its head broke like a crocodile, snout stretching to the left eye, mouth opening, a heavy skull dropped, flattening the foam hopper. It had an audible ‘Khloompf’ to it, as water was ejected from its maw. I had an eerie sensation that the creature had looked straight into my eyes. I waited... I’m still telling myself I waited. Afterwards even Jim reassured me that I had waited. There was momentary pressure and I can recall the slow-motion wrangle of a flyline whipping like a broken-bodied anaconda in a caiman’s thrashing jaws. It pulled - it was gone. Such distillation of rich and varied experience into one defining moment can unleash grim retrospective blows. In hindsight, the fact that it was a large trout and no obvious ‘thing’ went ‘wrong’, lent itself to fanciful superstition,

Fly rods in hand, the McCafferty brothers’ unpretentious approach to famous rivers and tough trout contrasted with my own gloom. The brothers resonated with humility, giving me ample material to emulate. Jeff and I were deeply grateful to share these times with them. Their blood-linked duels up some of the Island’s most discerning waterways were spectacular in the retelling. As a guide, Jim had welcomed clients who were enthusiastic and open to understanding the shallow-water seas and estuarine environments of Madagascar, but he was less enthused when local-town-heroes rolled in to wax lyrical of previous conquests. He recognised such clients who were likely to end up irate, drunk and baffled as to where their profile pics of metre-plus geets were. Understanding waters and fish is best done with humility and maybe the greatest fishermen retain something of the absolute beginner in all that they do.

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THE WATERS WON’T MAKE YOU A BETTER PERSON. BUT AS A FRIEND ENLIGHTENED ME ON OUR RECENT TRIP, “ONE DAY YOU’LL WAKE UP AND REALISE YOUR BODY IS TOO OLD TO HIKE UP THOSE RIVERS.” While the oceans resonate with oblivion and disengagement, South Island’s rivers and mountains provide a theatre in which to meet yourself, with friends as onlookers, through valleys stern and exacting gateways. I had failed… played my hand poorly. At my worst I actually told other dudes how to fish. A self-loathing, egotistic asshole. It was eventually rather pleasing to feel deeply embarrassed about who I was. Aside from knowledge of terrain and animal behaviour, any successful hunters must immerse themselves within the inner world of the creature they hunt. It requires empathic ability to hunt trout; to disguise, predict and paint your presence to mimic the non-human. Empathy made unattainable in the presence of garden-variety anxiety; hoodoo and insecurity that arrests this harmonious frame of mind and leaves your subconscious ability to read the stories of claw, feather and fin untapped. In short, I had been forced to confront the universal truism that ‘life can be hard if you’re a dickhead’. Putting my dreams front and centre, I was dead from the neck upwards, inert as a stone below the flow of what was

actual, immediate and of consequence. As I rattled back and forth, it was my friends that shouldered me back into the light. The brothers and Jeff refused to put up with my shit and I ran out of road quickly. Fine, the epiphany came in a shitty Christchurch backpackers hours prior to departure, but it sparked weeks of proper contemplation. I was too far gone to take a step back in those valleys, but I had made the journey with people who I could emulate until I eventually found myself again. We all had our respective trials in seeking out those moments. Living it out brought with it a quiet, but overwhelming notion that life hunting trout together on South Island, is just fucking dandy. The waters won’t make you a better person. But as a friend enlightened me on our recent trip, “One day you’ll wake up and realise your body is too old to hike up those rivers.” Don’t be left wondering what you’ll find up there through those valley gates. One thing that’s certain is you’re going to get flattened and spat on by some huge trout. It should also do you a world of good.

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ISSUE 02 | “RECEDITE, PLEBES! GERO REM IMPERIALEM!”

issue 01 | “noli nothis permittere te terere’

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smallmouth Bass lose big win small

hatch junKIe

trainspotting on the vaal

hIgh 5s

with mark murray

KeIth Rose-Innes managing chaos

jan | feb 2017

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PIKE, TROUT AND NOSTALGIA

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CAPE ROCK & SURF, THE FISHING SCIENTIST, EXMOUTH, TOAST COETZER, PAT COHEN, BEERS, BEATS AND MORE...

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ROLF NYLINDER, THE 40-YEAR-OLD VIRGIN, WITH JUNGLE FEVER, FATTIES, BEERS, BEATS & MORE

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DALE STEYN, GABON, MONGOLIA, EDUARDO GARCIA, FOREST TROUT, OZZIE DEATH, BEERS, BEATS AND MORE...

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A PLASTIC PLANET, NEW ZEALAND, TREASURE ISLAND, MARK YELLAND, TOM SUTCLIFFE, BEERS, BEATS & MORE

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“BE READY TO TRAVEL UP AND DOWN, TO DRINK BEER, SHAKE YOUR BOOTY TO THE MUSIC, EAT CATFISH, BURN IN THE SUN, SLEEP IN THE COLD AND JERK OFF TO THE BRAND NEW GEAR YOU CAN DREAM OF! LOCK THE DOOR, GET NAKED, IT’S TIME TO READ THE MISSION, THE ULTIMATE FLY FISHING MAGAZINE!” - CYRIL KAMIR, LE MOUCHING

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L AT ES T R E L E A S ES

SALAD BAR SCOTT - SECTOR Hold on to your seats. Scott have replaced their legendary Meridian series with a new rod range called the Sector. We know, we know…WHY? Well, according to Scott boss Jim Bartschi, the Sector is really that good. While plans are in motion to get our hands on a test model or three, for now we’ll have to take him at his word. In the meantime, here are the details. Sector rods feature new components like Ceracoil stripping guides with nickel titanium frames and super slick Zirconia inserts, along with Recoil nickel titanium snake guides – all with a low reflective PVD coating for greater durability and stealth. In terms of the action, as you might imagine as a Meridian replacement, the Sector is fast. It features Scott’s ReAct technology with new tapers and their new Carbon Web technology which improves torsional stability and rod durability by encasing uni-directional fibres in a web of ultra-light multidirectional carbon fibre. That means better tracking and power for long line pickups and redirecting casts. Patrolling GT at 10 o’clock? No problem. Pick up; cast; Bob’s your uncle. Available from a two-piece 8’ 10” 7-weight to a four-piece 9’0” 12-weight and multiple two, three and four piece models in between. On the subject of GTs, there is actually an 8’ 4” 13-weight built specifically for GTs. www.scottflyrod.com For more on the rise of Sector and the end of the Meridian, check out Fred Davis’s interview with Jim Bartschi at themissionflymag.com/feathersandfluoro

C&F – LIGHTWEIGHT CHEST STORAGE If you are blessed with hyper-local fishing, with a stream just outside your back door, then a super lightweight system is the way to go. C&F’s Large Lightweight Chest Storage system features a fly box with nine-row micro slit foam faces, three lockable wells, two fly threaders, three tippet spool holders and an array of attachment points, harness cords, loops and clips leaving you to do what you do best – fish and occasionally scream “Ma…the Meatloaf” back at the house. c-and-f.co.jp, frontierflyfishing.co.za

C&F – LINE CUTTER From the Japanese design gurus at C&F, comes this simple line cutting solution, that is gel spun compatible allowing you to cut sections of line off a spool and trim tag ends. c-and-f.co.jp, frontierflyfishing.co.za

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YETI - RAMBLER & HOPPER TWO 30 SOFT COOLER Finally, YETI has landed in South Africa and is now exclusively available at Upstream Flyfishing. Our pick of the batch to get you started – the Rambler range of tumblers, jugs and bottles and the Hopper 30 soft cooler. The Ramblers are all incredibly tough and designed to keep your drinks as cold (or hot) as science allows. With 18/8 stainless steel construction, double-wall vacuum insulation, and No Sweat™ Design, they’re perfect for everyday life (think of getting caffeine into your system whether on public transport, on the school run or before the first meeting) or way up some distant valley while chasing fish. The Hopper Two is the beery man-bag of your dreams. Made from highly durable materials, it features a leak-proof zipper and a 30L capacity that can hold a thirst quenching 24 cans of beer plus ice! The Hopper Two’s high-density fabric is super tough: waterproof as well as resistant to mildew, punctures and UV rays. Nothing will get in the way of you and cold beer this summer. upstreamflyfishing.co.za, yeti.com

COSTA – LIFEGUARD STRAW HAT The Artic is melting, so you can be sure that the planet will keep on getting hotter, which is bad news across the board, but especially dermatologically-speaking if you suffer from sunburn. Costa’s big-ass Lifeguard Straw hat keeps your head cool and protected, works a treat for fancy dress parties when paired with a handlebar moustache and provides shade for mid-afternoon snoozes. A chinstrap keeps it in place, like a bonnet on Emily Bronte. #gingerapproved. costadelmar.com, upstreamflyfishing.co.za

STORMSURE – ADHESIVE Like cable ties, duct tape or a Swiss Army knife, Stormsure’s Clear Flexible Repair Adhesive is one of those products you never think about until you need it and when you have it on you, you will congratulate yourself on your prescience and planning. Without it, you’ll lament your wet crotch. Fixes waders, boots, tents and pretty much anything that’s broken except for the economy. stormsure.com, xplorerflyfishing.co.za

L AT ES T R E L E A S ES

SALAD BAR AIRFLO - SUPERFLO Oh herrow! New from Airflo is the Superflo River & Stream range of troutastic lines designed for the small flies and careful presentations required in technical fisheries. With a long, delicate front taper and extended rear taper (not to be confused with an extended rear tapir – a rare and elusive beast), with this line you’ll lay down tiny dries with a delicate touch. airflofishing.com, ironriver.co.za

RIO – FATHOM SINKING & CLEAN SWEEP FATHOM LINES New from the line gurus at Rio are the Fathom Sinking and Fathom Cleansweep lines. The former sports an easy casting, fast-loading head and a supple tangleresistant core so you can keep your false casting to a minimum and get your line out fast. The Cleansweep does all of that, but also features a blend of sink rates in the belly, allowing you to take your fly (or flies) through a deadly path covering more water than usual. rioproducts.com, xplorerflyfishing.co.za

SCIENTIFIC ANGLERS – SONAR STILLWATER CLEAR CAMO INTERMEDIATE It sounds like an oxymoron (not to be confused with Brazil’s enviro-fascist president Jair Bolsonaro who is an oxygen moron), but Scientific Anglers have, in fact ,created a line that is both camouflaged and clear by using a mottled core and dousing it with a new supple, clear coating. The result is the SONAR Stillwater Clear Camo, a line based off their popular MPX taper. Designed for still water conditions, it just disappears beneath the surface and features a slow, intermediate sink rate to tempt fish sitting just below the chop. scientificanglers.com, frontierflyfishing.co.za

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ABEL – VAYA REEL We caught a sneak peek of this beauty when it popped up at the EWF Fly Fishing Show in Munich earlier this year. The name means “go!” in Spanish, but it’s not as though you need encouragement to get outside, especially with one of these stunners at hand. Crafted by avid Colorado anglers, the VAYA series debuts an all-new technical look and feel. The partiallyported frame offers the unique combination of minimized weight, incredible rigidity, and just enough surface area to highlight Abel’s iconic hand-anodized finishes. The large-arbor spool features a precisionbalanced, dual-pawl drag engagement design that eliminates the need for a counterweight. The spool’s mechanical incoming click compliments the audible, smooth feel of the outgoing drag while the carbon/ stainless multi-disk drag system produces both substantial resistance and adjustability for delicate tippets. Crack for collectors. Available in sizes 4/5, 5/6, 7/8. abelreels.com

HARDY – HBX REEL As if forged by the metallurgist elves of LOTR, in the HBX Hardy have put out another stunning looking reel that ressembles what we imagine Swiss bank vaults look like. With a heavily ported spool and frame made from aerospacequality 6061 bar-stock aluminium, the HBX comes in both freshwater (4/5, 5/6 and 7/8) and saltwater (9/10 and 10/11) iterations. The freshwater reels have a linear Rulon disc-drag, which can be flushed with freshwater for easy maintenance, while on the saltwater reels the linear oversized carbon-fibre drag system is saltwater safe and can produce a formidable 15lb drag pressure. hardyfishing.com, ironriver.co.za

REDINGTON – WAYWARD GUIDE JACKET Three layers. Waterproof. Breathable. Zippered pockets for fly boxes. Fleece-lined hand warmer pockets for frozen hands and other bits of gear (a sammich perhaps). Designed for the water, but can be worn among civilians without too many weirdo glances. For an affordable, battle-ready jacket, you’d do well to check out the Redington Wayward Guide Jacket pronto. redington.com, xplorerflyfishing.co.za

L AT ES T R E L E A S ES

SALAD BAR LOOP – 7X FLY ROD Either the chaps over at Loop have an account with Cambridge Analytica and an effective media department, OR they are on to something with their new 7x range, because there is plenty of chatter on the wires from the early adopters. Their USP is definitely the heptagonal blank design, which Loop says, “optimises power transfer and enhances rod tracking for both accuracy and maximum energy efficiency. The 7X’s superior casting performance is due to the geometric advantages inherent within its shape, resulting in accelerated and rapid dampening of the rod during the energy transitions of a casting cycle. The 7X design with its 2-3-2 structural support eliminates “spine effect” and broadens the versatility beyond the conventional over-hand cast and underhand casting techniques.” We say, “Sounds lekker, send us a few to test.” Now available in South Africa at Mavungana Flyfishing. flyfishing.co.za, looptackle.com

LOOP – OPTI K2 EURO NYMPHING ROD Another rod fresh from the Scandi rodmakers is this Euro Nymphing specialist rod. In testing, Loop say they focused on refining the flex plane of the blank to offer ultra-connective drift control. That means you stay in contact better for longer. A down-locking reel seat gives it great balance, while the slim profiled half-wells handle increases sensitivity both with the blank and, ultimately, with your team of flies. We can see this doing deadly duty on the Vaal or the Orange Rivers. flyfishing.co.za, looptackle.com

SIMMS - G4 PRO BACKPACK When we saw this at last year’s IFTD, we were immediately aroused as it seems to tick the two often incompatible boxes, namely carrying capacity and fishability. A 35l backpack made of hardy 210 Double Rip Nylon, the Simms G4 Pro® Backpack also features a built in hip pack, which shifts out the way into the small of your pack when you don’t need it, but swings around swiftly when you’re changing something up. With two rod tube holders (that double as water bottle pockets), a pair of fold-down work benches, all the pockets, compartments and lash points you’d expect, the Catch & Release system on the shoulder strap also allows you to connect it to Simms’ Waypoints® Convertible Vest or Waypoints® Chest packs. simmsfishing.com, frontierflyfishing.co.za

HOWLER – HOSPITALITY SNAPBACK What’s got a soft crown, a dark under brim to reduce glare, adjustable snapback and a pliable brim for all your shaping pleasure? You got it. How do you like them pineapples? howlerbros.com

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CHRISTMAS

COME EARLY MAVUNGANA FLYFISHING ARE GIVING AWAY A LOOP CROSS 4-PIECE ROD WORTH OVER R10 000. In order to stand a chance to win, you need to do the following:

1. Follow both Mavungana FlyFishing and The Mission Fly Mag on Instagram and Facebook 2. Look out for our rod giveaway posts. In the comment section tell us about someone you’ve introduced to the fly fishing lifestyle.3. Already follow both? Commenting on the post gets you in the draw.

Designed and engineered with LOOP’s signature Cross Core Technology System, each model features a titanium stripper, snake guides, the CROSS reel seat and superior quality cork handle.

W W W. F LY F I S H I N G . C O . Z A Mavungana Flyfishing Centre, Main Road , Dullstroom, 013 254 0270 Mavungana JHB, Shop 3B, Illovo Square Shopping centre, 3 Rivonia Road, 011 268 5850

M U S T H AV ES

PAYDAY LEATHERMAN – FREE P4 Old salts will debate for hours which pair of hard core pliers is the best for saltwater fly fishing but, if you want something that can remove flies from the jaws of toothy critters AND do a shitload more, you would be hard-pressed to find a better option than a Leatherman (as evidenced by how many Africa-based guides sport them on their hips). Designed so that all tools are accessible from the outside of the closed frame, all tools on the new Leatherman FREE P4 Multi-Tool open smoothly with one hand and lock into place. The entire FREE P4 is constructed of stainless steel; and the main frame features magnetic closure. The needle-nose pliers comes with premium replaceable-blade hard-wire cutters, and an aggressive bolt grip. Whether it’s fixing the Landy, working on boat engines, cutting biltong, removing acacia thorns from your foot or myriad other uses, with its 21 (yes…21) built-in tools, the new Leatherman P4 has you covered. leatherman.com/free-collection

FREE P4 TOOLBOX

01 Needlenose Pliers, 02 Regular Pliers, 03 Premium Replaceable Wire Cutters, 04 Premium Replaceable, Hard-wire Cutters, 05 420HC Knife, 06 420HC Serrated Knife, 07 Spring-action Scissors, 08 Saw, 09 Pry

Tool, 10 Package Opener, 11 Awl, 12 Can Opener, 13 Wire Stripper, 14 Ruler (1.41 in | 25 mm), 15 Wood/Metal File, 16 Bottle Opener,

17 Electrical Crimper, 18 Phillips Screwdriver, 19 Medium Screwdriver, 20 Small Screwdriver, 21 Extra-small Screwdriver

TCFF – CUSHION If you go to the exciting ‘soft furnishings’ section of The Complete Fly Fisherman website, you’ll find an array of different scatter cushions. This, the lake fisherman with little Mexican moustache, is our favourite. Featuring a washable cotton front and a brown leatherette back, it’s perfect for muting the farts of long haul travel and muffling your screams at the one that got away. completeflyfisherman.co.za OR (if you prefer a more fearsome cushion)

PALEOPLUSHIES – ALLIGATOR GAR Exactly what you think it is – scientifically accurate dinosaur soft toys and because alligator gar are living dinosaurs, they make the cut. palaeoplushies.indiemade.com

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YET MORE SWEET DAYS We ran an exclusive excerpt. ‘Fishing Solo,’ back in issue 12 and now Tom Sutcliffe, South Africa’s answer to John Gierach, has released his latest book, Yet More Sweet Days. A collection of brilliant essays (the man is as skilled a writer as he is an angler), Sutcliffe takes you from Iceland to the small streams of his home range, through the flies of Oliver Kite and beyond through other stories from a life well-fished. Leading up to the festive season, this is the perfect gift for yourself (Merry Christmas!) or anyone else you know who appreciates a quality storyteller at the peak of his powers. Available in leading bookstores, Amazon or directly from the author. tomsutcliffe.co.za

CLOBBER

COME HELL OR HIGH WATER Y O U M AY T H I N K Y O U F I S H H A R D A N D O F T E N , B U T T H E R E ’ S N O WAY Y O U F I S H A S M U C H A S F I S H E R I E S B I O L O G I S T J D F I L M A LT E R . B EC A U S E H E I S O U T T H E R E A L M O S T E V E R Y D AY, C O M E R A I N O R S H I N E , H E WA S T H E P E R F EC T C A N D I D AT E F O R O U R L O N G -T E R M G E A R R E V I E W O F T H E PATA G O N I A R I V E R S A LT J A C K E T. Photos: Steve Benjamin

am a bit of a gear slut. I think most serious fishermen are. But I have a peculiar affinity for wet weather gear. I absolutely love fishing in the foulest weather, especially when it’s raining. Maybe it’s because everyone else is at home. But even when it’s not bucketing down or blowing a gale I’m still on the water and, of course, I prefer to be warm. You can imagine my excitement when I found out I had a brand new Patagonia River Salt Jacket heading my way for “thorough testing”. I work as a fisheries biologist near the southernmost tip of Africa, and have found myself in the enviable position of being permanently based in the field for the past few years. While I have to admit that a lot of my time does get spent sitting behind my computer, the various studies that I’m currently working on require me to be on the water at all hours of the day and night and in all weathers, collecting data on various fish species and the environments in which they hang out. Over the years I’ve gone through a series of weather proof jackets, some of which have stood up really well to the elements and others not so much. But ultimately they all start to fail at some point, meaning that I end up cold and wet. I’ve even had to adapt my strategy by donning

high-end sailing jackets in the coldest months. But, after drowning my phone in an inner pocket of said jacket in a downpour, it too joined the pile of “good-but-not-quite-there”. Enter the Patagonia River Salt Jacket. Straight off the bat I could tell this was a quality piece of equipment. The material, which Patagonia has called H2No®, is lightweight but thick, and feels really tough. I got the impression that I could happily crawl through a thicket of thorn bushes to get to the water’s edge and not worry about punctures or tears. I have subsequently done this, numerous times, and the jacket has come out in perfect shape on the other side. Despite this jacket having many features designed to suit the needs of a specialist fly fisherman, I’ve definitely pushed it in situations that it’s designers probably never considered. A recent tagging project I’ve been working on has led me to do a lot of surf fishing, which involves wading, swimming and duck-diving in the surf. Donning the River Salt jacket over my Farmer-John wetsuit has proved to be ideal for this tough work, keeping my upper body dry and eliminating all wind chill. I received the jacket about nine months ago and have worn it almost every day since then. The left hand breast pocket has a neat meshed inner divider, which I found perfect

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for stashing my phone in, confident that it would remain safe and dry. The consequence of this was that I used this pocket far more than the rest. After about two months, in a scramble to answer a call, I managed to derail the zipper by pulling laterally rather than vertically. I immediately contacted Patagonia’s representatives in South Africa and they offered various options of either sending it to Europe for in-house repair, replacing it with a new one or sending it for local repair by a third party. This was their preferred choice as it would have the most sustainable impact. I went for the latter. I was thoroughly impressed as the jacket was ready for collection just one week later. After getting it back I noticed that the replacement zipper was not exactly the same as the previous one, having a ‘classic’ metal tab rather than the string tab. I soon noticed that the replacement zipper was nowhere near as corrosion resistant, but the addition of the metal tab overcame the issue of lateral pulling that led to the initial failure. So perhaps that is something to consider for the next iteration. The jacket has a ton of features that I love. There are four breast pockets, two accessible from the midline and two that open from the outer sides. These outer pockets have a really nifty thermal lining which is nice and cozy for my hands on cold days.

“BY ROUGH CALCULATION I’D SAY I HAVE WORN THIS JACKET FOR ABOUT 1000 HOURS. SO IF YOU FISH FOR EIGHT HOURS A DAY AND NEVER TAKE IT OFF THAT’S OVER 150 FISHING SESSIONS… I HAVE GIVEN IT ALMOST NO CARE, BARRING A COUPLE OF RINSES, AND IT IS ESSENTIALLY STILL PERFECT.”

All pockets are entirely waterproof. A key feature that I’m sure most fly fishermen would appreciate is the cuffs. Not only are they rubberized to seal the sleeves nicely, but the Velcro adjusters are absolute top quality meaning that your fly line has nothing to snag on mid-cast, even after a lot of abuse. Similarly, the engineers behind the jacket’s design have tucked the tag ends of the waist adjustment cord up on the inside, where they are neatly stitched into a retaining loop, preventing possible entanglement as your steam-train GT sets your stripped line dancing at your hip.

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There are several other nifty little features which I have yet to use, like the d-ring between the shoulders for your landing net and little webbing tabs to clip your forceps on to on the breast pocket when removing dries from wild browns. Besides all these cool features the thing that has impressed me the most is the seemingly indestructible nature of this jacket. By rough calculation I’d say I have worn it for about 1000 hours. So if you fish for eight hours a day and never take it off that’s over 150 fishing sessions, probably three years for an avid angler.

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I have given it almost no care, barring a couple of rinses, and it is essentially still perfect. It shows no signs of fading, all the seams are still sealed and the original zips are perfectly corrosion free. It really is impressive. The price tag is probably a little prohibitive for your average SA weekend warrior at $349 but, knowing what I do now, and if you are serious about fishing and staying warm and dry, I would save every cent to buy this jacket. www.patagonia.com

For more information contact Iron River (www.ironriver.co.za) on 0861 527335

THE LIFER

THE SALESMAN A LEGEND OF DIRECT SELLING, AVROY SHL AIN ORIGINALLY MADE HIS NAME WITH THE MASSIVE SUCCESS OF HIS EPONYMOUS COSMETICS COMPANY. THESE DAYS, WHEN THE 81-YEAR-OLD IS NOT BUSY RUNNING COBB GLOBAL (THE CLEVER OUTDOOR, ALL-IN-ONE BBQ/ COOKER AVAIL ABLE IN 44 COUNTRIES WORLDWIDE), YOU’LL FIND HIM FLYING HIS CESSNA ON ENVIRONMENTAL MISSIONS OR FLY FISHING, WHETHER IT’S FOR TIGERFISH ON THE CHOBE RIVER, RAINBOWS ON JURASSIC L AKE OR DORADO ON THE PARANA RIVER IN ARGENTINA. Photos: Avroy Shlain

The first fish I remember catching was a carp on the Vaal River, around 1942, using a long bamboo pole with a mielie pip (corn kernel). I have called many different places home: from South Africa to Nigeria, Ghana, Kenya, England and Australia.

There is another reason. I was happy in the corporate world, but I was a rebel and didn’t always play by the rules and eventually got fired. As I then couldn’t achieve my personal objectives within a corporation, I was left with no alternative but to go it alone (with my wife).

Ask me where I live and I could say Johannesburg although, technically, it’s Sandton. Other than the odd occasion driving through Johannesburg, I haven’t been to the city centre for years. Whether you like it or not, Sandton is the financial centre for South Africa; it’s where everything is happening now. As a city, Johannesburg is exciting: it’s business, it’s people, it’s culture, it’s restaurants and yet it’s easy to get out into the country and quiet spots. Of course, the weather is also the best in the world.

The best advice I ever got was: “Don’t give advice.”

By age 21 I had probably had 21 jobs, each short and different. Then, I spent a total of 25 years with three different US pharmaceutical companies. From 1973 my wife and I started and ran a direct selling cosmetic company. We sold that business and from 2002 I have been running the Cobb International operation.

The most satisfying fish I ever caught was a 22lb tiger on the Chobe River. One place, never again? The centre of a million people riot! For three and a half years I lived and worked in Nigeria. The climate was lousy, road travel was horrendous, food inedible and once, it was my luck to arrive back, by road, in Lagos with literally thousands of people demonstrating. I got caught in the middle with thugs bouncing my car and doing lots of damage. An old man pulled me out of the car and hid me in his home until the demonstration was over. Not fun!

While selling has always come naturally to me, something I have had to work at in life is staying focused on one idea until completed. Something I have changed my mind about is corporate employment vs being an entrepreneur and going it alone. My mentor once said to me: entrepreneurs are displaced persons. What does this mean? Firstly, good people working in corporate situations are constantly bumping their heads and so, if they are to develop their ideas, they have to move on and generally the answer is to be an entrepreneur.

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I am most proud of my family. My wife, daughter and grandsons. In terms of my home waters, most local fishing is done on a friend’s farm near Dullstroom where there is access to a few good dams and running water. The streams are small and great with a 3-weight rod.

One place I have to return to is Alaska. I have no idea what Alaska would be like in winter but the summer was beautiful. I was lucky to travel on many modes of transport: from big jets to tiny float planes, trains and cars. Even a dog sled. While it was beautiful, fishing-wise I was unlucky in that we had a lot of rain and my biggest catch was about a three-ounce rainbow.

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Avroy Shlain with a hefty Barrancoso River rainbow at Jurassic Lake, Argentina

The biggest adventure I have ever been on was my transatlantic flight. I’ve always been interested in flying. As a kid I built model planes. In later years I actually rebuilt a crashed 1958 Super Cub which I flew during 2018. I still fly both radio control and single engine fixed wing. I always had great respect for Lindbergh’s achievement so, in 1999, I bought a single engine Cessna 206 in the USA and, with a friend, flew it back to Johannesburg. Ten days of flying (three sections of 11 hours) and a total of 69 hours of flying time. My go to drink varies between beer or brandy and coke. Outside of my work with Cobb Global, I volunteer my time, plane and skills with the Bateleurs. We’re a conservation/environment air force. A group of guys who fly and own their aircraft and, on an honorary basis, give an aerial perspective to any legitimate nonprofit conservation or environmental task. It might include flying wild dogs from KwaZulu-Natal to Gonarezhou or lions from the Cape to Limpopo. I once had four cheetah cubs in a cardboard box on the back seat of my Cessna. For more on what we do, visit www.bateleurs.org. It’s okay for an angler to lie whenever he talks about a fish he has caught. The handiest survival skill I have is knowledge.

One skill I’d like to master is motivating people. The best way to face one’s fears is with confidence. There are many forms of fear: are you afraid of failure in sport, or business? Afraid of the dark? Afraid of war? There’s a different approach to each condition. If it’s business, simply don’t accept the possibility of failure. It doesn’t exist! If it’s sport, total belief in self is essential… and of course, train harder. What I get out of fly fishing has changed over the years. I’ve gone from looking for the biggest fish to looking for the most beautiful, interesting places and not necessarily big fish. If I could change one thing in fly fishing, it would be to spend more time with experts from whom I learn constantly. Out there fishing on one’s own in a beautiful venue is fantastic, but fishing with a friend can add so much enjoyment. If the friend is better than you and is a good teacher it really adds to the time. Recently I was fishing on the Chobe with a friend from Hong Kong. He was a better trained angler and more talented than me. By working with him, by the end of a couple of days, my casts were twice the distance and twice as effective as they had been at the start. We were both happy to see this. The last fish I caught was a 3 kg barbel on a mielie pip while on a camping trip.

PROTECTING YOUR FLY F

FISHING FOR THE FUTURE From headwaters to court rooms, fighting the pollution of our rivers or challenging the disproportionate legislation of the authorities, FOSAF works for you. For just R300* for a year’s membership you can do your bit and support FOSAF.

Please join at www.fosaf.org.za Ask your club to enter the scheme whereby your annual subscription Is reduced from R300 to R150”

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POP QUIZ D I D YO U R E A L LY R E A D T H E M AG O R W E R E YO U J U ST LO O K I N G AT T H E P R E T T Y P I CT U R ES ? T EST YO U R S E L F W I T H T H E M I S S I O N ’ S S P E E DY P O P Q U I Z !

1. What does ‘Marly’ mean? A. It’s a pet name for marble trout. B. Common surname for the illegitimate kids of Bob. C. Murky flats bottom D. “Gnarly” except for rollerbladers Answer: page 22 2. Extremadura is… A. …a brand of outdoor paint. B. …a brand of Spanish condom. C. …a region of Spain, teeming with barbel species that shmaak dry flies and squirmies. D. …the name of Don Quixote’s horse. Answer: page 50 3. How did Two Bar Bream get their names? A. Bad drunks. B. Distinct markings C. Distinguished military careers D. Couldn’t spell tuba. Answer: page 22 Answers: 1.C, 2. C, 3. B, 4. D, 5. D, 6. D 108

4. When Ben Pellegrino loses a big fish, he… A. Laughs it off as part of life. B. Swears quietly to himself and wonders why he did not become a birder. C. Casts and casts again. D. Goes into a tailspin of depression and self-hatred, questioning his very existence and rehashing time and time again whether he actually waited or not. Answer: page 74 5. Camel is… A. A place B. A smoke C. A herbivore D. All of the above Answer: page 22 6. Guanaco is/are… A. The Monaco of Guatemala. B. Condor poop. C. A brand of Mexican Guacamole D. The cousin of a llama. Answer: page 60

W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

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