The Mission Fly Fishing Magazine Issue #25

ISSUE 25 JAN/FEB 2021

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THEMISSIONFLYMAG.COM

THE THE FEATHERS FEATHERS AWARD, AWARD, THRIFT THRIFT THREE THREE WAYS, WAYS, INJASUTI INJASUTI MUTI, MUTI, TOUR TOUR DE DE COSMO, COSMO, SANTER SANTER & & SUNTER, SUNTER, BEERS, BEERS, BEATS BEATS & & MORE 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 25 JAN / FEB 2021

CONTENTS Cover: The eye of Kob-Ron. Up close and personal with a Karoolskraal kob on the Breede river. Photo Henkie Altena

20 UNDERCURRENTS

Seychelles guide Brendan Becker on his start in fly fishing with his grandfather and the circle of life.

30 THE FEATHERS AWARD

We called and you answered with the best catches on the African continent in the last 24 months. It’s a pity that, like Highlander, there can only be one winner of this, the inaugural Feathers Award.

38 THE TOUR DE COSMO

After months of lockdown in 2020, Bob Skinstad and his mates found a gap to shoot to Cosmoledo. Not everything that goes on tour, stays on tour.

54 THRIFT THREE WAYS

- Thrift 1: In Between Catching Fish with Neil Hestermann and the Rhodes University Fly Fishing Club - Thrift Interlude: Of Superheroes & Strippers. Ed Herbst on the Eastern Cape’s unsung legend, Martin Davies - Thrift 2: Winter Mountain Tempest: LeRoy Botha and Kyle Ovens lose themselves in Thrift’s icy embrace.

76 WHEN THE RIVER RAN RED

Gareth Tate and Craig Pappin struck red gold on a Garden Route estuary when reef-dwelling Santer came out to play.

82 INJASUTI MUTI

Matt Gorlei and Shaun Dickson take advantage of a break in the clouds to get some of that Drakensberg small stream trout magic.

REGULAR FEATURES 14 Wish List Fish 16 The Little Guy 18 Booze, Beats & Baberscopes 22 High 5s

92 Salad Bar 98 Pay Day 102 Lifer 106 Pop Quiz

The magic mountains of the Drakensberg in Injasuti Muti (page 82).

Photo. Matt Gorlei

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

HUMPTY DUMPTY climbed on top of it and stood there wobbling in the night air, sniffing the wind like a fat caracal, contemplating my next move. With a hoodie thrown over the spikes, I could wedge one boot in between the gate’s slats, get my other boot up onto the spikes, place both my hands on the top of the lone post and then, gymnast that I am, the plan was to hold some sort of horizontal plank for a milli-second before swinging/ vaulting like an Olympian on the pommel horse and drop, ever so elegantly to the pavement on the other side.

That was the theory anyway.

Halfway through the maneouvre, I realized it was highly likely I would fail at swinging my body over the spikes. My balls, perilously unprotected in my boardies, were likely to be left behind on the spikes as the rest of my body went over the gate. I adjusted mid-movement and pulled myself into an awkward standing position atop the pole.

I

turned 40 recently and while I would not say I am having a mid-life crisis (No sports car!), I am more aware than ever about my corporeal limitations. It’s a weird thing to experience, because in my head I am perpetually 20odd, fresh out of varsity (cue Steve Buscemi, “How do you do, fellow kids?”), but the age thing is definitely more apparent when it comes to physicality. I simply cannot do all the things I used to do without even thinking.

The moment that really rammed it home came after a recent late afternoon/evening session with Conrad Botes.

We were fishing this peri-urban island, targeting leervis who were themselves targeting Gilchristella aestuaria (estuarine round-herring). What we did not know was that we had also been targeted by some over-zealous security guards who had locked us onto the island on the wrong side of a footbridge. The four-metre high gate between us and our car just a few paces away, was made of steel slats, with a grey jagged-edged rim, like a child’s drawing of the sea.

It was late, we didn’t know anyone in the area so phoning for help was out of the question and the only other way around the gate involved a swim across a canal. So we climbed. Or at least Conrad did. The lovechild of threeway between a lemur, a honey badger and a drunk Russian, he is ten years my senior, 30kg lighter than me and made of an adamantine/polonium alloy, so he managed to scale the gate and drop down to the other side with little fuss.

My process was… different. First I got out of my waders, which had cost me about the price of a black market kidney and which I was not willing to rip on some spikes. Next, I found a black wheelie bin and rolled it over to the gate,

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In the seconds I spent teetering up there, a rare gonad heron, two things came to mind. First off, about a week earlier in one of the WhatsApp groups I’m on, someone shared an incredibly visceral photo of what looked like a pair of antelope testicles, hanging from a barbed wire fence. I could not stop thinking that that could soon be me, the fishing magazine editor who castrated himself on a fence (before changing careers and joining the Drakensberg Boys’ Choir). The second thing was that having kids is on the cards for my wife and me. Removing my scrote, would take it off the cards in one fell swoop. Or one swooping fall, complete with screams, spurts of blood and what have you.

So how to get down? If I lowered myself on the narrow edge of the gate and the post and I could easily slip onto those spikes. Sure, I’d drop to the desired side, but it would be minus them balls, which would be stuck there in the seabreeze, antelope-style. The only other option was to take a step out and away from the gate down to the asphalt. One giant leap for Tudorkind.

I took the leap, forgot to bend my knees on impact (something I should have known better considering I have had multiple knee ops) and came down heavily on my ankles in my cheap, white Jonsson boots (perfect for local missions that might involve wading through e.coli, but not for soft landings).

While weeks later my ankles still hurt when I wade on the Cape’s freestone streams, that still seems like a fair trade when I consider the alternative.

PS: I miss my twenties.

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

Distributed in South Africa by Frontier Fly Fishing www.frontierflyfishing.co.za / Tel +27 11 463 9048

WE’VE GOT ISSUES (FOKKEN Ts AND CAPS) MISSING A COPY? GET YOUR BACK ISSUES OF THE MISSION AND A R A N G E O F N E W C A P S & T s AT T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

WE SHIP WORLDWIDE

“Late July 2019 Graeme Former and I left our home town of Stillbaai to go to the Orange for the first time. Bra G’s goal was to catch a respectable Largie on fly so he dedicated the entire week into chucking fluff even though I was showing him what fish actually look like thanks to my Heathen Stick. On our second last day we were fishing off an island and the sun was already well behind the cathedral of mountains and the Orange was living up to its name making everything look like it went to town on fake tan. The silence was broken by a scream and echoes over the rapids. I scrambled my way around our island to check him out there looking like a lost cormorant, waist deep on a reef with a seriously bent 9-weight.

Now Bra G is no stranger to leviathans, he is Mr Hundred Pounder on the local kob scene, has guided GTs in Oman and leadered granders off Moz... but I have never seen a fish literally PK (Poes Klap…aka wallop) someone like that with emotions. It was a strong cocktail of panic and euphoria. Eventually Bra G bear hugs this creature and I have never been more stoked to be behind a camera. After introducing ourselves to this mythical beast we watched her glide back into the dark water. A crazy trip which altered the very fabric of our being just went beyond anything we have experienced before. Although it was no IGFA line class record or farm animal size, that fish could not of been bigger to us.” Mike Dames’ Feathers Award entry. More on page 30

EDITOR Tudor Caradoc-Davies ART DIRECTOR Brendan Body CONTACT THE MISSION The Mission Fly Fishing Mag (PTY) Ltd 25 Firth Road, Rondebosch, 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 BEING IMPALED ON REALLY SMALL SPIKES WITHIN SIGHT OF AN ESTUARY FULL OF LEERVIS SO AS YOU VREK YOU THINK ABOUT ALL THE FISH YOU WON’T BE CATCHING.

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CONTRIBUTORS #25 James Barry, Catherine Cartwright, Brendan Becker, Bob Skinstad, Neil Hiestermann, Ed Herbst, LeRoy Botha, Gareth Tate, Matt Gorlei, Clem Sunter PHOTOGRAPHERS #25 Henkie Altena, Matt Gorlei, Mike Dames, James Barry, Barns Ghaui, Ed Ghaui, Jack Lotter, Leonard Flemming, Arno Matthee, David Reverdito, Thomas Camp, Platon Trakoshis, David Taylor, LeRoy Botha, Kyle Ovens, Gareth Tate, Craig Pappin, Matt Gorlei

@THEMISSIONFLYMAG MEMBER OF THE ABC (AUDIT BUREAU OF CIRCULATION)

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WISHLIST FISH

EUROPEAN SEABASS FROM DUMB AND DUMBER (“KICK HIS ASS, SEA BASS!”) TO THE ROCKY SHORES OF SOUTHERN IREL AND, THESE COASTAL COLD WATER REEF RUNNERS DESERVE YOUR ATTENTION. JAMES BARRY OF REEF TO RIFFLE WEIGHS IN. Photos. James Barry Archive

WHAT: Dicentrarchus labrax or, more simply, Bass is considered to be one of the most exciting fish to chase with a fly rod in the inshore coastal environment in European waters. Our South African bass are very similar to the wellknown Striped Bass off the east coast of America and, although not growing as big, they pack a good punch on fly gear when targeted in the surf or off a rocky shoreline.

These streamlined fish with their spiked dorsal fins and powerful forked tails demand respect, and they will happily run you straight into a reef unless you lock up and pull. They have been known to reach 100cm and weigh as much as 20lb. However, a good capture off the shore is anything between 65-80cm with a 10 pounder being the Holy Grail! It is a cryptic species that is intrinsically linked to weather, moon and tide patterns. The pursuit of bass is nearly all about getting yourself into the right place at the right time, and this can sometimes be the real game here.

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WHERE: Bass are native to the waters off Europe’s western and southern coasts and Africa’s northern coasts. They forage close inshore and are readily caught from surf beaches, estuaries, and rocky shorelines around Europe from southern Ireland, to the UK, France and Holland.

Ireland’s wild southern coastline is a great place to target bass. In the 1960’s, bass were prolific there. During the 1970s and 1980s, bass were targeted commercially and within a decade stocks were reduced dramatically to such a low level that government introduced a policy to protect the species. The conservation bylaw prohibited commercial fishing. Anglers were allowed to fish with a bag limit and size control. This made Irish bass the first protected sportfish in Europe, managed specifically for anglers. Bass are an extremely slow growing species and it has taken time for the population to recover to reasonable levels after the long term closure.

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

HOW: A long stretch of open coastline with its wide range of locations might seem daunting, especially if it’s your first time leaving the comforts of a river or lake.

However, it really is all about covering ground inch by inch and aiming for structure. Generally speaking, bass love rough rocky shorelines. Add some current and you are more than half way there. Piecing together the puzzle and reading the water at your chosen location is all part of it. Understanding tides at your location is key: ebb, flood, neaps or springs, rip formations, wind direction are all important considerations as you begin to learn when the fish might turn up at certain places and at certain times. Gear: 9ft 8-weight, up to 9-weights when the wind gets up. Intermediate and floating lines along with some poppers, flatwings and clousers. Chartreuse and blue are always winning colours.

WHO: Okay, so if you decide you want to catch a nice bass (>65cm) on the fly from the shore, know that there will be a fair share of torment, periods of complete rage, hours of no confidence, and brief moments of elation.

If you’re into that sort of thing, as a surprisingly large number of fly anglers are, then these spiked silver fish are worth considering next time you find yourself close to the right stretch of coast.

For more info on fly fishing for bass in Ireland get hold of @riffletoreef on Instagram.

THE LITTLE GUY

MAMA ALLES TA S T Y, L I G H T W E I G H T ( Y E T F I L L I N G ) , L O C A L LY - S O U R C E D , E ASY-TO - C O O K G R U B , M A D E W I T H H I K E R S , A DV E N T U R E R S A N D STINKY ANGLERS LIKE YOU IN MIND? DON’T MIND IF WE DO. Photos. Simon Pocock

What do you specialise in?

I started cooking, dehydrating and packing the meals in my own kitchen. Recently I have moved into a garage space (all good businesses start in a garage) and have hired a part time cook to assist me. The meals are plantbased and adventurers can add additional elements as they wish. One serving of Mama Alles really is one serving.

We source as many of our ingredients from local (to Cape Town) and organic suppliers as possible, getting most of our vegetables from Umthunzi Farming Community, an organisation we are very proud to support. We currently have three lines: dinners, spreads and oats. Our dinners are prepared by adding water and cooking for around 10 minutes. Our spreads are instant, just add water slowly (you can’t go back) and stir. And our oats can either be soaked overnight or cooked.

I

f you’re heading up distant valleys or beaches on foot in search of elusive fish, you want your pack to be as light as possible. That leaves more energy for fishing rather than expending it on lugging cans up a mountain. The problem is mass-produced, rehydrated food often leaves a lot to be desired. It’s pricey, the portions are usually small and it tastes of… a laboratory. Cape Town-based start-up Mama Alles challenges that with delicious nosh that will keep you going around the next bend and won’t weigh your pack down. We caught up with owner Mama Cat (Catherine Cartwright) to find out more.

What should we look out for?

Our Central African Peanut Stew is definitely a favourite!

Sometimes I eat it as a snack straight out of the bag. We have a few new products in the pipeline which we are very excited about, although my full time job is getting in the way of launching them. We will be releasing one new spread, Harissa Hummus, and one new breakfast, Mango & Turmeric Oats in the coming weeks. We are also looking forward to launching our pasta sauces. Adventurers can bring their own pasta, bread, rice or whichever base they prefer and rehydrate a delicious sauce - one of which will go very well with fish.

Breakfasts are available from R20, Spreads from R35, Dinners from R85. Visit mamaalles.com for more information.

Who or what is Mama Alles?

Mama Alles was founded by me in June 2020 (yes, in the peak of lockdown when you couldn’t really go on an adventure). I was introduced to lightweight dehydrated meals by a friend when we did the Fish River Canyon hike a few years back. After having the most exceptional gourmet eating experience on the Fish River, I realised that eating processed food lacking in nutrients, in some of the most beautiful places, simply does not make sense. So, I set out to develop a range of adventure meals.

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Remote Richtersveld Drift - Namibia

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FODDER

BOOZE, BEATS & BABERSCOPES CRABBIE TWEENS, RUSTY L AGERS, ROCKING HORSES, COUNTRY TC H O O N S A N D A N I L L -T E M P E R E D P O ES K E T T E L LS YO U R FO RT U N E

THE BEER - RUSTY TRIGGER LAGER A 2018 Africa Beer Awards Best Lager winner, Red Rock Brewing Co’s Rusty Trigger is named, in part, after Willie Nelson’s guitar, Trigger. Brewed with Belgian malts and a combination of South African, Simcoe and Oregon hops, the result is a clean, consistent and aromatic lager, which at 4,5% ABV is a fantastic all-day quaffer. redrock.co.za

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THE WINE - THORNE & DAUGHTERS ROCKING HORSE 2019 Already well-established as one of the Cape’s finest white blends, John Seccombe has knocked it out the park with this the 2019 iteration of Rocking Horse. A blend of 36% Roussanne, 25% Semillon, 22% Chenin Blanc, 11% Chardonnay and 6% Clairette Blanche, it’s got more fruity nose than a Vitamin C-stacked pacu and an incredible palate that combines acidity, fruit and a long finish. It’s the ‘one more cast’ hook of wine and we hereby certify it as mouth-crack. thorneanddaughters.com

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

THE WHISKEY - CRABBIE 12 YEAR OLD Not to be confused with a crabby 12-year-old (a hazardous organism if ever there was one), the Crabbie 12-year-old is from a series launched by John Crabbie & Co while they get their new Edinburgh distillery up and running. This lightly peated single malt comes from an unidentified island distillery and boasts a long, malty shnoz with grassy, citrussy elements, a rich palate of honey and green tea and along smoky finish with just a hint of spice. If you drink it while tying Merkins and Alphlexos, you are guaranteed fishy success. whiskybrother.com, crabbiewhisky.com

THE BEATS – COUNTRY-ISH After the shitshow of 2020, we thought we’d ease into the new year with a mellow playlist that rounds up the hardship of the previous 12 months, ties it up in a sack and attempts to drown it with bourbon-soaked sorrow. We call it Country-ish, because ‘Them fascist, sister-fuckin’ robber-barons shot my horse,’ was a tad too long. Be warned, this play list contains a lot of country, among other things.

Benguela - Achilles Charley Crockett - Run Horse Run Brent Cobb - This Side of the River PJ Harvey - Down By The Water Grant Lee Buffalo - Fuzzy Chris Stapleton - Joy Of My Life Marcus King - Wildflowers & Wine S.G. Goodman - Space And Time James - Getting Away With It (All Messed Up) Juliette Lewis - Hardly Wait Margo Price - Twinkle Twinkle Tori Amos - Cornflake Girl Marcus King - Young Man’s Dream Swamp Dogg; Justin Vernon; Jenny Lewis - Sleeping Without You Is a Dragg (feat. Justin Vernon, Jenny Lewis) Waylon Payne - Sins of the Father The Dirty Knobs - Fuck That Guy Jeff Tweedy - A Robin or A Wren Waxahatchee - Can’t Do Much Brent Cobb - Keep ‘Em on They Toes Sturgill Simpson - Oh Sarah Blues Traveler - Hook Justin Townes Earle - Ain’t Got No Money Desert Sessions - I Wanna Make It Wit Chu Laura Jane Grace & the Devouring Mothers - Manic Depression Masters Of Reality - Rabbit One The Fugs - Nothing Charley Crockett - Welcome to Hard Times Chip Taylor; The New Ukrainians - F**K All the Perfect People Bill Callahan; Bonnie Prince Billy; Ty Segall - Miracles (feat Ty Segall) Omar Rodríguez-López - Coma Pony Press Play

THE BABERSCOPES

Your fishing future according to your star sign as read by Baberman, the legendary grumpy catfish.

Capricorn (December 22-January 20): Feeling confident? Of course you are you schmarmy tonsil. They call you the goat not because of the noble Billy that produces all the cheese (it is cheese, right?), but because you believe you are the G.O.A.T (Greatest Of All Time). Life is hard right now, but delusions are cheaper than a Gatsby on Long Street. That’s why, oozing confidence and pushy to a T, you rush down to the prime spots ahead of your mates every time, because deep down inside, you believe it’s your right.

Then you fuck it up; duff your shots, fluff your lines, trout strike at grunts, strip strike at trout, stand on rocks, scare the fish and tell stories about how great you are. We hope a pacu mistakes your nuts for berries.

Sagittarius (January 21-February 20): Ehrmagherd, you’re such a rebel Aqua-man. You are the water-bearer and you’re an emotional wet blanket to boot. The greatest lastminute.com flakes on earth, you feel nothing about cancelling a fishing plan at the last minute, because ‘hey man, the Aghulhas current spoke to you this morning’. Apparently your planet is Uranus, which makes perfect sense considering how far up your arse you dwell.

UNDERCURRENTS

THE RECONNECT THE BIG WHEEL KEEPS ON TURNING AND, FOR GUIDE B R E N D A N B E C K E R , T H AT ’ S M E A N T F I N D I N G T H E T H R E A D B E T W E E N H I S L AT E G R A N D FAT H E R A N D H I M S E L F.

I caught blow all. In fact, I only managed to catch fish trolling for the first week or grabbing the rod out of my grandfather’s hands once he had hooked up. But there, far away from the sports-driven, premier boys’ school I attended and its privileged lifestyle, I found solace on the water. That was it for me. I was done searching. The path that I’ve followed ever since, started that day.

My grandfather was entitled to four weeks fishing a year on the farm, so the next years were spent organising fishing trips around my school holidays. Seeing that the bug had bitten me, after the second trip my grandfather took me to Mia’s in Benoni to make this endeavour legitimate. He picked up a couple of rods, whipped them back and forth and remarked how quick the new graphite was. We bought my set up and I was on cloud nine. I vividly remember practicing my casting into the pool after cricket or hockey practice, before the sun went down. This was the time for fly fishing.

I

Brendan Becker and his grandfather, Bringe.

felt it. I felt that connection that I had many moons ago. My late grandfather, Bringe, was there watching me work, as he did on our last trip together.

I’ve always felt that the world works in big wheels, cosmic revolutions which bring you full circle. Whether it does, or it’s just easier to assume it does, will always be a good start for a chat around the campfire or on the edges of a flat waiting for the tide to push.

My grandfather was my role model, a charismatic man whom I only ever got angry with once, when he brought his new girlfriend onto the scene. A traveling comedian until the day he died, he had the most unique act on the circuit. He would be hired by events to gatecrash the party in his very stinky hobo get up, acting drunk and loudly proclaiming he wanted to sing one song. The organisers would play along for the reactions of the attendees and once on stage, he would whip out his harmonica and belt out the golden oldies, mixing in a couple of one liners and always finishing it all off with Frank Sinatra’s My Way.

This particular wheel started to turn when I was 12. My grandfather decided it was time that myself and my brother needed a trip into the wild, to catch fish and to get away from it all.

He had a way with people that I subconsciously imitated and he was able to strike up a conversation wherever we went. He was the only one who understood and saw me as a fisherman before anything else. A good man, I’ve missed fishing with him since the day he died.

As we headed out to Machadodorp and carried on into the Sappi plantations towards a syndicated farm with five fishable dams filled with rainbow trout, I was filled with uncontrollable excitement. After my grandfather set up the rods, I was handed a fibreglass AFTMArated 6/7 with a thick sinking line and a fat Mrs Simpson attached with weed whacker gut.

And that’s where this wheel finally finished its rotation.

I never knew that last trip we did would be the last time we would fish together, I suppose it’s better that I didn’t know, no dark clouds on that skyline. That was ten years ago, when I was in matric without a care or a clue. I finished my schooling, fell out of love with the school sport that had been my life. I only wanted to fish as much as I could.

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A wild and wooly Brendan Becker (right), his client L Mark Weeks and a world record bumphead parrotfish from Providence.

I was starting to drift away from my old self and would go through a whirlwind journey eventually landing my ass in the Seychelles working with Flycastaway on Farquhar.

“If you could see me now Bringe… I made it all the way to the Seychelles.”

It’s been an amazing journey from there: the fishing I dreamed of I’ve done; the places I’ve seen and the extraordinary people I’ve met have all been a blur and that’s where I lost my connection to those times in Machadodorp and with my grandfather.

Then it happened. I was standing on the bank of a lovely stillwater just down the drag from those old syndicate waters of my grandfather’s. I found myself alone, feverishly

working the water. When I lifted my head to pan over the landscape, it all came flooding back.

All of those memories, the smells, the sounds and the unadulterated happiness. I felt him there. I wished he was there in the flesh, but it wasn’t tinged by sadness because the reality is that we all have to die. I just wish he could see me proving everyone who doubted the fishing wrong. Just one more time on the water. It was a happy memory of all of those times I had forgotten about. Those moments before the tech revolution and the Instagramisation of fishing. Here I was, a fully-fledged fly fishing guide, staring back at a dirty, conflicted boy, wondering who is happier.

“If that was the first turn of this wheel, Bringe I’ll feel you the next time it comes back around.”

HIGH FIVES

PLATON TRAKOSHIS C Y P R I O T / Z I M B O / S O U T H A F R I C A N F I L M P R O D U C E R A N D F LY F I S H I N G G U I D E , P L AT O N T R A K O S H I S , N O T O N LY F I S H E S L I K E A M A C H I N E , H E A L S O H A S T H E R E P U TAT I O N A S O N E O F T H E N I C E S T P E O P L E Y O U W I L L E V E R S P E N D T I M E W I T H O N T H E WAT E R .

Photos. Platon Trakoshis Archive

5 best things about where you guide?

1. The Cape streams run through spectacular surroundings and are full of free rising trout which can be relatively easy to catch on dry fly, but I’ve learned not to say that until the end of the day.

2. The Cape streams also have a fixed season (when the rivers are at their best) and enough options to have alternatives when it starts getting hot in summer.

3. The Berg River, a premium carp river, is a stone’s throw away from my house, so finding and knowing where the fish are is easy for me as I am down there walking my dog every day.

4. Some of the Cape streams are also only 20 minutes away from home, which is convenient for checking flow rate or if I have to drive back to pick up my forgotten fly boxes.

5. The Breede River estuary is a magical place to fish. It’s big, the tidal flows means it is ever changing, you have the call of blue cranes overhead and there are some bigger species around like Garrick and Kob. For the latter, it’s a prime destination where you have a chance of catching a fish over a meter. It’s a once in a life time catch, but they are there. To fill the gaps, there are plenty of tail-waving grunter around to keep you busy.

5 fishing-connected items you don’t leave home without before making a mission?

1. My Canon R mirrorless camera. It is light and easily carried and captures memories that people can hold onto.

It also makes it all the more fun for me taking photos of people who know how to wear a hat.

2. My Mission cap because it seems to be lucky and keeps my nose in the shade.

3. My boots! I once took my wife’s boots by mistake. It was a crap day (ed; even if he does look great in a pair of Jimmy Choos).

4. Food and water. I hate fishing hungry and I don’t drink stream water because I imagine there’s a dead baboon rotting in the river upstream.

5. Medical kit. Apart from safety, fishing with a headache is not fun so having painkillers can save a day and keep grumpiness away.

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5 of the most underrated species in your book?

1. Carp - I know it has become very popular of late, but locally, people still look down on them as a fly fishing target. They don’t know what they are missing.

2. Tilapia - Often fishing for tilapia or bream (as they are commonly called here), is neglected due to the pursuit of tigerfish or other bigger game fish.

3. Nembwe - Serranochromis robustus - and other serranochromis - as per Tilapia above.

4. Smallmouth bass – This is not true in the USA, but in SA their status is low and I understand they are really bad for the survival of our indigenous fish. But catching good sized smallies is fantastic.

5. Witvis - Barbus andrewi - I say this because these fish have been decimated by introduced sport fish and eradicated from my local river. Once abundant, I don’t understand why they weren’t cherished as a target fish species.

5 bands to listen to while on a road trip?

1. Jerri Garcia and The Grateful Dead. You can just roll to that.

2. Prince - Purple Rain album being the favourite.

3. Oliver Mtukudzi - Tuku is number 1.

4. The Honeymoon Suites - The best to sing along to, but my kids hate it.

5. Some of Andre Van Wyk’s playlists, because we travel a lot together and he’s always looking for new stuff. Uncle Lucius, Lucus Ebert and Sean Koch are current favourites.

5 things you are loving right now?

1. The baby smallmouth bass in my outdoor fish tank; its mini surface action when you switch the light on at night.

2. My wonderful wife and humorous boys. They keep me young and are a good laugh especially in these times of lockdown.

3. Our dog Perrito. He’s the most loveable pain in the arse and a good carp searching companion.

4. A braai (barbecue) is one of the best things in summer, especially when you’re near water and have a beer in hand.

5. Film editing. I’m no editor but I have picked up some skills as a producer over the years and love the creative process, especially fishing videos.

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An Orange river largemouth yellow that could not resist Platon’s Itchy Bite minnow.

5 indispensable flies for saltwater?

1. Turd - The game changer of grunter fishing in the Western Cape.

2. JAM fly - just so I can keep wasting my time in a pretty place with good friends.

3. Bulkhead for kob (Argyrosomus japonicus) - The big profile, water pushing, easy casting for their size and the movement is unbeatable.

4. Clouser minnow because it catches everything.

5. Popper, Flipper or Crease flies of sorts. When there’s surface action or leerfish about they’re a must.

5 indispensable flies for freshwater?

1. Lalu Bug - It’s catching everything.

2. Game changer - I just love their movement and versatility.

3. RAB and Para RAB for trout - just because I’m old fashioned sometimes and they are perfect for our streams.

4. Bully Beef for Tigerfish because I love a change from the usual favourites.

5. A popper, usually a frog pattern. If there’s a weed bed about, a popper on its edge just feels natural for an old bass fisherman like me.

5 favourite fly fishing destinations across SA? 1. Zambezi River - It’s wild and set in true African bush. The fish are brutes with some variety thrown in like nembwe and bream species.

2. The Orange River - In the right places it feels like it hasn’t been touched by humans, the fishing is insane and the fish pull hard.

3. Groot & Doring River systems. I love smallmouth bass fishing and with Clanwilliam yellowfish a possibility, this just makes it extra special.

4. Breede River estuary where there is always the possibility of a dream kob and the grunter are the prettiest backdrop.

5. Nubian Flats in Sudan - The triggers keep you happy and GT and Snapper are thrilling.

5 of the most difficult guiding/teaching experiences so far?

1. Arriving at a river and finding it suddenly dirty or polluted.

It’s just so disappointing and frustrating that people do that to what could be quality, crystal clear, healthy water.

It’s hard to hide these feelings from the clients and to keep up the optimism.

2. Clients arriving unprepared even when you have given them a clear brief. Bad boots, bad day.

3. High expectations when conditions are bad and clients expecting me to change it …bad weather, high water levels, howling winds. I’m not Zeus.

4. Not finding the fish. It seems obvious but, if the fish aren’t showing themselves, it’s a big F-up.

5. Rude people. This is fishing. One never needs to be rude, and it just spoils things.

5 of the best things you have picked up from guiding?

1. Patience – It’s what knowledgeable, experienced fisherman have. While fishing comes naturally without

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them knowing it, it’s the small things like mending without thinking etc. You can’t look down on someone who doesn’t have that yet.

2. How to spot fish better. If that’s what you’re mostly doing all day, you can only get better at it.

3. Observation - When I fish I am focused on the fishing.

When you’re watching someone else fish you’re more aware of the environment, your surroundings and the river.

4. Humility - You meet such a wide variety of people from all walks of life that you can only feel that you are just another person like them, with a passion.

5. Tolerance - I’ll just leave this one here.

5 flies to pack (in the smuggler kit under your driver’s seat) to cover most species?

1. Clouser minnow in some form or another.

2. A popper or a hopper, it just feels right next to a weed bed.

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Gym on the Nubian Flats consists of Giant Trevally bicep curls

3. Lalu bug. Dragon fly larvae are the steak of the insect world.

4. Wooly Bugger for its versatility, movement and split personality.

5. Red squirmy, which just says, ‘eat me’.

5 people you would like to guide or fish with (alive, dead, or fictional)?

1. My late dad. It was the only be place where we really talked and that is something I could do with right now.

2. Lefty Kreh, for Papua New Guinea Niugini black bass.

Having read about his early days fishing for them, I have been mesmerised ever since.

3. Bob Popovics for stripers. Fishing the blitz has been a loooong standing desire.

4. Jeremy Wade. He catches great fish and seems like a cool enough guy, but he talks kak (bullshit) too often and I want to tell him that.

5. My sons. Fishing with them warms my heart and makes me think of my late Dad. 5 fish on your species hit list?

1. Papua New Guinea Niugini black bass - Lutjanus goldiei 2. Stripers - Morone saxatilis – Blitz on the US East Coast.

3. Golden Dorado - Salminus brasiliensis - in the crystal clear streams.

4. Permit - of any variety.

5. Red Drum Fish - Sciaenops ocellatus - in the Deep South.

5 shower thoughts that have occurred to you while fly fishing?

1. Imagine if there was small buoy above every fish out there so I knew where to cast. Will technology get there one day?

“WHY DO I GET SEA SICK WHEN MY ANCESTORS COME FROM AN ISLAND? IT’S NOT F#@ING FAIR.”

5 things you would take up if you weren’t always fly fishing?

1. Golf - just kidding. I’d rather be a pro souvlaki chef.

2. Making fly fishing related movies and learning how to edit properly.

3. Canoeing - the white water stuff is a lot of fun.

4. Bashing out some tunes on guitar, a past time I usually keep to myself. The repetitiveness drives the family a bit nuts until they can’t help but sing along.

5. Scuba diving. It’s something I gave up to fish more.

5 essential ingredients for an incredible mission?

1. Friends, there’s nothing greater than sharing an incredible mission; one has to laugh a lot.

2. A good camera and, if you have one, an AxisGo Dome for underwater and half and halves. A great mission must be documented.

3. Good food, if possible. I love good food and the process of enjoying it with good company recounting the day just makes it even better.

4. Biltong (beef jerky’s tastier cousin). Easy to carry, it fills the gaps when hunger pangs interrupt fishing.

5. Knowing how to get there. Nothing messes up a mission when you get lost and lose fishing time to bundu bashing wandering around (usually lost) in thick vegetation.

2. Why are the other guys catching fish and I’m not when we’re apparently doing everything the same? Are they luckier and does luck really exist?

3. Imagine if the dam wall broke?

4. Why do I get sea sick when my ancestors come from an island? It’s not F#@ing fair.

5. Are there more fish on the other side or is it me? Am I being punished for the frogs and insects I mistreated when I was a curious little boy?

5 destinations on your bucket list?

1. Seychelles outer atolls. Being very prone to sea sickness options are limited but I will get there.

2. Tanzania for Goliath tiger fish. How can a tiger fish nut not want to fish there?

3. East Coast US for Stripers and Blues. That just appeals to me.

4. South America. Small, crystal clear streams for Golden Dorado.

5. Gabon. I’m dying to go there but the seasons just clash with my real job.

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5 things about fly fishing that you may never understand?

1. Why salmon take flies.

2. Why we continue to fly fish when conditions are bad and a spinning rod just makes more sense.

3. Why I love fly fishing so much and how all consuming it is.

4. Why most people don’t get fly fishing or do it.

5. Why I still make stupid casting mistakes even though I have been doing it for years.

5 things about guiding that you enjoy 1. I love showing people the beauty of where we fly fish and helping them appreciate the environment and what lives around and in the water.

2. Getting a client into a fish and taking a great photo and capturing their joy, is priceless.

3. Suggesting a spot where to cast when the client thinks it’s time to move on and then, when they catch a fish, enjoying the surprise it gives them. This is very satisfying.

4. I like watching people fish. Yes, it’s not the same as doing it yourself but it’s better than being behind a desk.

5. The banter on the water and the spring in someone’s step when it has been a good day.

Your last five casts were to….

Clanwilliam yellowfish, trout on a Cape stream, indigenous red fin minnows, and both smallmouth bass and carp on the Berg River.

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Ed Ghaui with a magnificent Niger barb caught in Gashaka, Nigeria

THE FEATHERS AWARD FROM MASSIVE TARPON, SNAPPER, GT, LARGEMOUTH YELLOWS AND GRUNTER TO RARE INDIGENOUS FRESHWATER SPECIES AND A COUPLE OF SALTWATER TARGETS THAT MAY HAVE NEVER BEEN CAUGHT ON FLY BEFORE, THE INAUGURAL FEATHERS AWARD ATTRACTED SOME AMAZING ENTRIES.

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hen we announced the Feathers Award in December 2020, we knew it would attract some very special entries. This was not only because for this inaugural competition we allowed for entries from any time in the past 24 months, but also because in our experience fly anglers in Africa are, for the most part, hard-charging lunatics driven to push the boundaries.

The criteria were simple enough. We were looking for remarkable fish caught on the African continent (excluding Indian Ocean island nations). While big fish will always get extra points, it was not just about size. Other things we looked at included, the rarity of species, the challenge involved in catching it and the location you had to go to to pull it off.

Our judges are the Feathers & Fluoro brains trust, plus those of us who work on The Mission. We are a very mixed bunch, ranging from anglers who obsess over big fish in far out destinations to others just as happy catching rare indigenous species, trout and other aliens of any size, as long as the challenge is satisfying. Collectively, this omnivorous motley crew has fished just about everywhere from the width and breadth of South Africa, across Southern Africa, East, West and Central Africa, the Indian Ocean islands and atolls, to more far flung places like South America, New Zealand, the USA, Socotra, Iran, Christmas Island, Fiji, Australia, the Mediterranean, Europe, Mongolia and beyond. So, when it came to picking a winner, there was nothing homogenous or one-dimensional about our Supreme Court.

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Above: Jack Lotter with a 104cm Giant Trevally caught off the beach in northern KwaZulu-Natal. Right hand page from top left: David Reverdito’s largemouth yellow (one of two caught in quick succession on the Vaal river, Ed Ghaui and his Goliath tigerfish, Leonard Flemming and his Witvis, Arno Matthee, a happy client and a 200lb tarpon in Gabon, Thomas Camp with his Cubera snapper, Jimmy Eagleton’s jut jaw.

The entries did not disappoint. Some of the fish entered, we knew about and had already admired on social media. Others were new to us. There were big fish and rare fish, fish that are relatively common but are seldom caught on fly and others (the fish, the angler and the setting) that were so batshit crazy we could scarcely believe that someone managed to pull it off.

as great largies and accompanying stories from David Reverdito, Mike Dames and Graham Forrer.

For big fish we did not need to look much further than the gargantuan tarpon caught by Dale Waterman, Peter Whittaker and Warren Pretorius with Arno Matthee the master guide behind The Guides Company operating out of Gabon. There was also the madness of fly fishing legend Jeremy Block’s broadbill swordfish caught at night off Kenya and the massive snapper caught by Thomas Camp off the beach at Sette Cama in Gabon with the African Waters crew. As one judge said, “that is a ridiculous snapper. If I was judging by the, “What fish of all submitted would you most want to catch” then hands down this snapper is it for me.”

Our collective minds were blown by: - Jannie Visser’s Belman (a species we featured as a Wish List Fish two years ago, asking readers to figure out). A full story on that is in the works.

- Jimmy Eagleton’s Jutjaw (a species rarely caught by any anglers let alone fly anglers and which Jimmy caught after climbing down a cliff face at Cape Point), - Leonard Flemming’s two rare cyprinid species, the critically endangered sandfish and witvis, which he has not only pursued pretty much single-handedly but also caught massive specimens.

Perhaps the pick of the big fish was the 104cm GT caught off the beach in Northern KwaZulu-Natal by Jack Lotter of Dark Tide, a remarkable fish that earned him a place in the rarefied company of The 100 Club.

There was also a big grunter from Niel Malan, as well

Then there were the rarities, the weird and wonderful species, both fresh and salt, that are seldom, if ever, caught on fly. We estimate that at least three of these entries may be firsts on the long rod.

- Last, but most definitely not least, was Ed Ghaui’s Goliath Tigerfish. He and Francois Botha of Goliath Expeditions have been scouting remote water in the Congo and Central African Republic for a few years now, working to set up a destination and there are few fly anglers who have caught Goliath tigerfish on fly.

“THERE WERE BIG FISH AND RARE FISH, FISH THAT ARE RELATIVELY COMMON BUT ARE SELDOM CAUGHT ON FLY AND OTHERS THAT WERE SO BATSHIT CRAZY WE COULD SCARCELY BELIEVE THAT SOMEONE MANAGED TO PULL IT OFF.” 32

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“THE CRITERIA WERE SIMPLE ENOUGH. WE WERE LOOKING FOR REMARKABLE FISH CAUGHT ON THE AFRICAN CONTINENT”

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“Sandfish for the win as it ticks all the boxes - a lifelong dream, immensely difficult to find, ridiculously difficult to catch, and a tank!”

“Ed Ghaui’s Goliath Tiger – In a world of ever shrinking wilderness, a Goliath on fly must still surely be the most hallowed, and likely most difficult fish to find, and target on fly successfully.”

Despite the high praise for all of these anglers and their catches, once the votes were tallied the winner of the Feathers Award went to another entry - Ed Ghaui and his brother Barns, for their efforts with Niger barbs in Gashaka, Nigeria (as featured in issue 16 of The Mission).

Barns Ghaui co-winner of the inaugural Feathers Award with a huge Niger Barb

Comments from the judges included: “Jannie’s Belman makes me wanna cry. I have dreamt of being the first to take one on fly. For years I have wondered why a kissing cousin of ‘Merica’s redfish and corbina is not a well-known fly rod target. It appears the answer is that they are blind as bats and just don’t look at flies. If that’s not the case, finding them consistently feeding within range of a fly rod cast is just not a common sight. As if that has ever stopped Jannie Visser. Die bliksem.”

“Having both seen, and heard many tales of these fish, and know just how many people have spent hours and hours throwing flies at them with zero luck, this is truly exceptional to finally see one successfully targeted. No surprise it was Jannie Visser who finally got it right..”

“Belman are truly a fish of a million casts, and getting one on fly is way better than a milky in my book. Near impossible.”

“Eagleton is to SA saltwater fly fishing what Flemming is to hunting cyprinidae. He has taken many firsts in SA, but to go spelunking and abseiling after a fish that no one even catches on bait, and getting some, takes the cake.”

“Len’s efforts in finding and decoding indigenous cyprinids are unmatched. I find his sandfish and witvis catches equally impressive. Given the size witvis he has taken, it is kak hard to top. Combine the effort required with the rarity and size of his witvis and colour me fucking impressed.”

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Not only did these Kenyan adventurers take a chance and mission off into an area that was on nobody’s radar as a valid fly fishing destination, but they discovered what looks like a veritable fly fishing Garden of Eden. Huge, broadshouldered Niger barbs that had likely never seen a fly before, fighting each other for the Ghaui brothers’ flies.

They also caught another as yet unnamed species of barb.

Oh, and Nile perch… as by-catch. Then there was the hardcore motorbike ride to even get close to where they started hiking and the incredible beauty of the surrounding area of forests, mountains and chimpanzees.

The judges had this to say: “Beauty, rarity, location, difficulty, only caught by a handful of fly anglers, one of the best looking indigenous fish in Africa in my opinion.”

“Those Niger barbs in Gashaka, Nigeria take the cake because of the mission that they had to go on, the exploratory element of it to find a fish that has most likely not been caught on fly.”

“A big criteria for me was the risk involved in catching the fish. Not necessarily the risk to yourself, but time risk, money risk. To go to Nigeria, all of those risk boxes are ticked. It’s a tough place to go logistically, you don’t know what you are going to find. It’s the essence of what we are looking for, getting out there, taking risk, putting in the hard yards and getting the rewards.”

Editor-at-large Conrad Botes is an artist and he is busy working on a floating trophy to which the names of the Ghaui brothers will be added to be memorialized for eternity. If you would like to see your name on that trophy around this time next year, get out there, take on that mission and send us the story.

You have just under 12 months.

Hop to it.

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KOB CRAZY AT

KAROOLSKRAAL ONE OF SOUTH AFRICA’S BEST SALTWATER FLY FISHING DESTINATIONS, KAROOLSKRAAL FLY FISHING CAMP ON THE BREEDE RIVER BOASTS NOT ONLY INCREDIBLE FLY FISHING FOR KOB (SEVERAL GIANTS OF 100CM + HAVE BEEN RECORDED), BUT ALSO BRILLIANT OPPORTUNITIES TO TARGET SPOTTED GRUNTER ON THE MUD FLATS AS WELL AS THOSE HIGH-SPEED ADRENALIN JUNKIES, LEERVIS. ADDED BONUS - IT’S LOCAL, SO NO PASSPORTS REQUIRED.

The Karoolskraal experience includes comfortable tented accommodation, eco-ablutions, all meals and drinking water. We can also provide a spit braai on request.

Open for day trips, 3-day or 5-day stays Contact henkie@flydotfish.com to reserve your place. www.flydotfish.com

SEYCHELLES

THE TOUR DE COSMO A LOT OF THINGS WERE OFF THE CARDS LAST YEAR… FREEDOM OF MOVEMENT AND A S S O C I AT I O N , T R AV E L , E V E N B O O Z E ( I F Y O U LIVE IN SOUTH AFRICA). FOR UK-BASED, F O R M E R S P R I N G B O K B O B S K I N S TA D A N D F R I E N D S , T H E R E WA S A B R I E F M O M E N T I N THE MOL ASSES OF LOCKDOWN TIME, WHEN THEY WERE PRESENTED WITH A GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY TO EXPERIENCE SOME OF T H E B E S T S A LT W AT E R F LY F I S H I N G O N T H E P L A N E T . N O T E V E R Y T H I N G T H AT G O E S O N T O U R , S TAY S O N T O U R .

Story: Bob Skinstad Photos. Alphonse Fishing Co.

“Cosmoledo. Two weeks. December. It’s back on. Get on it Skin, ‘cos you’re in.”

That’s a big, big WhatsApp message in my world, especially when it’s come from my friend, cricket international and fly angler, Justin Kemp (aka Kempy).

Justin was introduced to fly fishing late. He’d grown up fishing but after being a bait skate for so many years, his move to fly was started by myself and few friends. But, in a true Jedi/Star Wars parallel, the student has completely surpassed the master. The human Goliath Heron of fly fishing is unstoppable. It’s not just his own fishing, but after he and his partners took over Upstream Flyfishing in Cape Town a few years back, it’s become what he does now.

With a capable crew, a well-stocked and well-run shop, and working as a tour operator, Upstream has created a reason to be excited for many long time fly fishing enthusiasts.

That message from Justin meant a lot to me because it came at the end of 2020, with its travel restrictions, lockdowns, family illnesses etc., a long and difficult year for everyone.

Because I had fished with most of the guys joining this tour before, and a few new big names were also invited, it was a trip that absolutely couldn’t be missed. The crowd was top class and I already knew what to expect from the fishing.

After you’ve experienced the first visual, brutal take of a Cosmo GT on fly, the raw power and early thrust, seen a clumsy angler dancing the tangled line jig on the foredeck of the skiff, with millimetres and milliseconds of luck between losing and taming a fish, you’re hooked on that high for life. Once you’ve tried to stop the zig-zagged sprint of a trigger fish or felt the long, swinging tail bounce of a deep, downward running milkfish bending line off your rod, there is only so much satisfaction you can get from a river brown rising to a mayfly, a tussle with a sluggish carp or another introductory lesson at a hatchery for your very keen offspring.

As I put my phone down and started my mental packing, my memories were triggered. Senses on high alert, I could feel the tremors already. This was going to be an extra special trip.

For most of the year, the very idea of a two-week trip to Cosmoledo in 2020 seemed impossible (for obvious reasons). But fishermen and mates have a way of achieving the impossible. Luckily there is always the chance of things coming together and they did. I had a valid Covid-19 PCR test so, when, for a brief glorious moment both the Emirates and the Seychelles fell into a collaborative joint travel corridor, an opportunity opened up. The tour was on!

The boys tethered up just offshore from camp once a week or so to hear the stories fresh and finish any ice cold Seybru beers from the coolers.

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“TOURS ARE AN IRREPLACEABLE PART OF MY ANNUAL CALENDAR. DATES TO WORK TOWARDS, THEY ARE THE TONIC THAT MAKE THE DAY-TO-DAY DRUDGE BEARABLE”

Above: Ray Cadiz strikes gold with an Indo-Pacific permit. Opposite Page: Bruce Neill and a GT have a staring contest with us.

Lockdown Break in the Clouds From my rugby career to my life post-rugby, tours, in all forms, have been an irreplaceable part of my annual calendar. Dates to work towards, they are the tonic that make the day-to-day drudge bearable and they make the pure time with family, work and everything else all the more pleasant.

The most important part of a tour is the friends who join you, who share a common passion. Sometimes it’s a golf tour or a sports tour to a major event, but fishing is often one of my main reasons for going on tour. I have found that, if you love to fish and love to travel, you do not run out of places to go.

The team and tour rules change from destination to destination. The jolly goings on are a huge part of why our trips are a success but, on this one, they were only peripheral to the main meal. How could they be anything other than a bowl of nuts before the grouper fillet, or a popcorn bite to the lamb shank main? The real achievement was the hard work of the guides and staff, because for us, just being at Cosmoledo, the best of Seychelles, made this tour the unbeatable one.

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Paradise at last It’s a long trek from Weybridge in Surrey, but a worthwhile one. (big deep breath) Seven hours on Emirates; a solitary beer in the bar at Dubai International; four more hours on Emirates; customs (with PCR!!) a catch up at the IDC lounge in Mahe; board an island hopper; an hour to Alphonse; another beer 90 mins; to Astove; a quick beer and about an hour (weather dependent) by boat to Cosmo.

Some of the team had flown across from South Africa via Johannesburg while a few more had jetted in via Air Cadiz, stopping for a night of prawns and stories on the beach in Mozambique before joining us on the runway at Astove.

The early rapport was good, the fish were nervous and rightly so. Everyone on this trip could fish.

A raised coral atoll that runs 17 km in length from east to west, and 12.5 km from north to south, Cosmoledo is only 5.2 km2 in area, but the lagoon and the reef flats have an area of 145 km2. You are not going to run out of water to fish. The closest island is Astove, 35 km farther south.

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Matty Ferrey says goodbye to a little beauty in the turtle grass.

The main eco-camp at Cosmoledo is set up on Wizard Island. All the accommodation is in incredibly comfortable, prefabricated container-like rooms, with showers and ablutions added on to each one.

The guides and camp staff share similar digs but they are tucked away, near a camp mess area, and aren’t part of the main accommodation and pathway. You feel like it is just you and your friends on the island.

There is a central dining and leisure area with Wi-Fi, bar, emergency comms and a small store of provisions that you might need for going about your day with some replacements for fishing equipment, hats, shirts and general paraphernalia.

The food is exceptional. Having seen the small boxes of provisions that come in, I really don’t know how they do it. Obviously fish and other sea food options are readily available but what they do with the very little they have is absolutely outstanding.

Bob Skinstad and Justin Kemp after the latter swooped and caught a triggerfish by hand.

Every day a fantastic breakfast is served from 7am.

Anglers enjoy a traveler’s meal on the boat, which the guide will get you to stop and enjoy. On your return from fishing and a freshen-up, you come back to the main tent pre supper and an evening time gathering begins.

My first day nerves were shattered by an 8.15 am strike on a small, angry, black, fast torpedo of a GT. Missed. Shit!

First cast, first mistake and then those self-same nerves were settled by more fish coming round the corner. Never mind, chin up!

Pete Stewart with a little black bomber of a GT.

The light breeze provided a bit of respite on that first day and, fishing with an old friend Matt Ferrey, it was easy to get going because the fish were playing their part. All the first-timers on GT were into the thick of things very quickly, and kept getting hungrier and reaching for more.

Mother Nature certainly played her part, and we were treated to a show like I’ve never seen before. The week had started well and got better… a feast of GT gluttony during which 59 GTs were caught in just one day! Unbelievable.

There were big fish around too, and stories of straightened hooks and smashed tackle were told all week, my own included. In fact, I lost a good milkfish, a great GT and a small trigger all on the same day. Splendid!

Pete Stewart with a cracking beach-side Barracuda.

Evening bell ringing tradition at Alphonse Fishing Company is legendary and we had a daily pre-supper fines session started off by Head Guide Cameron Musgrave with angler, guide, and host contributions. So all the stories were recounted, shared and enjoyed.

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“THERE WERE BIG FISH AROUND TOO, AND STORIES OF STRAIGHTENED HOOKS AND SMASHED TACKLE WERE TOLD ALL WEEK”

“THE WEEK HAD STARTED WELL AND GOT BETTER… A FEAST OF GT GLUTTONY DURING WHICH 59 GTS WERE CAUGHT IN JUST ONE DAY! UNBELIEVABLE.”

Top and bottom Gary Neill with the fight and the ‘present’

The rest of the session was admirably managed by the inimitable raconteur, Ray “Puddles” Cadiz, a cunning linguist, lovable rogue and bull of a man by nature. The fines meeting with its daily boat-naming (focusing on a big incident in the day), and the CTFD (Calm The Fuck Down) award were all highlights.

The CTFD award is a piece of fishing history, because, when a hungry GT lights up like a Christmas tree and accelerates towards your hapless fly, all hell breaks loose.

It’s extremely difficult to breathe, let alone concentrate, and it’s most difficult to stay calm. So we celebrated each day, with a drink for the small but crucial mistakes that lost us the famous and favourite fish of this atoll and broke our lines, rods and hearts, and reminded ourselves, after a long and funny day, to try and “calm the fuck down!”

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The week continued with the hunt for personal bests and mantelpiece evidence, and a few of the highlights included a cracking day for Matty Ferrey, Humewood’s finest. Well guided by Brandon Poole, Matt notched a lifetime memory when he bagged a 123cm GT on a brush fly in the lagoon, which was spotted a little after 8am after it was seen on the first run out. To top it off, a Boha snapper even tried to crash the party.

Richard “Puppy” Came and “Uncle” Pat Quarmby both caught good fish and told good stories, Pat getting an admirable tally of 15 GTs in one day, as well as some solid bonefish in the pristine, rising tidal flats. Always fighting the nightly ageism chirps and inspired by Toby Keith’s “Don’t let the Old Man In”, Puppy was heard to mutter that the younger tourists should choose their descriptions cautiously.

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Pete Stewart had some personal records to beat, including a GT over a metre which he duly did, and got a cracking beach-side photo with a Barracuda too.

We are not a traditional group, so don’t chase numbers exclusively, and we look for experience over accumulation but, on any measure, a tally of over 200 GTs for the first week was exceptional. The weather was a lot more iffy on week two, and the wind played more of a part but the nature of the fishing changed, and the spring tides rolled towards us. GTs were hunting on the flats and smashing bait and more on the edges of cliffs, island channels and quickly filling sandy high spots. We often talked about how lucky we were as we responded to the sights and sounds around us.

Some of the boys took a Nat Geo outing to watch a huge leatherback turtle laying her eggs in a sand dune, big rubbery paddles flicking furiously with sand and coral bits flying everywhere‌ a truly special sighting. The birds at Cosmo are also incredible: Diamorphic Egrets, stalking the flats like ever-linked Yins and Yangs, cleaning up the frayed and tattered life on the edges of the coral cities; Red Tailed Tropic birds rolling over each other in an ancient dance, and the various Boobies, low and wary, evading the Frigates, dangerous pirates of the sky, on their last run home to feed the family.

I had a day out with Kempy, and the luck was running my way. The GTs had atypically been very close and were almost tailing in the murky sandy water of a washy tide,

“COSMOLEDO IS ONLY 5.2 KM2 IN AREA, BUT THE LAGOON AND THE REEF FLATS HAVE AN AREA OF 145 KM2”

Almost time for the day’s ‘Calm the Fuck Down’ Awards at Cosmo.

but I’d managed to snag a few. Kempy was determined to nail another trigger and as the pools on the higher ground emptied out on the falling tide, he got his chance.

I had a ringside seat as Angus Forsyth, our guide for the day, and Harding Cricket Club’s finest leg spinner, stood quietly and watched the human Goliath Heron do some of his best work. Cast after frustrating cast was refused, but the big trigger was dangerously close to being trapped and Kempy’s instinct kicked in. He ditched his rod, ducked and scrambled across the first bits of coral and then, with a few long strides and a swooping, whooping dive, he pounced on the startled trigger that had beached itself in the frenzy.

It was a magnificent fish. We grabbed a quick photo before we sent it back to tell the story about how it got away. In the photo, notice the glaring absence of a rod of any kind.

Cosmic Candy We had a chance to test out some new flies and retrieves, and the Upstream masters have managed to tie a beauty.

A bulky fly with a woven, matted cap, it looks like a squid or octopus caught out of its comfort zone, and the strike rate on the bigger, less actively feeding fish was incredible.

At one coral bombie, Kempy had four fish, which were too close to the boat for a solid strike, take and eject the fly, then the fifth fish took it and was duly landed. The school of fish had circled the boat and the bombie, refusing everything we threw near them and always seemed a little

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too deep for the quick retrieve to be effective – a truly interesting leap in how we have fished for and caught these GTs. A final goodbye loomed large and, after another week in paradise, it was a very heavy- hearted group heading for home. We were keen to see loved ones and all the other perks of home but we were fully aware of leaving behind this truly enchanting destination. We were grateful for so much but, most of all, for Keith Rose Innes, Murray Collins and everyone at the Alphonse Fishing Company because, without their incredible efforts and unwavering commitment to the cause, these ancient and holy places would soon be ruined. They are truly exceptional and, after so much went wrong in the world last year, to see them, to watch and marvel at their skill, attitude and application, was a true privilege.

Back home in the real world of grim lockdowns, tiers and vaccines, it seems even harder to comprehend how this Cosmo trip came about. There’s something to be said for the determination of those within our group who make things happen. The goaders, the hecklers and the organisers, people who commit whatever the cause. You know who you are!

To my fishing friends and brothers, I will always raise a glass. I look forward to missing a strip, spooking a fish, or casting a frayed leader with you all again, one day soon.

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

COSMOLEDO

SHOP THE MISSION

SIMMS - INTRUDER BOOTS Half the team wore the new Patagonia/Danner collab boots, the rest used Simms. I had the Simms Intruders. simmsfishing.com, upstreamflyfishing.co.za PATAGONIA – SANDY CAY SHORTS The lighter the material and the longer the shorts, the better. patagonia.com, upstreamflyfishing.com PATAGONIA – TROPIC COMFORT HOODY II Patagonia Hooded long sleeve hoodies were the best choice by far (notably used by all the guides). patagonia.com YETI - PANGA BACKPACK Waterproof and tough as nails. yeti.com, upstreamflyfishing.com

SHILTON - SR10 AND SR12 REELS Bulletproof and South African, what more could you ask for? shiltonreels.com, upstreamflyfishing.com MERINO SKI SOCKS I lucked out by trying some Merino skiing Socks, and they were outstanding, pulled up to the knee they helped with sun protection as well as being comfortable and breathable. Falke AR4 Vitalizer, capeunionmart.co.za G. LOOMIS - NRX 12-WEIGHT What I used for GTs. gloomis.com, upstreamflyfishing.com THOMAS & THOMAS – EXOCETT 10-WEIGHT What I used for everything else. thomasandthomas.com, upstreamflyfishing.com

SOUNDTRACK – Black Mamba Boy – Black Mamba Boy Don’t Let The Old Man In - Toby Keith / Clint Eastwood (The Mule)

THRIFT 1

IN BETWEEN CATCHING FISH FOR THE HALF-BAKED STUDENTS OF THE RHODES U N I V E R S I T Y F LY F I S H I N G C L U B , G O I N G T O T H R I F T I S A S M U C H A B O U T T H E D E S T I N AT I O N A N D I T S TROPHY RAINBOWS AS IT IS ABOUT THE JOURNEY THERE AND BACK.

By Neil Hiestermann Photos. David Taylor

Am I being alarmist or is something reminding me?

I’m aware of the possibility of the bottom.

What happened to yesterday?

I might have been lost in yesterday.

We leave the frontier country for Thrift on what was once a journey of a few weeks, but is now merely a few hours’ drive. Our home, Makhanda, formerly Grahamstown and the modest home of Rhodes University, is situated 50 odd kilometres north of the beautiful Sunshine Coast, approximately 140 kilometres south of Hogsback, just out of arm’s reach of the Sundays River in the west and far away enough from the Fish River in the east that no one tends to recall its existence. I think it’s safe to say that LieutenantColonel John Graham, the town’s colonial founder, settled too soon in this crack in the mountain. Out of giddiness or confused ego, he was definitely pissed off at Lord Charles Somerset for sending other British settlers to waai pozzie (make a home) in Port Alfred and Kenton-on-Sea. It’s a slow town typical of the Eastern Cape. Half-baked roads supporting trash-curious donkeys and half-baked students. It is not uncommon to stumble across both making the bottom of potholes their homes for the night.

I like to think of the town as the anthropomorphic village idiot of South Africa.

Ah yes, we were busy leaving. We start the meandering climb towards Fort Beaufort, and behind us Makhanda vaguely resembles the shape of a soup bowl. Yes, it vaguely resembles the shape of a soup bowl but my wandering imagination and extensive (grade 9) geographical experience suggests that it accurately represents a pothole. I am the half-baked student.

Fort Beaufort comes and goes, and the climb intensifies in the Mpofu Nature Reserve. The potholes and donkeys are replaced by boulders and dense vegetation and suddenly I’m overwhelmed, angry actually, at all the Hollywood directors for not choosing this place to depict “Africa”.

The Mpofu highway shoots us out on to a grassy plateau of blues and beige. Winter has been cold. Around the first bend lies a farmhouse with no particular architectural significance. The next bend offers spectacular, panoramic views of the approaching Winterberg Mountains and the valleys below. It’s around this stretch of the drive that the

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first “Oh shit, ja, I remember this part” erupts unnoticed, and the trek up NO THRO ROAD Pass commences.

Historically, this road was guarded solely by feverish cattle and alien San Pedro cactii. On my last trip, however, the guard was a cautious fellow in a single cab, adorned with Smhart Security stickers, who was busy searching for missing kudu. Unwilling to believe that we were, in fact, on a sophisticated journey to the mystical Loch Thrift for a weekend of dubiousness and a side of fly fishing, the Smhart man inspected our bakkie and, upon finding not even one kudu in the boot, wished us well. The cattle and cacti were not as interested in the investigation.

At the top of NO THRO ROAD Pass we were greeted in equal parts by vagrant horses and disconcerting carcasses. Had I not taken geography in grade 9 and learnt of the snow-capped Himalayas, and without Juluka’s “Kilimanjaro”, I’d have been convinced that this place was at the top of the world. Eventually the horseshoe-shaped Loch Thrift came into view and I was no longer concerned about being lost in yesterday and the tiny town that is my home.

To be honest, nothing reminds me of yesterday or a yesterday more than a long drive through old pastures and rocky roads. I think of the first people who decided to call these places home, let alone those who ventured out there for the purposes of reconnaissance. I think of the months and years that went by with no one around to share a beer and a laugh. No beer and no one.

Upon arriving at Loch Thrift it is customary to collect the cottage keys from Elliot, the official guardian. As a child going on various camping trips, the arrival process was never smooth. My brother and I were always employed (without immediate pay), to help set up camp, blow up the mattresses, unpack and build fires… all after a grueling nine-hour drive. There was no such thing as immediate gratification. And , although I am grateful for the tiresome lessons in patience, upon arriving at Loch Thrift for the first time and even the last time, this virtue was like the dreams you forget immediately after waking up. So real and true… but what actually happened? The Thrift Experience with the Rhodes University Fly Fishing Club (RUFFC) is oh so different and yet, much the same.

“Satan, King Satan, what the hell…!”

Those lessons in patience helped me to start the unpacking process: all the bags of wood to the fireplace, tackle at the work bench, suitcases under the beds, foodstuff in the “kitchen” and bedding ready for sleeping. However, this kind of advice from me was like the road rules in South Africa. Ignored. The hard legislation melted into courteous suggestions as I (The Righteous) watched in awe as my hedonist brethren ditched their duties to befriend a beer and rig up a crusty five weight. “Dad, oh Dad, what the

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hell…!” I cried, as I packed my sleeping bag back into its cover and reached for my rod tube. Uncommon common sense. The universe is just and unassuming.

Three beers in, a tippet tied on so lazily and windknots (or what Lefty Kreh more appropriately calls casting knots) left, right and centre, I got my just rewards. Not only was I paralysingly cold, I had no bed, no fish to my name and a groot gemors (a giant mess) to fix in the morning. I decided, as did my peers, to tuck into the sherry and brandy and slip into that awkward dream I would vaguely remember in the morning. Discipline did not suit the depravity of our spirits.

I commented (maybe once) on the quality of the wine I had brought. Maybe.

For no particular reason I’m reminded of an old notebook I was given, “For the stories you will write and the smiles that may follow”. It’s a beautiful notebook, leather-bound, approximately 200 pages, (papyrus), and all completely pristine. One morning, during coffee hour, a friend asked why I hadn’t yet used the notebook, to which I replied without thinking that I did not own a suitable pen. I don’t know whether I was lying or not. Perhaps a fine notebook

needs a fine pen or maybe I don’t want to start it. This, in a complicated nutshell, is my requiem for Thrift Loch. Less about the fishing than the actual adventure and the people who are somehow willing to endure my gibberish and misguided, esoteric musings. Pen and paper, no words.

I initially regarded Loch Thrift as a place of wild behaviour and awesome fish, some imaginary wonderland between reality and sensibility. And I treated it as such on my first few excursions. Thankfully, and in time, my friend Jim reminded me of my forgotten patience and that, with at least one cup of coffee in the morning, we could spend an entire day, enduring wind and cold, while fishing.

With the dam so low and so full of food, only a fool would resist midge and buzzer patterns. Naturally, I was that fool.

I wasted the next four or five hours of my life chucking chokka into the upper reaches of a closed Eastern Cape estuary. Hopeless. Calm down, fool. You literally just said that it’s not about the fish. It’s about being wherever you are simply because you are there, fishing, drunk or otherwise.

It gets decidedly more difficult when I’m the only one not catching fish. Time to strip for GTs.

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Here’s what I’m supposed to do. Settle down, work all day.

Never s’posed to sport a frown.

Looks like I’m living a lie – I feel ashamed.

Light a cigarette. “Hey man! You got your insurance paid?”

April was the only sensible way to get rid of what I then considered to be the ghastly non-native trout. I have since come a long way. Afterall, it was the lads of the RFFC who introduced me to life at Thrift.

Patience in today’s world is a bit of an oxymoron. A faded rhetoric of a slow man in a fast world. Booze banned for a second time, no cigarettes for months, social media abuzz with new half-baked scientists and profound politicians, and my supermarket neighbour reminding me about load-shedding with their demonic industrial generators. I burn a candle. Patience is no longer a virtue but an obligation and the open documents on my laptop eye me curiously as though I’ve wandered into a labyrinth. I think I did. I like to think I’m the Minotaur and that I’ve been here all along waiting for the hero to slay and release me from this prison. Still, and in light of it all, it’s do or die. Aha! Maybe I’m not yet learning patience.

So I reflect.

The planning of a Thrift trip is a collegial merger of excitement and fear. The kind of feeling when it’s around one o’clock in the afternoon, you’re not ridiculously enthusiastic about the next lecture, and your friend gives you the, “What about a beer at The Rat” look (The Rat or Rat & Parrot, for the uninitiated, is Makhanda’s legendary student pub). In hindsight, you’re equally likely to have given him the same look. It’s the kind of confusion that contains equal parts guilt, intrigue, regret and a sparkle of “why not?”

Growing up I had read a few bits and pieces about Thrift and was told stories of the cold stone cottages, strange trees and, in between the perennial windstorms, a few decent fish. It never really occurred to me that I would one day make it up to Thrift. Besides, I was convinced that fishing the small streams of Rhodes Village (ed: not to be confused with Rhodes University in Makhanda) in

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“We should go to Thrift.”

I get the message while learning about protein trafficking in my biochemistry class. I ignore the message as I intend to focus on my studies. “Holy shit, yes!”, “Dude, I was thinking the same thing”, messages from others in the group chat. I can’t help but stare at my phone. No. Compose yourself. Now, an Introduction to Fisheries Management, as part of an Ichthyology module, is my next class and I can’t help but laugh. “I’m in”, I finally respond and remember little from that entire lecture.

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I know I’m in trouble. Having not paid much attention in class means that I am subject to a few long nights and the associated fatigue. It’s terribly difficult to focus when you’re fixated on fun. Thankfully it’s not just me, as the haste to clear schedules seriously impedes my administrative progress. I scrounge for groceries and contraband. Bags finally packed and convinced that I’ve forgotten something, I meet up with the guys and draw a deep, breath to flood my head with oxygen. Tired eyes and spirits lightly lifted; we settle into the beautiful drive.

The only thing on my mind now is the evening rise… oh, and those three beers, the lazy tippet and those bastard casting knots.

No morning is the same when you pay close attention.

But pay even closer attention and you begin to unearth aspects of an unconsciously propagated routine. Little rituals I would catch myself performing without thinking.

The first morning at The Loch is similar. My eyes open and the ceiling looks strange. Clearly I’m disoriented, so I look around the room and see one face, equally

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perplexed, looking back at me. We’re all mostly awake at the same time as it’s not easy to fight off the onset of a hangover alone, if you don’t have to. The cottage smells of stale smoke and soggy boots and I remember exactly where I am. Like déjà vu but I know for certain this has happened before and not only to me. It feels as though this has been lived by generations of Thrift-goers. It’s thrilling and terrifying. Thrilling because I know where I am and feel connected to this place. Terrifying because it makes me realise that I am not the centre of the universe, actually quite insignificant.

As the days progress a few general trends emerge. The gentle breeze that makes removing weed from your double dropper a slight inconvenience, develops and makes the same procedure a little less tolerable. Jackets fill with countless wet flies which, in turn, means that sparsely packed boxes are running dry. I’m perpetually reminded of the yesterdays that resulted in no fish, but that’s okay because it doesn’t matter if I don’t catch anything. I’m here, that’s enough… Oh Satan, just one fish. And then,

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“I’M PERPETUALLY REMINDED OF THE YESTERDAYS THAT RESULTED IN NO FISH, BUT THAT’S OKAY BECAUSE IT DOESN’T MATTER IF I DON’T CATCH ANYTHING. I’M HERE, THAT’S ENOUGH… “

there’s this indiscernible buzzing that begins in the fingers and toes which then works its way into your body. It’s cold. I wonder if this isn’t my own doing. You see, I had suggested, the night before, that Jesus was a disinclined prophet. He was simply a far more spiritually advanced fellow who, in being himself, unwittingly attracted hordes of commoners begging for the gift of enlightenment.

Perhaps, I took it too far upon commenting on how this may have led to Jesus suffering from depression, and in doing so compromised my chances of catching any fish.

I certainly do feel responsible for the maddening wind.

There’s nothing to do but sit in the cottage and stare at the remnants of the fire from last night. At least, there’s coffee. And with no sign of forgiveness from above, the wind justly persisted with its message of “Go home”. Not an angry wind, just disappointed. The harshness of this place is otherworldly. We decided to heed the wind’s call and wrap our muddy belongings in towels and clean what was deemed salvageable. I miss the coral trees that line the streets of Makhanda. I miss the Sloppy Joes cruising

around, and the ones upstairs at The Rat. I miss walking through campus… in clean clothes. Heck, right now, I even miss the potholes. In the car I’m convinced I have forgotten something and a last-look is too frightening to consider. The blessed journey back to Lieutenant Colonel John Graham’s unfortunate pozzie.

Until we meet again.

One last thing…

Thank you, Martin Davies (Ed: trout hatchery legend behind Thrift’s giant trout and a man who has done more for Eastern Cape fly fishing tourism than anyone else). This place is a second, distantly removed cousin of a home to us. We can’t get enough. Please consider the addition of a warm shower.

Sincerely, The RUFFC.

Martin Davies netting trout at Thrift dam.

THRIFT INTERLUDE

OF SUPERHEROES AND STRIPPERS T H I N K O F S T R I P P E R S A N D I T ’ S L I K E LY T H AT W H AT C O M E S T O M I N D A R E P O L E S A N D D A N C I N G , G R I N D I N G B O O T Y, T H O N G S F LY I N G T H R O U G H T H E A I R . . . Y O U A R E U N L I K E LY T O T H I N K O F M I D D L E - A G E D / E L D E R LY M E N W I T H N A M E S L I K E M A R T I N A N D A L A N , S TA N D I N G K N E E - D E E P I N T H E F R I G I D WAT E R S O F T H E E A S T E R N C A P E ’ S P R E M I E R S T I L LWAT E R , W O R K I N G T H E M S E LV E S S T U K K E N D A M I D T R O U T E G G S A N D S P E R M ( O K , M I LT ) . B U T, T O S O U T H A F R I C A N F LY A N G L E R S T H E W O R K T H E S E S T R I P P E R S D O W I L L A R G U A B LY R E S U LT I N H O U R S M O R E F U N A N D VA L U E I N T H E L O N G R U N . H E R E , E D H E R B S T S H I N E S A L I G H T O N M A R T I N D AV I E S , T H E M A D G E N I U S B E H I N D T H E E A S T E R N C A P E ’ S T R O P H Y S T I L LWAT E R T R O U T.

‘Thrift Dam is not for sissies’ is the headline on a YouTube clip but its unchallenged role as South Africa’s premier trophy trout dam is, in substantial measure, due to the singular role played in the region by Martin Davies, a nowretired ichthyologist from the Department of Ichthyology and Fisheries Science at Rhodes University in Makhanda once known as Grahamstown - in the Eastern Cape.

Martin, a graduate with a Master’s degree in Oceanography from the University of Southampton, arrived in South Africa in 1976 to study eels, a project financed by the Fisheries Development Corporation, a government department.

In due course he met Margaret Smith at Rhodes University, the wife of Professor J L B Smith best known for his discovery of the coelacanth and in 1984 and, at her invitation, he joined the university’s Department of Ichthyology and Fisheries Science

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At the time the province had a lot of high altitude and privately-owned trout dams which were dependent on annual stocking from the government trout hatchery at Pirie near King William’s Town in the Eastern Cape. The hatchery was fed by the Buffalo River and had a staff of 19.

In the 1980s government policy changed. Whereas such hatcheries had previously supplied trout for stocking dams, it was decided to concentrate on indigenous fish.

Despite antipathy within the university, Martin, with the help of private funding and using his own salary, set up a trout hatchery on university property using recycled municipal tap water. At the time, this was only the second such hatchery in existence, the other being in the USA. When Martin arrived in South Africa, the conventional stocking approach was to stock trout of around a kilogram

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or more in dams in the belief that this would make them less likely to predation by bass, otters and cormorants.

Martin advocated stocking fry because they would have less impact on the dam ecosystem and those that survived would be the equivalent of trout born in the wild.

From 1984 until he reached obligatory retirement age in 2016, Martin voluntarily placed himself on 24-hour call, 365 days a year and also helped farmers to set up their own hatcheries.

In 1981 his first Master’s student graduated with a degree in aquaculture and there have been dozens since then, all equipped to earn a living in this form of farming.

Along the way, Martin had a hand in establishing the Federation of Southern African Fly Fishers – FOSAF - a lobby group supporting the interests of fly anglers and that seeks to conserve the environments in which they fish.

He also, with the help of Dave Walker of Rhodes, set up the Wild Trout Association, a conservancy in Barkly East, Rhodes and Maclear in 1991. It creates a mutually rewarding link between farmers and fly fishers and it now administers more than 350 kms of water. The Association, which is based in Rhodes, organises day ticket fishing for visitors, giving approximately 70% of the rod fee to the riparian owner and retaining the rest for admin fees.

But it was Thrift Dam in the Winterberg Mountains near the village of Tarkastad that increasingly became central to Martin’s stocking programme.

In the middle of winter, often with ice on the water, he and his helpers net trout, strip them and fertilise the eggs before growing them on in the hatchery which he has built at his home.

Through careful selection he has bred Kamloops-strain trout which are more warm water-tolerant and have reached double-figure weights. The biggest landed so far weighed 14 lbs., but double-figure trout are routinely caught there. And they are ferocious fighters.

Alan Hobson, of ‘Wild Fly Fishing in the Karoo’ fame has, for many years, assisted Martin in stripping trout at Thrift and says his contribution to fly angling in the province is without parallel: ‘Adjectives cannot describe the heartfelt depth of Martin’s passion. A life’s journey creating the ‘ultimate stud’ of rainbow trout which is best adapted to the Eastern Cape’s diverse and adverse conditions - big tails, broad shoulders, vibrant colours and super-strong fighting fish surviving in extreme environments. For 40 years Martin has single-handedly ensured the longevity of rainbow trout in the Eastern Cape, in probably THE most difficult place

“BIG TAILS, BROAD SHOULDERS, VIBRANT COLOURS AND SUPER-STRONG FIGHTING FISH SURVIVING IN EXTREME ENVIRONMENTS.” to breed trout. Grahamstown is renowned for irregular electricity supply, erratic weather and water laden with heavy metals, the most difficult circumstances in which to run a hatchery. His character, dogged determination, selfless dedication and sacrifice have provided the quality of fish we enjoy today. Martin is the “super hero” of trout fishing in the Eastern Cape - an absolute legend.’

The dams he has stocked in the Eastern Cape in the past three decades have contributed millions of Rands to the region through fly angling tourism - rod fees, accommodation and other trickledown benefits to local economies.

Alan Hobson has developed a fly for him which combines aspects of the New Zealand ‘Killer’ patterns and a zonker strip.

It resembles both crabs and the tadpole of the African Clawed Frog or Platanna - two staples in the diet of trout in the area - and it has a deservedly formidable reputation at Thrift Dam, South Africa’s premier destination for those who, thanks to Martin Davies, want a realistic chance of landing a double-figure trout.

Alan says these trout simply straighten conventional medium-wire nymph and streamer hooks – a warning worth heeding.

THRIFT 2

WINTER MOUNTAIN TEMPEST FOR LEROY BOTHA AND KYLE OVENS, I T WAS A LO N G T R E K TO T H R I F T F R O M THEIR HOMES ON THE GARDEN ROUTE, B U T I T WAS WO RT H E V E RY M I N U T E .

Words by LeRoy Botha Photos. LeRoy Botha and Kyle Ovens

Kyle Ovens in his kaleidoscopic Cossack outfit offering free hugs in the Thrift cottage.

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his is Thrift. If you were planning to pay her a visit, I sincerely advise that you prepare for the worst. Because if you do, and if you’re willing to face it, she’ll give you her best. But be warned.

She doesn’t suffer fools lightly.

“Four seasons in a day,” Kyle warns me about the mighty stillwater. I’d never been to Thrift Loch and, frankly, never thought I would. But I admit that, even as a river junkie, I have secretly dreamed of Thrift ever since catching a whiff of its reputation. I have little interest in Tupperware trout – those plastic, finless, brainless pellet-fed shadows of their ancestral selves that inhabit stew ponds all over the country. The kind of trout that beg for a coup de grâce, if only to free them from their inhospitable home and inevitable summer demise. I find them about as appealing as I did playing prop in my primary school rugby team. I know that some people find great joy in that sweaty shit and that is fine. But not me, man.

But Thrift is no stew pond and Kyle, I would say, was a little forgiving in his assessment of the weather. Home to overwintered, fit and healthy fish, you can barely hope for a wilder stillwater trout experience in South Africa. And you don’t get four seasons in a day as much as you get four manifestations of the Wrath of God. In other words, it’s epic. Here’s what went down.

Road Trip: Amazing Grace Kyle Ovens is a member of a band of brothers, the Trout Cowboys, who make an effort to visit Thrift on a yearly basis. This year none but Kyle could make the trip. But we recently met and found mutual ground in being equally flybesotted Garden Route residents, so he thought of inviting me along. Visiting Thrift on your own, he said, could do your head in. In retrospect, that’s not the only way Thrift will do your head in, but I gratefully accepted the invitation and plans commenced. Two weeks later we set off to the Winterberg – God’s Country – to find that holy water.

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The eight-hour road trip from the Garden Route is a breeze, the conversation easy in our shared love of music and fly fishing. The inland Eastern Cape towns we passed through, we agree, are godforsaken dumps in dire need of rescue.

Cradock and Tarkastad are tragic blights the government would likely prefer us not to notice. Kyle assures me that these are not what we’re to encounter over the next few days. We’re primed for the embrace of Mother Nature.

Despite being ready for gale-force winds, freezing temperatures, rain, hail and snow, and the opposite as well, I’d been warned that preparation may alone may not be enough. If it rains, you’ll get soaked. There is little the aged and bare stone cabins on the lake’s shore can do to prevent that. The thatch roofs just let it straight through.

There is no electricity, and thus no hot water. In fact there is only running water if the rain tank’s pipes aren’t frozen

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solid, so no showering for you, sir. You can fill the flush-loo with water from the lake, so at least a comfortable curl is possible, but don’t expect to call your mom or your missus while sitting there because there is no cell phone reception either. Yup. This place is raw. It ain’t the Ritz-Carlton. For those who prefer bubble baths and hot-rock massages, it’s hell. But happily, for reprobates like Kyle Ovens and myself, this is perfect: a place to escape, to get lost, to get found. Church.

That said, Clare, Kyle’s caring better-half, would be damned if we starved out here. Her pre-made meals coupled with Kyle’s considerable gas-fire catering skills ensured that, at the very least, we’d eat well.

We arrive just before dark, and collect our keys from Elliot, the Lone Gatekeeper of Thrift. By the light of our

headlamps we find our way and unpack, and before long sit down for a hot meal of lamb curry and rice. A beer or two later we’re ready for bed. Anxious to meet sunrise and the trout of Thrift, and enveloped by the Silence of the Middle of Nowhere, sleep does not come easy.

Day 1: Gales Having downed a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of coffee, we don our waders and prepare our gear as I take my first gander over Thrift. The water is flanked by rusty hills peppered with gunmetal grey rocks and poplar trees, and trout are rising in the comparative calm of early morning.

But we barely begin fishing before the first whispers of wind waft in, and before long the rise is blown out. The gales assault our casting efforts; feeding fish and a working pattern prove elusive. We work most of the near shore up and down in wind-blown conversation, until early afternoon

Elliott the gatekeeper of Thrift.

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Dragon fly nymphs = Thrift bar snack W W W. T H E M I S S I O N F LY M A G . C O M

when I finally connect with the first fish of the trip, right back where we started. Being accustomed to small trout in tiny streams, I had professed that only one fish of 5lb or so would cement the fact that despite 2020’s utter butchery of normality, I’d had a good year of fishing. Hence, the 5,5lb fish that eventually eats my bottom-hopping leech makes my eyes water. So does the wind, but with the monkey off our backs we proceed with new determination, and scrape another fish each before calling it a day.

At dinner we are joined by a pair of fat mice looking for floor scraps, and we debate whether or not to let them be.

It wouldn’t be pretty if they got into our food stocks, Kyle says, to which I agree but add that I don’t mind them as long as they don’t bite my eyelids in my sleep.

“Do they do that?!”

“I don’t know, I just know that’s the place I’d least like to get chewed on.”

Kyle is sitting on his bed as I scan for them with my headlamp when I perceive a shadow running across his lap.

“It’s on you!”

Kyle yelps like a kicked dog and damn near leaps through the roof before we realise it was a false alarm.

“I was joking about the eyelids...”

We elect to evacuate the mice anyway, and a beer later we’re both snoring.

Day 2: Thunder and Lightning For the first few hours of the second day, the weather ‘plays along’. Kyle prepares and launches his kick-boat, while I work the dam wall. We are joined by one bankbound day fisher who sets off to fish the near shore. A bit lost on my own in the land of stillwater trout, my mind veers left and right in a maze of the mundane and the task at hand. I manage a 3lb fish before four more day-visiting float tubers arrive. Among them only the lady fisher has any luck, catching four fish in quick succession. Eventually, a few hundred metres from me I hear the other bank fisherman cursing. I look up to see him stomp the ground and toss his rod into the grass. By now, Kyle had drifted far enough to be only barely visible, but I notice that he stays in one place for a while before heavy clouds build up and thunder starts roaring overhead.

The float tubers make for the shore. A large trout starts swimming around and about me, and I sort of enjoy watching him go about his business. He doesn’t care for any fly I throw at him, but some swirls over a nearby weed bed makes me wonder what an unweighted dragonfly nymph could achieve. Kyle is drifting closer. Petrichor fills the air as hard rain starts accompanying the thunder. We all leave the water and Kyle and I reconvene at the cabin.

Kyle Ovens does his best MGM lion impersonation.

“Did I give you that radio for decoration, man?” he jokingly scolds me, before telling me that he’d taken five fish on an unweighted dragonfly nymph fished over weed beds. I never noticed him catching his last one right in front of the hapless bank-bound fly fisher, but I argue that the karmic bitch-slap this could result in is probably cancelled out by the bank fisher’s earlier tantrum.

The float tubers leave as we sip on a cup of coffee, and the bank fisherman gives up when his entire family arrives to make lunch in the other cabin. The nasal braying of shelducks and bleating of lambs intensify with the weather.

I can’t tell whether they love or hate it, but Kyle and I decide to brave it and walk the near shore in search of more dragonfly eaters.

We’re a shivering, muddy, soaked mess by the time I accept that dragonflies are no longer doing the trick. I change to 4X tippet and tie on a size 14 buzzer, and within two casts hook into a 7lb fish. As it puts on a performance, I shout to Kyle.

“Buzzer, 4X, slow figure eight, bru!”

“Hallelujah.”

“Amen, brother.”

Kyle follows suit and shortly after I land my fish, he’s in with another 7 pounder. It’s a spectacularly pretty hen fish, and we celebrate her release with muddy high-fives and Viking laughter. On my next cast, I pin a 6lb cockfish – a fish I’ve dreamed of. As I unhook it, it bites down on my thumb, ripping bloody gashes with its needle-sharp teeth and, to add insult to injury, it jizzes all over my hand as I release it.

“Don’t call them cocks for nothing,” I muse. Kyle promptly hooks another beautiful hen. By now, we look like shit.

Stoked and wasted, we decide to go and get warm and dry and enjoy some food and drink. Kyle suggests that, weather permitting, I try his kick-boat in the morning.

At nightfall, we are again joined by the mice, but this time we pay them no mind. With the white noise of rain pelting down on the thatch, we’re both goners within seconds of hitting the hay.

Day 3: Rain The rain shows no sign of letting up, it is ice cold and windy, but I decide to take my maiden kick-boat voyage nonetheless. Much laughter ensues as I try to master turning left. Eventually I get it, Kyle wishes me luck, and I set off for his honey hole, once again with a dragon nymph at the ready. It’s a long, difficult kick away, but I reach it just in time to not die of a heart attack. Battling the wind for a good position from which to reach the weed beds, I eventually manage a cast and the fly immediately gets pasted by a 4lb fish. It wastes no time in getting its dolphin on, and by the time I net it, I’d drifted a hundred metres

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LeRoy Botha (above) puts in the work and reaps the rewards (right).

downwind. I press back and take the next available shot.

A five pounder latches on, jumps a metre out of the water and torpedoes straight for me. I have little choice but to beach the boat and continue the fight from shore, but not before losing the flippers in the mud and dismantling the whole boat in an effort to escape it. I decide to deal with the mess only after taking a few more casts from shore.

In quick succession, I get a four pound hen and a sixand-a-half pound one. Then a 5lb cockfish in a steelhead getup charges into my backing before showing me what a pissed-off rainbow trout can really do. It goes off like a cat about to be boiled alive, but I eventually manage to trick it into the net. Through all of this, Kyle justifiably elects to enjoy some warm R&R at the cabin, but we stay in contact via radio and share the laughs.

Now I could make a pig of myself and catch more, but I’m running out of ways to keep my phone and smokes dry, and my hands have transformed into swollen, white sponges. I reassemble the boat as best I can, dig out the

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flippers and launch to let the wind carry me back to the cabin. I fool some more fish in the drift, one of which looks more cutthroat than rainbow, red chin lashes and all. This place is mind-blowing, I tell myself, grinning like a dork, drenched to the bone.

A short while later, we’re sipping celebratory beers and contemplating the last few hours we have for fishing.

We’re in extra-time at Thrift, and not planning to waste it. I decide to stay in my wet ten-layer fishing disguise and we set off for a final walk along the near shore. It’s not long before we again switch to buzzers on light tippet. Despite clear signs of feeding fish, we battle for a bite. We add indicators to our rigs and attempt a static presentation, but the wind plays havoc with our setups and drifts. At this point, the lambs are sounding decidedly desperate, and I’m pretty sure I know how they feel about the weather.

Kyle manages two good fish before I ask him for one of his giant floating buzzers to replace my cursed wool indicator, and I catch one last 5lb football on the tiny buzzer I hang

from its bend. Now, we are done. Soaked, refrigerated, hands damn near dead, done. Lost and found at the Church of Thrift, we’re an unholy sight indeed.

The End: A wretch like me On the long walk to the cabin the rain stops, and the wind dies down. A sliver of sunlight pokes through the clouds like a celestial middle finger. Thrift, for the first time on this trip, lies mirror calm and fish begin to rise all over it. Swallows join the trout in a feast of midges. We smile at the bittersweet irony, and let the fish enjoy the calm evening rise as much as we enjoy getting warm and dry. Kyle prepares some immaculate burgers before we clock out, and we sleep like stones as the mice enjoy our leftover patties.

This is Thrift. She kicks your zip in, and leaves you begging for more. Bruised and battered but no longer mere acquaintances, we pack for the long road home, ready to do the time it will take to repent, recover and eventually, return.

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SANTER

WHEN THE RIVER RAN RED REGARDLESS OF YOUR SKILL LEVEL, BEING AN ANGLER A LWAY S I N V O LV E S A M O D I C U M O F L U C K . I N G A R E T H TAT E A N D C R A I G PA P P I N ’ S C A S E , T H E Y HIT THE MOTHERLODE IN A T S I T S I K A M M A E S T U A R Y.

By Gareth Tate.

Photos Gareth Tate and Craig Pappin

I

n my fly fishing life there are a few experiences and stories that stand out a little more than others. Having grown up in the bushveld in the Lowveld, many stories have involved me trying my utmost to not become part of the food chain while fishing wild waters. A fair few stories have involved navigating croc infested rivers and being chased by grumpy hippos, ellies and buffaloes. Bushveld bliss.

Many stories involve fishing adventures in gnarly, unpredictable weather. Like the time we were dodging lightning that was striking way too close for comfort on open water. The electricity and static in the atmosphere had the hair on our arms standing out on end. I don’t think I could have laid down any flatter on the deck of the boat than I did then, without causing organ damage. Or the time we had to seek shelter in a cave to escape golf ballsized hail stones. I still have scars on my head from those, yet we survived. Most memories imprinted on my mind, however, simply involve the extraordinary landscapes and wildlife that fly fishing takes me to and, of course, the mission and adventures we make to get there.

This story stands out because it was so unexpected and, after chatting to some of the fishy experts to confirm it, downright rare and lucky. It began with a morning chorus of birds praising the start of a blissful, balmy summer day on the Tsitsikamma coast. The forest was alive with sounds and life. The first cicadas started to protest from the treetops indicating that it was time to move and hit the water. After a quick coffee, my lifelong pal and fishing co-adventurer, Craig Pappin and I hit the lagoon to fling some flies at the local leeries. After a productive morning on the seven weights and going weak at the knees several times watching submarine-sized grunters deny our turd flies, we headed back to the house for a breather.

The weatherman had predicted rain for that afternoon, so we knew we had to squeeze in some more fishing before the front pulled in. After an apple and a beer (don’t judge, I was on holiday) and, finally having convinced our significant others that where we wanted to go was a good idea and a lekker place to tan, we decided to head off to a fishy little spot that Craig had found down the coast. It was quite a hike to get there, especially because I chose to wear my favourire plakkies (flip-flops). The hike was worth it.

As the path snaked down the valley, the forest opened up to reveal a gorgeous little bay framed by jagged rocky shelves, waves lapping gently on its shores and a scene of true natural beauty. Clouds hung in the sky like large bunches of cotton wool. Ancient yellowwood trees towered over the forest canopy. A Fish eagle called from above. Knysna Turacos scurried among the treetops. The summer call of Sombre Greenbuls filled the air. Narina Trogons, one of our more beautiful and rare forest birds, called their mournful song as they welcomed us into the bay. It almost felt like we were the first people ever to set foot in this place. Paradise. To my right a tea-coloured river wound through the thickly-forested valley, eventually meeting the waves and spilling into the bay. As my dad would say, my litchis (eyeballs) were peeled wide open to take it all in.

We started off fishing the bay with no luck and, with the pushing tide, decided to head up the river. Apart from a few sizeable grunter tailing as we left the bay and meandered upstream, the river seemed quite devoid of any fish life.

None of the shoals of baitfish, mullet and streepies that usually frequent these river systems. ‘Strange’, I thought to myself. After about a fifteen-minute barefoot walk inland (my plakkies were becoming cumbersome) along the riverbanks and a few river crossings, we found a deep little honey hole on the river bend that looked promising.

In the hopes of enticing something up from the depths I cast a silicone mullet fly I’d tied the day before and that had proved deadly for the leeries that morning. A shad or a leerie would do.

Nothing.

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A few more casts against a steep bank and a change of spot, however, brought something unfamiliar up from the bottom and into view. Out of nowhere, a mean looking fish with matched aggression, intercepted my fly on the surface.

My heart nearly stopped. It was red in colour, with a blunt robust nose, and had that similar pissed-off temperament and look of a trevally. Although it was very interested in the fly, I couldn’t get it to commit on the surface. I quickly changed tactics and tied on a #4 olive over white flash clouser and lobbed it into the top end of the honey hole near a large, submerged tree. Immediately, four or five of these red submarines were now on their way towards my fly! A twitch-twitch-twitch and pause was all it took.

Boom!! A fish hit the fly hard, hooked up and turned for the submerged tree. Naaier. My seven-weight protested as I applied full pressure and managed to turn the fish. The fight was over after a few solid runs and I brought the fish to the bank. My litchis were popping out of their sockets.

It’s a Steenbras! It’s a red Stumpnose! No man, it’s a snapper!

Wait, what the hell is it? Our shouts of both confusion and excitement reached the thick forest and flushed out o\ flocks of birds looking for a quieter neck of the woods. A beautiful red fish lay before us. It was perfect, had dark barring and its fins were edged with a brilliant electric blue.

It had a serious set of gnashers that demolished my clouser quickly, and really strong jaws that clamped down on the fly when trying to unhook it. We had to keep fingers well clear.

It was not a fish I’ve seen come out of a river or estuary in this area.

The fun continued for almost an hour after hooking that first fish, and I managed to catch a handful of these beautiful red river fish. At that stage I still had no clue what the species was. Some of them travelled in large shoals up to six or seven, while the larger specimens cruised alone. The bigger guys were aggressive and hit the fly hard, appearing from nowhere and broadsiding us like a GT when hooked.

Some even took me into my backing providing a lot of excitement trying to avoid getting them caught up in the undergrowth and submerged trees. Craig had a larger clouser on and was struggling to get a clean hookup.

He lost several fish that spat the fly and we were getting desperate to get him onto one of these mystery reds. We also knew that the women back in the bay were getting itchy feet and had hit their capacity tanning tolerance time and wanted to leave. So we quickly ran back and begged them for fifteen more minutes. It was granted: fifteen minutes and no more. Craig and I ran back to the honey hole. He put a good cast in. Twitch, twitch-twitch-twitch and pause. Boooom! First cast back there and he was on.

The fish ran hard and took him into his backing. I remember shouting, “Shit Craig! This thing is kilometres away!!” He probably should’ve tightened his drag. After a good run, the fish was brought up to the shallows and landed. Once again, we marveled at this unknown red beauty, got some sick phots and a video and decided to pack it in.

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“A TEA-COLOURED RIVER WOUND THROUGH THE THICKLY-FORESTED VALLEY, EVENTUALLY MEETING THE WAVES AND SPILLING INTO THE BAY”

Opposite page: Lowvelder Gareth Tate pulls off a rare estuarine-Santer hangbal.

Something about these fish, this experience, and this particular afternoon on the water seemed very special.

Unique. Lucky. It felt like fishing in a place where the fish had never seen a fly before. They knew nothing about fly fishing and inhaled flies with enthusiasm. We are no fish experts, especially (as up country Vaalies) when it comes to the salt. So we started sending the photos and videos to our numerous groups of mates and fellow fly fisherman.

That’s when the froth really began to grow. We soon identified these fish as Santer (Cheimerius nufar), a reefdwelling fish usually caught offshore.

Now, santer aren’t a particularly rare fish and are regularly picked up using conventional tackle. They have also been caught on fly on the odd occasion. The more research we did, however, the more we realised how lucky we were to catch them on fly in this particular small Tistsikamma river system, especially the large adults. Our findings also confirmed that this was truly an at the right place at the right time kind of moment. After chatting to my good friend Steve Benjamin from Animal Ocean, who did most of the homework for me by chatting to all his marine fish specialists, the story of the santer caught up

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in this beautiful little river system, began to take shape.

It is likely that extremely cold water from an upwelling event drove the santer up into the shallows of the bay and eventually pushed them to seek shelter in the warmer river water. Here they gathered in shoals where they likely grew hungry and aggressive. These fish had, indeed, probably never seen a fly before. Another theory of ours is that these aggressive reef fish also probably chased off all the other fishy inhabitants from this river. Which is why we didn’t see the usual shoals of baitfish typical to the area.

What made this story even more exciting and extraordinary, was the following attempts to catch the santer on this river system over the subsequent days and weeks. Numerous friends and fisherman returned to the spot and flung flies of all sorts into the tea-coloured waters hoping to experience the red fish, with no luck whatsoever. The santer had simply disappeared, back to their deeper reefy homes. And so the remarkable adventures and flyfishing stories continue to grow for me. These unexpected and one-of-a-kind events are the experiences that keep us flyfishing and pursuing our quarry across beautiful places. I will never forget the day the river ran red.

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INJASUTI MUTI B E T W E E N T H U N D E R S T O R M S M AT T G O R L E I A N D S H A U N D I C K S O N T O O K T H E I R C H A N C E I N T H E D R A K E N S B E R G M O U N TA I N S T O TA R G E T T H E W I LY R A I N B O W S O F T H E I N J A S U T I .

Photos and story Matt Gorlei

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orty millimetres of rain had fallen over the Injasuti Valley a few hours before we arrived. Water poured down cracks in the hills, the potholes were like glassy little frog ponds and the low water bridges gave Shaun’s low-clearance load-lugger a bit of a wet tickle. We suspected that there had also been rain the day before and debated whether we would be wasting our time up there or not. We even tried to call the reserve office and eventually managed to speak to someone who explained, “River is down.” When we asked if it was crossable, he said “little drizzles” had just started.

That was enough for us to make up our minds to do an overnight trek up the Injasuti. Last minute packing commenced and we were set for an early start.

As on most fishing missions, there was an early 3.30am wake up, a mandatory pie stop at The Windmills (the best pies on the N3) and fishy chats about how our conditions were looking. We checked the weather every 20 minutes as we got closer to our destination. It was looking pretty good with partly cloudy skies and no rains predicted.

Injasuti, also spelled: Injesuthi, Injisuthi, Njesuthi, Nyesuthi or eNjesuthi is one of the tallest peaks in Southern Africa’s Drakensberg Mountain range. It means place of the “well fed dog”, apparently because it was so rich in game at the time it was discovered by the amaHlubi people who hunted with packs of dogs. I read about this place years ago in Peter Briggs’s book, Call Of The Stream. Both Shaun and I had fished the lower reaches of the Injasuti Valley and we had chatted about doing a trek higher up to explore some water we knew would have only been fished by very few really dedicated fly fishers.

You arrive at this reserve, like many others, by just driving to the end of a pretty bad road. We checked in with

the Ezemvelo KwaZulu-Natal Wildlife guys, signed the mountain rescue register book and were pretty much set to start our trek. But first, we both had our Windmills Pepper Steak pies to deal with. Luckily Shaun knew the guys who worked there as they had worked with his folks in the old KwaZulu-Natal Parks Board when he was kid. We managed to get some keys, from a guy who called him, “Little Dickson”, to one of the cabins at the Ezemvelo Camp and both released some respectable brown trout…

Feeling well prepared and a bit lighter we started the trek up the valley. We passed some hikers on their way back from a night up the valley who warned us to make the crossing soon because the river was rising and was only just crossable.

Great, a blown-out river on the rise.

The Injasuti River is relatively small. As a fly fisherman, you would consider it a small stream but, due to the valley’s gradient and the amount of water sluicing off the hill sides, for us it was nothing short of a torrent. We were not prepared for fishing these conditions, as we had an Xplorer Guide II 1-weight set-up with a decent selection of dry flies and maybe five heavy nymphs that were pinned last minute into the foam of Shaun’s chest pack.

You recognise this moment, the one where you second guess your decisions and start to think that what you are attempting may be a bad idea one. It’s the deep, experience-based algorithms of your brain running the numbers and telling you it’s better to turn back now. The way it looked, there was no way we could fish this river with a dry fly, let alone try and film it. After all, that was the idea. I was there with my camera to film something a little different up a river that has had little exposure.

“AS A FLY FISHERMAN, YOU WOULD CONSIDER IT A SMALL STREAM BUT, DUE TO THE VALLEY’S GRADIENT AND THE AMOUNT OF WATER SLUICING OFF THE HILL SIDES, FOR US IT WAS NOTHING SHORT OF A TORRENT.” 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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Luckily, Shaun and I are both optimists, or idiots, so we thought that if we hiked high enough upstream there would be fewer tributaries and less water joining the system off the hillsides. We also knew that high up these valleys the river levels can rise and fall really quickly. The state of the river was due to the recent downpour, so there was a good chance it could drop enough by the next day to give our dry flies a chance.

That first day was hard work. We trekked and covered a lot of water; we fished the best looking lies and made really good ground getting as far upstream as we could. While a few fish fell for our nymphs in the fast water, it kind of clicked for me why these rainbows thrived up there. The river was turbulent; the gradient meant there was water rolling down steps in the river; it meant each fish-holding pocket or lie had really well-oxygenated water entering it, all stuff rainbow trout love as opposed to their lazy pool dweller cousin, the brown trout.

There are not many “pools” up there, not in the summer time flows that we experienced, just cascading series of pocket water for kilometres. The fish don’t get big at all up the Injasuti, up to about 20cm. We questioned this and thought it must be due to the low flows in winter. We had seen a picture of a young fly fisher friend up there this last winter and you wouldn’t recognise the river at all. The flow simmers down to a trickle, it is crystal clear and the pocket water becomes small holding pools which would be the only place for a trout to live during those cold and dry winter months. So, as a means of survival, staying small would make sense as these fish would be almost invisible with their unique par markings on the gravelly, free-stone and granite bottom that this river offers them.

“WE SPENT THAT NIGHT IN A CAVE, THINKING ABOUT HOW HUNDREDS OF YEARS AGO THE SAN PEOPLE WOULD HAVE SAT THERE JUST LIKE US, LISTENING TO THE WATER DRIPPING OFF THE CAVE ROOF AND THE DISTANT HUM OF THE RIVER CASCADING DOWN THE VALLEY”.

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Nils Gabsda, Stephan Dombaj and Marten Laciny with a barbel bounty.

“The fish don’t get big at Injasuti, up to about 20cm. As a means of survival, staying small makes sense.”

The flows started to drop from about midday and our spirits picked up even though we hadn’t had the dry fly morning we had hoped for. We made it about 10km up the valley with a few fish in the net. We spent that night in a cave, thinking about how hundreds of years ago the San people would have sat there just like us, listening to the water dripping off the cave roof and the distant hum of the river cascading down the valley. We had certain luxuries however: a steamy Durban bean curry with rotis and a flask of Old Brown Sherry enjoyed while the sky turned orange and then pink and then orange again before fading into a peaceful darkness of Covid free air; it was so good, a moment we never wanted to end.

The next day, the river had done exactly what we had hoped and had dropped over a foot. The sun was out, the birds were singing and we had a spring in our steps as we said to each other over and over again that, “today is a dry fly day”. The idea was to go a good way back downstream

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before fishing each likely looking dry fly lie on our way out.

We trekked about an hour along the hikers’ path, high up on a contour with the river winding down alongside us. The steep banks of the valley make it tricky to get down to the river in many places.

We saw a section of river with a bend and about five or six pockets with lovely tail outs. This was where we would start. We bee-lined straight off the path, boots sliding on the damp grass as we zig-zagged down. Excited, Shaun rigged up his dry fly and imagined that this first pocket was about to see a deer-hair caddis drift through it for the first time. At the second drift the first spotty mountain stream rainbow rose and took the fly off the surface. They don’t fight hard but they are hard to keep on the hook. Briggs described them as “river wise street fighters” and that’s what they are as they use the river’s turbulence and currents, jumping and wriggling to try and throw the hook. You can expect to lose fish.

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INJASUTI

SHOP THE MISSION Rod: Xplorer Guide II 794-1wt, xplorerflyfishing.co.za

Close up, the fish are beautiful, each uniquely marked. If you take the time and look closely at the details on these fish you will see that they have a certain unique beauty.

From the purple and pink sheen of the cheeks to the yellow-green scales along the top-side of the torpedoshaped bodies and the silvery shine of the belly, Injasuti rainbows really are beautiful.

We had a great day, feeling the energy of the stream as it wound through this untouched landscape. The flow was just about perfect and the fish were coming up for dries. The fishing was not easy up there. If a fish refused the fly it would seldom come back for a second look. Accuracy was important when targeting a rising fish, as it wouldn’t move too far to the left or the right for a dry fly.

Since this Drakensberg river was stocked way back when, these rainbow trout have endured many droughts and

Reel: Xplorer EVO C001, xplorerflyfishing.co.za

Tippet: Rio Fluoroflex Plus+ - 7x, rioproducts.com, xplorerflyfishing.co.za

Line: Rio Creek WF2F, rioproducts.com, xplorerflyfishing.co.za

Pack: Patagonia Stormfront Roll Top, patagonia.com, xplorerflyfishing.co.za

floods and seen all sorts of dangers and predators, so there are no easy pickings for a fly fisher. The hard work of getting to them and the challenging behaviour of these fish make catching them so much more satisfying.

Size is not important. By lunchtime that day we had to get out of that valley fast as we saw an aggressive buildup of clouds towering over us.

We made it out just in time, getting back to the base camp as the rains began and the thunder and flashes of lighting got closer and closer. As quickly as things had improved for us, it was all over. The river started to rise rapidly and a massive electrical storm chased us out of the valley. We felt as if we had accomplished something.

Following our gut-feelings and keeping optimistic provided us with that window of opportunity to throw a fly in a place where few others have been. The window closed and it was all over. Time to head home.

L AT ES T R E L E A S ES

SALAD BAR SCOTT - CENTRIC ROD

First Scott head honcho Jim Bartschi replaced the Meridian with its saltwater successor the Sector and now he’s gone and replaced the legendary Radian with the Centric series of rods. ‘Big whoop,’ you say, ‘rods get replaced all the time’. This is true and the Radian had a good 8-year run, but with a series as lauded as the Radian (or the Meridian) Bartschi would be forgiven for flogging that name and extending its reach till Valhalla calls. But where’s the fun in that? From what we have heard, the USA-made Centric is astonishingly good.

Laden with fresh tech, it sports new tapers featuring multi-modulus lay ups and a new resin system to

PATAGONIA - BLACK HOLE® CUBE

Whether you use it as a Dopp Kit (aka toiletry bag, not a dop kit, which in South Africa equals pineapple, yeast and some sugar), a bag to stash your reels, tippet or your electronics, the bombproof Black Hole Cubes from Patagonia are brilliant multi-use sacks. Made of extremely durable, weather-resistant, 100% recycled polyester ripstop with a highly weather-resistant TPUfilm laminate and a DWR (durable water repellent) finish, they have a clever exterior daisy chain for lashing onto packs or clipping into duffel bags, corrosion resistant sliders for saltwater applications and a large grab handle. patagonia.com, xplorerflyfishing.co.za

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increase fibre density and reduce weight. It also features Scott’s new generation ARC reinforcement for greater stability along multiple axes. Fitted with Flor grade cork, new titanium stripping guides with super slick zirconia inserts, new low glare Snakebrand Universal snake guides, and a new fully milled reel seat featuring speed threads, easy grip knurling, self-indexing hoods, micarta inserts, a special Delrin lock washer, and type 3 flat black hard coat. Distance, accuracy, recovery, balance and speed - the Centric can do it all with ease. If you like fast action rods, coursing with feel, this might be your new best friend. scottflyrod.com, flyfishing.co.za

SCI ANGLERS – SWITCH TIPPET HOLDER

There are few things worse on the water than when you are trying to change your leader and you cannot find/hang on to/ tie on your tippet material as you flip between vest pockets, the recesses of your pack and numerous floating tag ends. Scientific Angler’s powder-coated aluminium Switch tippet holder fixes that by keeping your tippet spools (up to 8 of them) organized and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Fix it to yourself in either a horizontal or vertical orientation on your sling pack, vest or boat bag for easy and quick re-rigging. Available in red, black, blue or chartreuse. scientificanglers.com, frontierflyfishing.co.za

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DUKE CANNON – BLOODY KNUCKLES

“Nu-uh poephol, I don’t need no blerrie moisturizer!”

Easy on there our Cro-Magnon friends, there’s a valid reason your dry, cracked hands need some attention. If you have ever gone from the rough stuff (lugging pig iron around the gym, working on your car, chopping wood etc etc) to the fine detail stuff of fly tying (e.g. creating a split thread for a CDC dry), having horny hands does not help. In fact, it hinders things. Made with lanolin, Duke Cannon’s Bloody Knuckles Hand Repair Balm provides much-needed moisture without leaving the hands feeling sticky or greasy. Plus it is odourless so you won’t smell like like flowers. You’ll still have your signature musk of massaged truffle-nuts, fish slime and diesel, but now your hands will be able to do everything.

Think of it as Q20 for humans. justlikepapa.com

ORVIS - PRO TROUT

In the PRO Trout Textured Fly Line, Orvis appear to have found the Goldilocks zone of versatility. Designed with advanced compound tapers, its increased surface area allows the line to sit higher in the water, offering less drag (thanks to the AST Plus treatment), easier mending, less water spray and easier pick-ups. The micro-textured surface traps air to provide increases in both shootability and floatation while decreasing friction. The 50’ head has a gentle front taper followed by a powerful belly for easy casting and delicate presentation, while the longer rear taper is designed for better line control, casting, and onwater mending. Orvis Line ID makes it easier to identify the line’s weight, taper and functionality when reaching for your gear. Available in 3-6-weight. orvis.com, flyfishing.co.za

SCIENTIFIC ANGLERS – AMPLITUDE SMOOTH INFINITY SALT

As if a sexy android was trying to ply you with tequila in a bar, there’s something weirdly erotic about the name of this, Scientific Angler’s incredible saltwater line. Talking of advanced tech, this line features Sci Angler’s revolutionary AST Plus slickness additive, so it boasts up to five times less drag and eight times the durability of traditional lines, it’s versatile and accurate and will both out-shoot and outlast pretenders to the throne. It’s made half a line weight heavier for turning over even the biggest flies on gale force days, but the extended head length gives you accuracy and presentation no matter how many beers you had at lunch. A high contrast sighter warns you when that Geet is running too far towards a reef, while Tropi_Care tech keeps the line stiff and slick in the tropics. scientificanglers.com, frontierflyfishing.co.za

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SALAD BAR PATAGONIA - PLANING ROLL TOP PACK 35L

Just as most 4x4 capable cars are never truly put to the test by their owners, a lot of hardcore packs never go for a swim. Our point? Not everything needs to be hardcore amphibious like Patagonia’s renowned Stormfront range of packs. Take Patagonia’s 35L Planing Roll Top Pack. It easily hauls soaked gear in the exterior mesh pocket, while keeping clothes, fly boxes and your lunch dry and organized on the interior. Made from tough recycled polyester with a TPU-film laminate for wet-gear organization, it also features a padded back panel, an adjustable sternum strap, waistbelt and a breathable, hydrophobic shoulder harness for all-day carrying comfort. Available from Xplorer Fly Fishing in Tiger Tracks Camo: Ink Black and Kansas Sky: Berlin Blue. patagonia.com, xplorerflyfishing.co.za

“IT EASILY HAULS SOAKED GEAR IN THE EXTERIOR MESH POCKET, WHILE KEEPING CLOTHES, FLY BOXES AND YOUR LUNCH DRY AND ORGANIZED ON THE INTERIOR.”

HPA - GRANDAIR SWS WATCH & KNIVES

Do you like salmon? Well perhaps you like them enough to want to buy a snazzy watch or knife, both made by HPA, where 10% of the proceeds go towards the North Atlantic Salmon Fund (northatlanticsalmonfund.org). The watch is a legit dive watch, with a salmon on the watch face, one on the back of the watch and another on the buckle. Waterproof to 300m (because you always dive that deep) it sports a 41mm sapphire glass, ceramic bezel and is powered by the ever-reliable Seiko NH35 mechanism. The knives, available in slate black (carbon), sage green (micarta) or blue (G10) are made from Japanese steel, measure 7,5 inches when open and have a lock-back for safety. Perfect for your EDC (Everyday Carry) needs. hpa-shop.fr

PELAGIC GEAR - BOARDSHORT SHARKSKIN PRO

Now here’s a boardie/shortpant designed for fishing! Pelagic Gear’s Sharkskin Pro boardies are built with 4-way super-stretch, Sharkskin-dobby fabric with stain and hydro-repel technologies. They feature four all-purpose storage pockets and a Kevlar reinforced tool pocket, belt loops, adjustable side waist straps, and a traditional button zip fly. Perfect for that hangbal hero shot. pelagicgear.com, safarioutdoor.co.za

“PERFECT FOR THAT HANGBAL HERO SHOT.”

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BLUE OVER GOLD

GOLD BEATS SILVER

PIMP YOUR RIDE! WITH OVER 23 MODELS, SEVEN COLOURS AND SIX COMPONENTS TO MIX AND MATCH WITH, SHILTON REELS STOP FISH, IN STYLE.

RED OVER SILVER

PHOTOS. ALPHONSE FISHING CO.

WE STOP FISH S H I LT O N R E E L S . C O M C O N TA C T N U M B E R : + 2 7 7 9 8 8 2 8 2 8 6 D E A L E R I N Q U I R I E S : S A L E S @ F LY Z I N C . C O . Z A

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SALAD BAR GUIDE CLASSIC WADER – STOCKINGFOOT

Fresh from Simms is the Guide Classic Stockingfoot waders, featuring the Montana-based company’s legendary GORE-TEX waterproof-breathable fabrics. With 3-layer GORE laminate upper + 3 layer with reinforced front leg GORE-TEX laminate lower, the Guide Classic uses the same fabric as the fabled G3 Guide Wader. The Classic also features a 38mm suspender with opposing Duraflex buckles for easy waist high conversion, a fleece lined reach through handwarmer pocket (so you can shake your own hand when you land a hog solo on a freezing Thrift session), a stretch woven front pocket with zipper stash option, and anatomically engineered left and right neoprene stockingfeet with built-in gravel guards. simmsfishing.com

“A FLEECE LINED REACH THROUGH HANDWARMER POCKET (SO YOU CAN SHAKE YOUR OWN HAND WHEN YOU LAND A HOG SOLO ON A FREEZING THRIFT SESSION)”

GREYS - LUGGAGE BOAT BAG SCI ANGLERS – ABSOLUTE TROUT

We’ve been using this stuff for the last year or so on trout, yellows, carp, sandfish and other species and we can confirm it is the berries (if the berries were as tough and thin as Spiderman’s webjizz). Made with proprietary copolymer blends that are designed to drastically reduce water absorption while maintaining an optimal suppleness for high knot strength, Sci Anglers boasts that Absolute nylon leaders and tippet have a 29% higher wet knot strength compared to their previous material and up to 40% higher wet knot strength when compared to their competitors.

Available in 30m spools from 7x – 0x. scientificanglers. com, frontierflyfishing.co.za VAC RAC

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For the most part we like to pack light, but we make an exception for stillwater fly fishing from a boat. That’s the one scenario where you do not want to leave any essential gear behind, because you may just need those 17 sink lines, that 15th box of boobies or that third six pack of beer.

When it comes to their boat bag, Grey’s have gone all out.

For starters, there’s a ridiculous amount of handy zipped pockets on the outside of the bag (many with convenient mesh pockets at the front to access all your essential bits of gear). Then there’s an adaptable reel/tackle station with padded Velcro dividers, a waterproof rain cover which can be stuffed into a side pocket and extremely durable rip-stop outer, a padded shoulder strap, a fly keeper and an EVA waterproof base. Kitchen sink not included. greysfishing.co.uk, safarioutdoor.co.za

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Distributed by Xplorer fly fishing www.xplorerflyfishing.co.za contact 031-5647368

Stockists: Mavungana - JHB & Dullstroom, Fishing Pro Shop - PTA, Safari and Outdoor - PTA, Xplorer Fly shop - DBN, Kingfisher - PMB, Stream-X - Cape Town

M U S T H AV ES

PAY DAY WE’RE ALL BROKE SO CLOSE YOUR KOEK AND READ A BOOK. HUNTING TROUT – TOM SUTCLIFFE

Back by popular demand, if you do not yet have a copy of Hunting Trout – Angles and anecdotes on trout fishing, this - the third edition of Tom Sutcliffe’s classic, published

by Burnett Media with forewords by Nick Lyons and Stephen Boshoff, new illustrations, a new cover shot by Gerhard Loubscher and a new preface from Tom - is one for the collection. Hunting Trout is informative, entertaining story-telling at its best and you will come away from this book wiser, better informed and motivated to make your own stories. There’s a reason Tom is compared to the great fly fishing writers and personalities of the UK, US and elsewhere, but we should hold him in higher regard because he is ours and the places he writes about are mostly our own too. Available directly from tomsutcliffe. co.za or from all good fly fishing stores nationwide.

FATHOMS – REBECCA GIGGS

Every now and then a truly remarkable author comes along who is able to change the way we not only look at a subject but, thanks to their contribution, also the way we look at a genre. Rebecca Giggs and Fathoms – The World in the Whale is one of those authors and one of those books. Starting with her own personal experience of a beached whale she encountered in Australia (dying slowly, crushed by its own weight and overheating in its blubber) Giggs takes us on a deep dive into the world of whales. From the history of whaling to cetacean taxidermy, whalesong, corsets, what happens when a whale dies out at sea (the actual term is a ‘whalefall’) to a whale found off Spain with an entire plastic greenhouse inside it and a Beluga that tried to speak English, Giggs somehow manages to evade the heavy academic bog and instead produces the most remarkable poetic nonfiction that is about so much more than whales. It’s also about us and our impact on the world. amazon.com

BITTERKOMIX 18 – CONRAD BOTES & ANTON KANNEMEYER

The Mission’s editor-at-large Conrad Botes and his long-time artistic wingman Anton Kannemeyer are back with the latest issue of Bitterkomix, a cult comic book series that has been going for almost 30 years now. At 120 pages, it’s their biggest volume yet and it’s jam-packed with satirical take-downs, thought-provoking strips and essays decrying the rise of censorship from both the conservative right, the ‘liberal’ left and even the homogeneity demanded of us by social media censor-bots. The cover packs a few warnings – “Bitterkomix: A Safe Space From Millenials. Trigger Warning, Freedom of Speech Inside. Wakkerder than Woke.’ Perhaps best of all, it’s pangolin friendly. soutiepress.com.

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LEARN MORE

THE LIFER

THE SILVER FOX MAKING ASSUMPTIONS ABOUT WHAT THE FUTURE IS GOING TO BE LIKE – AKA SCENARIO PLANNING – IS, IN MANY WAYS, WHAT FLY FISHING IS, THE ABILITY TO PREDICT AND INDUCE OUTCOMES BASED ON YOUR READING OF WHAT YOU SEE. FACED WITH AN UNCERTAIN WORLD, RENOWNED FUTURIST AND SCENARIO PLANNER CLEM SUNTER SHARED WITH US SOME OF THE BEST ADVICE HE EVER GOT, WHICH APPLIES BOTH TO FLY FISHING AND LIFE IN GENERAL. Photos. Clem Sunter

I

was brought up as a child in Kensington in the middle of London. The time was the late 1940s and early 1950s just after the Second World War. It was not a posh suburb then and still had homes destroyed by bombs during the war. I remember ration books, the smog where you could not see the bus-stop you were standing at and British Restaurants where you had cottage pie. We never starved despite all the post-war shortages.

My first experience of fishing was walking from the flat where I lived In Sheffield Terrace, down Church Street and into Kensington Gardens to the Round Pond. The latter is an ornamental lake, created in 1730 by George II, and covers about seven acres. The edge dipped into the water in a way that made it very easy for children to get wet without falling in completely. I would go net-fishing there for tadpoles, or ‘tiddlers’ as they were called, most of which I threw back.

Occasionally, I would take a jam jar, fill it with water and take a couple of fish home to show my parents. In those days, as a five to ten-year-old boy, you could walk around London alone with no thought of anyone harming you and with my parents quite happy to let me go out on my own.

As I grew up, I was given a bike which made it easier to get to the pond. Then a model yacht arrived for Christmas so I divided the time between sailing the boat and fishing. All in all, it was a wonderful introduction to having a pleasant daily hobby when I was on holiday from the school up the road in Queen’s Gate.

In my teenage years, my father started taking me and my mother to Scotland to fish. I was an only child so the three of us would pack a small amount of luggage and go away for a couple of weeks in summer. We would stow it in the boot of our old Riley motor car and drive to the mainline railway station in London. We would have our car loaded on the train to Perth in Scotland and take an overnight trip on the train. I always took the top bunk in the carriage with my parents below me.

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From Perth we would make our way north to Dornoch on the East Coast in Sutherland and stay at the Dornoch Hotel. Along with Gleneagles, it was considered a great place to stay; and it also had a golf course right opposite it. On weekends, in the late afternoon, the local pipe band used to play in the village square and, to this day, I can hum some of the famous Scottish tunes they played. It was not just the pipes; it was the rat-a-tat-tat of the drums and the boom of the big bass drum as they marched up and down the square that got to me.

During the week, my father organised for the three of us to go fishing for the day. We would set out in MoJo, the nickname for the Riley because the number plate was MJO 345, and arrive in the vicinity of some obscure Scottish loch in the middle of nowhere. We would park the car by the road and set off on a healthily long walk with a picnic basket, rods and tackle in hand. Eventually, with my father as the guide, we would find the loch.

Often, when we got there, we would be greeted by a Scottish ghillie who would help us prepare the rods and row us out to the centre of the loch in his boat. Thus, I learnt how to fly-fish in the truly classic environment of the northernmost part of Scotland. Ironically, my mother caught the biggest fish ever in the family by dapping with a fly bobbing up and down on the water rather than by using the traditional cast-and-drift method.

The best piece of advice I ever got was from a ghillie – and I can see his scraggly beard to this day moving up and down as he said: ‘Life is like fishing. You never know when the fish is going to bite but, when it does, be sure to take advantage of it.’ I never caught any really big trout in all the years I fished in Scotland, but the advice came in very handy at those moments in my life when an opportunity arose and his words flashed by in my mind. My immediate reaction was: let’s see what is on the other end of the line.

And whatever it is, be sure to use the right tactics to haul it in - however long it takes you to do so.

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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”

POP QUIZ NEW YEAR NEW YOU? OR SAME OLD DUMMY YOU WERE IN 2020?

TAKE OUR QUIZ TO SEE IF YOU PICKED ANYTHING UP IN THIS ISSUE.

1. What did Jimmy Eagleton do to catch his jutjaw on fly (page 30)?

A. Get a pink slip from his missus.

B. Fill in the requisite leave forms from his boss.

C. Stand in line at the Post Office for a fishing license D. Scale a cliff at Cape Point.

2. Brendan Becker’s grandfather was a traveling comedian famous for… (page 20)?

A. Kicking Frank Sinatra in the nuts.

B. Setting himself on fire.

C. Acting like a stinky hobo who likes to sing.

D. Dancing like no one is watching.

3. One of the fish Platon Trakoshis wants to catch is Morone saxatilis, commonly known as… (page 22)?

A. The Kenny G of Fish.

B. The Warren G of Fish.

C. Lunkers.

D. Stripers.

E. Windscreen wipers.

4. According to Bob Skinstad, the soundtrack for their Tour de Cosmo featured (page 38)?

A. Lockdown - Anderson .Paak.

B. Jerusalema - Master KG. C. Big Girl (You Are Beautiful) - Mika D. Black Mamba Boy - Black Mamba Boy E. Don’t Let The Old Man In - Toby Keith/Clint Eastwood 5. What do the RUFFC (Rhodes University Fly Fishing Club) want installed at Thrift (page 54)?

A. A flybrary.

B. A brewery.

C. A shrubbery.

D. A warm shower E. A roof.

6. According to Matt Gorlei, ‘Injasuthi’ means… (page 82)?

A. Place of the well fed dog.

B. Place of the cave-dwellers.

C. Place of the fermented pineapple.

D. Place of the small fish.

Answers: 1. D, 2. C, 3. D, 4. D&E, 5. D, 6. A

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HUNTING TROUT THIRD EDITION

Introducing the new third edition of Hunting Trout by Tom Sutcliffe.

To meet the steady demand for this now iconic book, Burnet Media of Cape Town have printed a limited quantity of only 500 copies. It features an additional foreword by Steve Boshoff and a new introductory section by the author describing why he wrote the book in 2002.

There are 17 new pen and ink illustrations, a changed and very attractive wrap-around cover and the text has been completely updated. The layout of the book, the paper used in the printing and the cover, have all been redesigned to exactly approximate the look and feel of Tom’s most recent book, Yet More Sweet Days.

Hunting Trout is available directly through the author at sutcliffe@mweb.co.za and through selected fly shops.

The retail price is R320 and an optional overnight door-to-door courier service is offered by the author for safe, quick delivery.

AVAILABLE FROM THEMISSIONFLYMAG.COM FOR R370 (INCL. SHIPPING)

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